Since we are getting ready to get into a brand new year, I decided that I would update this wonderfully interesting blog.

So.

Howya been?

I kind of "fell off" the blogging bandwagon long about April of earlier this year. (That year being 2008 and all).

To update all of my zero readers, Jacob David Green came a tremendous amount earlier than we would have liked, after my obstetrician placed me on bed rest. He had an irregular heartbeat, and had to be delivered by emergency c-section. What a treat that was.

Especially the part where my husband told me that he saw "my guts."

How endearing that romantical statement was, I tell you!

Anyhoo, I digress. Jacob arrived a smidge over six pounds, which is a pfft of a baby for me, and was just about nineteen inches long. He developed severe jaundice, which required bili lights, lost too much weight, which required additional feedings of formula that he really didn't dig, and a whole other host of things that come along with being a preemie.

But. Would I trade any of the experience in order to have a "perfect" labor and delivery? Not a chance.

I got my baby (healthy as God needs for him to be right now), and the way I look at it, I got extra time with him earlier than I would have expected!

And, since this is the beginning of a brand new year, I want to let all of you (okay, the zero of you) know what my new year's resolutions are:

1. Be a better mother to my three children (I am the first example that they see, and I need to ensure that what I demonstrate to them is what I would demonstrate to the Lord),

2. Keep a running tally of what I read throughout the year (I say that I'm going to do this every year, and I totally forget until around April or so. This year, I'm actually going to do it!), and

3. Think of others before I open my mouth about certain "prickly" situations. I say this because I sometimes find myself placing my foot inside my mouth, and I most wholeheartedly regret hurting feelings of those that I love and admire, because I don't take the time to think about how some might feel.

Now!

Since I have taken up ALL that time for posting my aspirations/goals/resolutions for everyone to read, I want to challenge those of you (ha. ha. Aren't I hysterically funny?) who actually stumbled upon my post to do the same. Post your resolutions, I mean. Not do the same resolutions as me, you see.

Only because I've heard that if you write down your resolutions or goals, that they are sometimes easier to maintain.

So we'll see.

Either I'll stay motivated to do what I claim I'm going to do, or I'll be shamed into it.

And I really don't dig shame.

Well, the "kitty-cot," as Miss Molls used to refer to cats, has hopped right on out of the proverbial bag, if you will.

Big Daddy and I decided to expand the family by one member, and, as you can tell from the ticker that appears on the top of this blog, we have just about until July.

Since this will be our third and final child, I have decided that there will be a few changes that will occur during this third, and final, pregnancy. Here goes...

1. This time around, I am going to eat WHATEVER I want, hang the calorical content.  Ladies, I feel like this is my final "hoorah," and if my big fanny wants to eat cereal with milk for a snack, who really CARES that dinner just ended ten minutes ago?  The BABY wants it.  'Nuff said.
2. I will make sure to IGNORE those oh-so-caring individuals who want to tell me their horror stories of labor and childbirth.  In case you hadn't noticed, lady, the two miniature people that you see next to me, they're mine.  I understand people want to have their stories heard, but, ya'll, this is NOT a story that others want, or NEED to hear.  Moving on.
3. I'm going to remember just how wonderful this entire process, from beginning to end, really is.  So what that my underwear would be able to cover the riding lawnmower for its long winter nap?  Is that important in the big scheme of things?  I think not.  The fact that the good Lord felt that my husband and I DESERVED another precious baby is reason enough for me to proudly wear my Spanks.  (The endearing term given to maternity underwear by my husband many moons ago.  Actually, it was when the "man child," also known as Trey, was on his way to us).

One final bit of "haha" information for all...  last week, when we told the chillen that we were going to have a baby, Miss Molls leaned over, put her hand on my tummy, and asked how come it was already BIG.  Well, I told her, remember, Mama has a baby in her tummy, right?  Yes, but, Mama, you said the baby was the size of rice right now.  So that's not that big.  Hmmm.  I think the child is insinuating that my bump is a little larger than normal.  It's gas, sweetheart.  It's just purely gas.

Or it could be the cheese danish that was forced upon me earlier.

It's really difficult to tell.

Ya'll, I just gotta tell you. Having children, it really schools you. REALLY.

Just yesterday, I ended up having to take little Miss Molly to the emergency room, because of certain "tinkle" problems. Well, those of you that are mamas already, you know into what territory I am travelin'.

Yep. I am referring to the unloved "U.T.I."

But, I gotta also tell you, little Miss Molly fights things like a trouper. She has only been sick maybe TWICE in her young little life. (I give credit to my mad skillz at nursing, honestly). The "man child," as Big Daddy refers to Trey, has been sick ever since he made his entrance just about seven and a half years ago. My mad skillz of nursing didn't work really well for Trey, since he chose to drink formula, and drink it from a bottle. As opposed to a frosty cold mug, or something else that was really intended for an infant.

Anyway, I digress.

So she and I are sitting in our cozy, private section of the emergency room, when we overhear a doctor speaking to the family of an obviously sick elderly person. (Now, ya'll, I have to tell you. I didn't want to listen, but when you are cordoned off from other folks with a piece of cloth, sound travels. It just does).

So. We are sitting, myself in a chair, and Molls on the gurney. And I happen to overhear the doctor telling the family that the "children" of the family need to be gotten together, since it seems to be "time." Well, I have to tell you, my child doesn't happen to understand the meaning of "shhh, quiet, baby," so she was singing her little heart out to the tune of "Old MacDonald, he had him a farm, e-i-e-i-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," and I was trying desperately to get her to stop, just so the family next to us would be able to say their goodbyes, and do what they had to do.

Evidently, I was doing the wrong thing, because, next thing I know, Molls tells me that she needs to "go potty," so we take off for the nearest one, and on our way back, one of the family members stops me, only to tell me that I don't have to keep Molls quiet, on account of how her mother LOVES the young children.

I think I need to learn to love like that lady. She truly exhibited Christ's love, and ya'll, I feel so horribly bad about trying to keep Molls quiet, I think I ended up teaching her a bad thing.

I hope that Molls in her young little life understands more than I attempt to teach her. Thank goodness that lady was there to demonstrate.

Ya'll, I need, no, have to have some apple recipes.

Molly Moo and myself went apple picking this past Friday with her preschool class, and to date, we have created the following from our peck of picking:

Two gallon-sized freezer zippy bags full of peeled, cored, and sliced Macintosh and Golden Delicious apples. These are for Big Daddy and Turkey Day. Since he has the better recipe for apple pie and all, I figure I do not want to hurt his feelings. It's only fair, don't you think?

An apple pound cake. We are going to dinner tonight with friends, and I was asked to bring dessert. Figuring that I don't really enjoy fruit flies and all, I searched until I found something to make with a few apples. Four down, only forty more to go. Sigh.

A few pint jars of apple butter. I found a recipe online that allowed me to make apple butter with my crockpot on during our sleeping hours. Good point to all of my slaving during my sleep? The house smelled like apple cinnamon potpourri this morning when we all got up. Trey, however, said that the pleasant, expensive-smelling aroma was reminiscent of "stink." But what do you expect from a seven-year old boy? One who enjoys, how do I say this without offending anyone, the process of pooting. There. I said it. Ewwwww, huh?

So, ya'll, I need help. If you have any kind of apple recipe (sweet, savory, etcetera), please send it to me. I would GREATLY appreciate it! And so would the rest of the Green Family. We all wait with apple-scented, baited breath!

Ya'll, do you remember singing the old church hymn, "Bringing in the Sheaves?"

Well.  We went over to the Bruderhof Community last Saturday night, where we ate dinner, talked and visited with our friends, and sang different songs.

Molly Moo was sitting next to me, sharing my songbook (nevermind that she can't read... do you really need to when you are one of oh, I don't know, four hundred people?) Anyhoo... we're singing "Bringing in the Sheaves," and Molly is able to pick out a tune like no four-year-old I've ever seen.

So we're singing, and sitting next to me, is Molls, belting out, "Bringing in the cheese, bringing in the cheese..."

I cannot tell you just how difficult it was for me to not have to stop right then and there.

Wow. Has it really been over a week since I posted anything on here?

For shame, for shame.

Since there's all of, what, ONE person who actually has returned to this here blog?

I am hanging my head in deep, remorseful shame.

We used to have a Black Labrador (Flash was his name), and when he would get into trouble, we would tell him, "Hang your head. Shaaaaaaaaaaame."

And that dog would HANG. HIS. HEAD.

Oh yes ma'am, he would!

So, my one internetty friend, I am hangin' my head. Oh, it is a-hangin'.

Molly Moo and myself took my mother-in-law to the airport today. She is meeting up with my brother-in-law and his family down in Orlando. Because, well, it is the season for cavorting with Mickey Mouse and his gang, right?

We figured everything was going well on the trip, and so I pulled up alongside the curb at the airport, popped the trunk lid, all the while leaving the car running, because I figured that I was completing this transaction as usual, only to find my mother-in-law looking sad and lonely.

Ya'll, she didn't want to go. Oh no she didn't.

So we hung out with her until she walked her little barefoot self through the metal detector and the security checkpoint.

Honestly, I think she was a little bit sad about leaving "the girl" (otherwise known as Molly Moo) for five days. No amount of Mickey Mouse can fix that kind of sadness.

And the funniest part of all? Molly had absolutely no idea why we were hanging around the airport snack bar/newsstand, and ya'll, she was performing the "pull your eyes up REAAAAAL high using your eyebrows," all the while saying, "Mama, when we gonna leave? Can we leave NOW???"

I think Grandma chose not to hear that part.

Oh, and the best part?

Listing to my daughter scream at the retreating figure of her grandmother, "Grams! Bring me somefin' from Mickey the Mouse's house!"

First day of school, first day of school!

For those of you who have already begun school for this year, this comes a little late, but better late than never, right?

Me: "Molly, did you have a good day at preschool?"

Molly: "Yes. There was a little girl crying too."

Me: "Oh. Why was she crying? Did she get hurt today?"

Molly: "No, she wanted her mama. She was saying, 'I want my mommy.'"

Me: "Oh. Well, did YOU want your mama today?"

Molly: "Nah."

Me (understandably upset, mind you): "Well! Did you want your daddy, then?"

Molly: "Unh uh."

Me: "So you wanted your brother? You wanted Bubba at school, right?"

Molly: "Heck no!"


So, as you can see, we are extremely concerned about Molly's awkward transition phase, and we are really hoping that she gets this shy, awkward phase worked through quickly.

Yeah, right.

This is the way we tie our shoes, tie our shoes, tie our shoes...

Ya'll, I, along with probably the rest of the mothers whose children have yet to start back to school for the current school year, are SOOOOOO ready to go! Since I teach school, I think I have an unfair advantage in this, but I just have to say, "Hadn't that school bell run YET?"

Trey was told by both Daddy-O and myself that THIS school year, he WOULD be able to tie his shoes, or we would be placing good ol' velcro sneakies on him, and sending his little self to 2nd grade with (his words, not mine) baby shoes on his feet. Well. He didn't like that prospect hanging over his head, so he learned how to tie his shoes! You never saw such a proud kid in your life. He came running up into my bathroom, yelling, "Mama! Mama! Watch THIS!" whereupon he proceeded to TIE! HIS! SHOES!

I think he was a little excited when he showed me, ya'll, because he didn't even notice that I was, well, IN THE BATHROOM!

So after he showed me his brand new trick, I told him just how proud I was of him, and he looked at me, dead in my eyes, and told me, "Well, Mama, since you and Daddy told me that I had to be able to do it before 2nd grade, I figured you really meant it this time."

Figured I meant it this time.

Hmmpphh.

So I guess, in the future, if I really need something done, I will refer myself to the current or near future school year number, and I. WILL. GET. IT. DONE.

Figured I meant it this time.

Don't that beat all, ya'll?

Where on earth did my daughter come up with this one?

Me: "Molly, what do you want for breakfast?"

Molly: "Ummm, some cereal."

Me: "What about a waffle? Bubba is having a cinnamon toast waffle this morning."

Bubba: "Yeah, sis. You like those Flip-Flop waffles; how about one of those?"

Molly: "Nah, I don't like those anymore."

Me: "Why not? You picked them out, and said that you liked the chocolate and the vanilla parts!"

Molly: "Those waffles have boogers in them."

Hmmm. A little investigatin' has taken place, and ya'll, you know what I discovered?

The Eggo company definitely did NOT place boogers into their delicious Flip Flop waffles (chocolate + vanilla flavor, otherwise known as "choco-nilla"). They, instead, the awful people, placed CHOCOLATE CHIPS into them.

The horror.

Can someone please explain to me the "allure" that special projects have over children? Since summer camp ended a few weeks ago, Trey, my seven year old, has been home each day, with NOTHING to do. His words, not mine. I was NOT hogging all of the cleaning, ya'll. I mean, I offered to let Trey clean the potties. I can NEVER be accused of keeping all of the fun to myself.

Anywho, Daddy-O got this WONDERFUL idea of having daily "projects." I mean, I am ALL about giving the kids something to do, especially since I did get a degree in Elementary Education and all. And, if I don't remember anything other than, "As long as you leave your students with nothing to do, they will destroy your classroom," then I FULLY deserved my Bachelor's Degree. So! What to do, what to do? Daddy-O's projects included painting a piece of plywood into an American flag. Once I have pictures of that, I will post them. I must say, though, Trey did a fabulous job with the flag. I plan upon hanging it in our front entryway for everyone to see when they walk in the front door.

What else, you ask? Well, Molly and I made homemade play dough, fabulously scented with Cherry flavored Kool-Aid. (Not to brag or nothing, but MY project beat out paintin' plywood ANY day, because the kids are STILL playing with the play dough. As long as it's not green or fuzzy, I'm golden). Besides the plywood and play dough, Daddy-O had the idea to let the kids create a pinata. Well. THAT project was finished up today, and let me see if I can paint this picture clearly enough for everyone to appreciate.

After they got the balloon blown up, covered with newspaper strips dipped in the flour paste mixture, let dry, and then... well, you know what else needs to be done to create a pinata, right? No sense in boring anyone more than usual, right? So. We get to today, and RIGHT AS Daddy-O is walking out the door to go to yet another teachers' inservice, he announces to the kids, world, everyone within earshot of oh, say, AUSTRALIA, "Hey, ya'll! When Mama goes to Wal-Mart today to get the air conditioning filters, why don't you get your little prizes and things to put inside your pinata? I think it's dry enough to do today!"

OH. THANK. YOU. SO. MUCH.

Well! Let's take ourselves on a trip to Wal-Marts, why don't we?

Is there anything uglier than children who are being FORCED to enter the doors of Wal-Mart? I mean, especially those who have been promised PRIZES and CANDY and TOYS, ooh, and maybe one of those pretzels from Auntie Anne's, especially if the prison gate is open and moved back away from the good hot pretzels, Mama.

Roo-rah. Can't wait to get there.

Fast forward to right after Daddy-O walked back in the door after inservice ended. Because you KNOW I am NOT going to keep this man from enjoying any part of his children's pinata paradise. So they loaded it up with the junk goodies that we purchased at Wal-Mart earlier in the day.

THEN BEGAN THE FUN, said the mother who was not really good at sarcasm.

Daddy-O had already strung a couple of tied-together shoelaces through the top of the pinata, and taped the lid down really good and tight with duct tape. (Because we are ALL about the aesthetics around here). I got elected to walk up the stairs, and drop the pinata down into our hallway, holding the shoestrings. After only, oh, I don't know, four thousand ten or so hits, the pinata magically opened, and my kids descended on all of it like chickens on june bugs.

Wonder what other "projects" I can come up with for them? That teachers' inservice is over, ya'll, and I am going to come up with a LIST like nobody has ever seen before, just so we can all experience some more togetherness before we all kill each other in an attempt to break open another pinata.