It's a conspiracy. I'm sure of it.

Sometimes I have a hard time falling asleep. I lay my head on the pillow and instantly usleless information starts flooding my head taking me on a thought-cruise that I can't get off of. So I usually end up turning on the t.v. to something pre-recorded, and it's usually TLC.

The show I've been hooked on lately is called "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant." Really. That's the title. It reenacts true stories of women who were pregnant and didn't know until it came time to deliver. I'm not kidding. After three pregnancies I find this hard to believe (given that I gained a monstrous amount of weight and had a 3 lb. 5 oz fun-sized bundle of joy) but it's real stuff - and apparently it happens more often than I would have ever thought. And there lies the problem. The thinking. After the show I can't stop thinking about all of the pregnancy symptoms I might be having right at that very moment and just not realize it. Could I be!? Maybe! Oh crap, what if I am!?! I proceed in the not sleeping and the thinking pretty much until morning when I get busy enough to forget about the possibility (always looming in my head) of being pregnant. I go about my day and inevitably end up at Target where I buy the basics + a pregnancy test. You know, because I have been feeling a little more tired lately...

I go home, (or if I'm honest about that one time - go into the handicap stall of Target) and take the test. Negative. Whew!

This leads me to the conspiracy theory. I can NOT be the only one who has watched that show and become convinced by the end that I'm pregnant. I'm sure there are countless women who have rushed to the drug store for immediate testing. I'll bet the producers of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" are also somehow linked to the pregnancy test industry. They've got to be making bank off that show! It's genius, really.

So, for now I'm hanging up my midnight t.v. watching - or at the least I'm sticking to HGTV. The worst that has come from watching that was an incessant and immediate need to paint the door red. Pretty much, if you want to save yourself $9 don't watch TLC in the middle of the night, they're just out to get your money.

Paint, Pee and Post-Dramatic-Stress

I swear there are parenting classes that someone who has it out for me hid the information to. Classes that are meant to help helpless parents prepare for, prevent, and post-drama deal with afternoons like the one I had today. It wasn't even an afternoon per se - more like... 2 1/2 minutes. How could I go so very wrong in just 2 1/2 minutes?

I'll start here.

About 3 months ago I bought paint. Red paint. I want a red front door because our house is barely off-white with stark white trim and a white door. I needed something that would pop (HGTV lingo) without putting a huge dent in the pocket-book or require too much work. Anyway, I've been waiting - like forever - for 3 nice days in a row because apparently you aren't supposed to paint an exterior door when it rains because the humidity will damage the paint job - I try to learn something new every few weeks or so. When the nice days started (finally!) I was out of town and this week was really the first streak of nice days I've seen since purchasing my red paint. So, yesterday Jeff and I sanded the door (and by "Jeff and I" I mean Jeff) and prepped the area for paint and I decided today was the day my door would be red! He went off to work and I began to set up shop. It all started uneventfully enough. The first coat made me cry (as usual) and wonder why I'd even ventured a curious thought towards such a drastic change - just like the first coat always does. I let it be for a while to dry (and pray) while I got lunch ready for the kids (who were happily playing in the backyard).

While I'm slapping some peanut butter on some bread and slicing cheese and broccoli onto plates Natalie comes running in the house screeching, "He PEED on me!!!"

I look down and her shoes and shins are all wet (note: she's standing in the middle of my kitchen). "Get in here, Carter!"

While I am interrogating, uh - I mean, talking to Carter I find out that he was peeing in the backyard behind a tree and Natalie was riding her bike past and pretty much he just aimed at her to get her away - what do you do in an instance like this? I mean, really? Time out? Go to your room? Just say you're sorry and don't pee on your sister anymore?

Before I can even process a thought as to what to do with these two, Natalie comes running in the kitchen (again - and yes, still peed on) shouting, "Mom! He tried to help you paint the door!!"

While I was breaking up pee-fights Jack slipped out of the room and went to the open front door (which was drying) and decided to try a hand at slapping some paint around.

I now mostly despise red.

I'm not kidding guys - someone is seriously holding out on me here. There has to be a way to prepare people for days (or as in my case, 2 1/2 minutes) like this. So, here's my disclaimer: When you have a bunch of kids, stuff like this happens. (And yet, still it's all worth it... and I'm talking about the kids - not the red door. Although I do love my red door.)

Happy Birthday, big guy!

Dear Carter,

I woke up this morning to find that you are suddenly six. Just like that. It seems like it was just yesterday that we saw your little (squished - kind of old man-ish) face for the first time (it stretched out in no time and you were such a cute baby) - how did this happen!? My sweet, hilarious, passionate, feisty, curious little boy is six. Did you know that it takes two hands to hold up six fingers? That's a lot - at least it is to your Momma who doesn't want her babies to grow up this fast. We put your bunk beds together last night and you said you officially felt "grown up" now that you are sleeping on the top bunk instead of just on a regular bed. I know you were referring to the top bunk of the bed, but hearing my little boy say he feels "grown up" is not good when I wish with all my might that you would just stay small and young forever. You are such a blessing to us - really, really. You keeps us on our toes and you always have something you think is funny to comment back to any given sentence (I have no idea where you would get that from) and I love how when you have something important to say you'll put your hands on my face to make sure I'm looking you in the eyes and taking what you say seriously.
You're all boy, too. You love fishing and shooting your bow at targets. You love hammering nails, shooting your sling-shot and climbing trees. You find a way to turn anything into a gun (seriously - taking careful bites of your toast until it's in the shape of a hand gun) and most of the time you've got some sort of "cowboy" apparel on (leather vest, chaps, boots, hat, or holster). You love Bonanza and John Wayne westerns. You have the best imagination and seriously - you can't beat a good imagination these days, buddy.

Happy Birthday, big guy. Thank you for being the amazing boy that God created you to be. You're pretty awesome. We love you more than words can say and are so unbelievably proud of you!

I love me some pizza.

GREAT. Just great.

I can see that in the near future I'm going to have to throw a "Welcome Back!" party for the 50 pounds I have managed to lose in the last 2 years. Tonight I was introduced to the best pizza ever (and I love me some pizza) from a local market in the tiny town I live in. It honestly tastes like goodness in my mouth. I limited myself to a piece and a half, but it could have easily been a pizza and a half. I'm going to have to find a different way home so I don't drive right by it practically every day. Why, oh why does my close-to-number-one-on-my-top-ten-favorite-food-list have to be so quick to bake, so inexpensive to buy, and yet so amazingly high in calories?! WHY?!

I know that I should try to find a "reasonable alternative" that is healthier and yet still de-lish, but lets be serious people, are they ever really that good? And even if they taste alright, are they really a suitable substitute for something that tastes the same as what I imagine gold tasting like? It's like substituting ice cream with a slightly frozen 6 oz non-fat yogurt. Or substituting a Snickers candy bar with a Kashi bar. It.does.not.work. I can feel my taste buds all but laughing at me right now while I am typing this. (And Jeanna, I can hear you saying, "Oh, I love Kashi bars!" Stop it. They're not that good.)

So, here I go. Continuing on the journey of simply "making better choices." I've tried the pizza and now I'm moving on. And anyway, I heard once that "what you do most of the time counts for more than what you do occasionally." I'm going to bank on that and next time I will try my darnedest to drive on past the wonder-world pizza inside the mini-market down the street. I will be proud that I didn't even step on the brake (much) or embarrass my children by waving at the pizza (to recklessly) as I drove by. Progress? Yes. Give a girl a break, I'm doing my best.

Remember When...

- the kids' dressers were more than just an empty piece of furniture that the laundry basket full of unfolded clothes sits on?

- I showered before noon, daily?

- my son didn't get on all fours and drink water straight out of the dog's water bowl because he was trying to convince me that he was a dog so he wouldn't have to pick up the toys in the living room?

- I didn't wake up in the middle of the night to realize that my heart physically hurt because I missed my kids (who were sleeping right down the hall)?

- I didn't think about things like cloth vs. disposable diapers, life insurance, or bacteria on bathtub toys?

- my biggest worry was what grade I was going to get on an exam and not how well I'm doing at demonstrating the love of Jesus to my children on a minute-by-minute basis?

- it would take three days to fill the dishwasher up enough to run a full load?

- I didn't have a daughter who was old enough to ask about "how babies are born?"

- the books on the bookshelves in our home were stacked vertically and not horizontally?

- the thought of buying new furniture wasn't such a joke?

- I couldn't make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with my eyes closed?

- my purse was filled with lip gloss, breath mints and bronzer instead of Desitin, sunscreen and bandaids?

- the thought of driving a car with more than two doors made me feel old?

I can remember when my house wasn't as messy, my hands weren't as full, and my heart wasn't as breakable, but I still wouldn't trade now for anything.