Twelve years

Twelve years ago today I married my soul mate. I agreed to love, honor and cherish this man who I had fell head over heels for 10 years earlier. We got married in a very small ceremony in his parents' front yard that was presided over by his beloved grandfather, who's pictured with us in our wedding-day photo. 

About 35 of our closet relatives joined us for this special day that was marked by beautiful weather and gorgeous flowers my mother and I had gotten up very early to pick from her big sister's garden and that my soon-to-be mother-in-law fashioned into bouquets for the occassion.

While the journey we've traveled these last 12 years hasn't always been filled with pure bliss, it has been remarkable in so many ways and marked by true, devoted love throughout. Jeff has been with me through the best of times - the births of our daughters - and the worst - the sudden death of my mother and Lola's cranial surgery when she was 10 months old. I know that together we can do anything. We are a strong unit, and I am proud we can provide that example for Amelia and Lola.

I have said it many times that he is the yin to my yang and my rock on which I lean when I can't find the strength to support myself. I cannot fathom my life without him and don't even want to consider where I would be in this world had we not married.

I fall more and more in love with Jeff the longer we are together and the more our roles change, and I cannot imagine having undertaken this journey with anyone else. We are in this for the long haul, and I am excited to see what lies ahead on this twisty-turny, bumpy, hilly road we're traveling.

Heart full of pride

I snapped this photo recently of my two girls playing so sweetly together. It makes me so happy to see them being so nice to each other that my heart just swells up with pride. 

My joy is heightened when I gaze upon this photo and remind myself that I have proof they really love each other because there are times I need reminding, like when they're fighting over a beat up camp chair they both want to sit in or tangling up over a toy from a Happy Meal.

I told Amelia a few days ago that Lola coming into this world was actually a gift from me to her. I shared that while momma and daddy really wanted another baby, I also wanted her to be able to grow up with a sibling - something I never had, despite asking Santa Claus four years in a row (four years, I tell 'ya) to please bring me a brother.

I promised Amelia that having a sister would be a gift she would be able to enjoy for the rest of her life. She seemed genuinely touched by this revelation.

I just hope she remembers what a special little thing Lola is the next time they are about to scratch each other's eyeballs out over who's turn it is to play with the one toy amongst a sea of toys they both seem to want at the exact same time.

My loneliest day

I don't think I have ever been more lonely than I was the day I snapped this photo of my precious little Lola under the billi lights at the hospital. Actually, if memory serves, I took this photo late at night on her second day in this world.

I had been prepared to bring my little girl home, but, thanks to an astute nurse, we discovered Lola had jaundice and would get to spend another day in the hospital. My doctor discharged me from his care and the pediatrician admitted Lola to the hospital all of which was done to meet insurance requirements. I was allowed to stay with Lola in my room on the maternity ward, but since I was no longer a patient I wouldn't be receiving any care from the nurses and doctors.

In preparation for the sleepless nights ahead, Jeff left me and Lola at the hospital and went home to get some sleep. Amelia was still staying at Grandmaw and Pawpaw's house, which is why neither of my in-laws were available to stay with me at the hospital.

At the time this photo was taken, my momma had been dead just over a year and my daddy had been gone 21 years so relying on my parents to help me was out of the question. I have no siblings and my extended family cannot be relied upon to offer assistance - in fact, I am now estranged from almost all of them. 

In short, there was no one who could be there for me except me - a fact that was especially hard to swallow when I saw other women on the floor who's rooms were filled with family and friends waiting on them hand and foot.

Even though I was recovering from a cesarean section I knew I had to press on through the pain and take care of this little lady who needed help more than I did. I recall holding Lola during one of her every two hour feedings and telling her, "It's just you and me girl."

Because I had to give her a bottle every two hours in an attempt to help reduce her jaundice, sleep for me was almost non-existent that night. My memories of this time are a blur of feedings, diaper changes and listening to Lola cry when I had to put her eye covers back on and place her back under the light. It killed me a little bit every time I had to put her back but I knew it was for her own good.

Let me tell you: the nurses on the floor took very seriously the fact I was no longer an "official" patient. Not one nurse offered to help me and the couple of times I called requesting pain medication - to which I was entitled - they acted as though it was a huge imposition to bring it to me; never mind I wasn't allowed to have Jeff deliver to me my meds from the pharmacy for which my doctor had written a prescription.

In addition, you would have thought I was asking them to deliver to me a five-course meal when I asked them to bring me something to drink. They were so rude about it that I finally began getting up and pushing Lola to the nurse's station to ask them to please get me a drink. I'd of gotten it myself had the vending machines not been behind the nurse's station. 

During the night, not one single nurse asked if I needed anything, which, to this day, makes me madder than a wet hen. I remember early in the morning, probably around 3 a.m., sitting in the bed watching Lola and just crying my eyes out because I felt so lonely and helpless. It didn't help that I was in tremendous amounts of pain and in desperate need of some sleep.

I understand I was no longer officially under their care, but one would think common courtesy would make someone - especially a nurse - think, "Hmmm, maybe I should see if I can offer some help to this mother, who's been cut open and is all alone trying to take care of her sick baby." Yeah, right.

Once shift change happened things got a little better for me. The nurses on morning shift were a bit more concerned with my well-being; although I still had trouble convincing them they needed to figure out how to get me some breakfast. 

The nursery nurse came and got Lola that morning so the pediatrician could check her out and so they could obtain a blood sample to test her jaundice levels. During this time, I got up, took a shower and prepared to go home. Even though the doctor had warned me we might have to stay another 24 hours if Lola's jaundice levels had not come down enough, I was determined they would be low enough for us to be able to go home. 

Thanks be to God they had dropped sufficiently that the pediatrician felt comfortable discharging her from the hospital. I don't think my psyche could have withstood another night there.

I am immensely grateful Lola and I were able to come home where, although things didn't get any easier, I at least had my darling husband to help me when I needed it most.

Look who's 2 today!

This picture shows the very first moment I held my sweet Lola. I'd been waiting for what seemed like forever for her to arrive from the nursery and was thrilled when Jeff finally rolled her into my room.

It's hard to believe this photo was snapped two years ago because apparently somewhere along the way I blinked and my baby went from this tiny bundle of joy to the big walking, talking grinning and giggling bundle of joy that keeps me on my toes everyday.

I am blessed and lucky to have Lola for my daughter. These last two years with her haven't always been the easiest, but thanks to her I am a stronger, more easy-going and smarter mother. She is the child who has taught me so much about myself and brought a tremendous amount of joy and love into my life. I am lucky to be this little lady's momma.

How would you like your eggs?

Amelia has loved to help in the kitchen since she was barely tall enough to see over the edge of the counter. She has helped make muffins, cakes, cornbread, cookies and lots of other good eats.

This morning she wanted to assist in making her eggs for breakfast. In the past I've let her help with all steps in the process except the actual cooking, but this morning I turned those duties over to her.

She did a fantastic job and reported her eggs were just right. They must have been good because she ate every last morsel of them - something that is rare for my picky 6-year-old.

Looks like she's well on the road to becoming quite an efficient kitchen assistant. Now, if I can just drive home the concept of cleaning as you go, then all will be good.

YUM-O!

My best gal pal Hollie made this delicious Jell-O Wave your Flag cake for a Memorial Day get-together I hosted for our families. It was absolutely delightful and so pretty that I felt it important to share her handiwork. She reported it was very easy to make so if you're interested in having one at your next gathering, click HERE for the recipe.

I've never seen a cuter cowgirl

Wordless Wednesday: I will not look at that camera so stop trying to make me!

Shake your groove thing!

Amelia's end-of-the-year dance revue took place a couple of weeks ago. My little ballerina earned her three-year medal and showed off her skills by performing a ballet polka and tapping her little toes to "Shake Your Groove Thing" from "The Chipmunks: The Squeakqual" soundtrack.

Amelia is third from the left dancing to a fun ballet polka.

 Standing second from right is Amelia wearing her three-year medal around her neck. She is beaming with pride.

Her dance school doesn't just hand these medals out to children because they've been enrolled for three years. The students actually have to take an exam to test their skills in order to qualify for a medal.

Amelia and I practiced before the exam, and I was thrilled with how well she did. She knew all the steps on the practice test even though I had to look most of them up on YouTube. 

There's Amelia fifth from the right checking out her medal, which proved to be the highlight of her evening. She loved it so much and was so proud of it that she wanted to wear it to school the following Monday.

I, however, nixed that idea since she's had problems in the past with other students pulling too hard on her necklaces while supposedly looking at them that they ended up broken. She was sorely upset at me, but I didn't want to even contemplate the meltdown that would occur if one of her classmates broke her medal 

 Our precious dancer with roses from her daddy. We made sure she received flowers after this year's performance because she was so unhappy last year when she got none, but her friends, especially one who practically needed a wheelbarrow to cart all her flowers home, got many.

 Amelia loved the flowers and especially loved all the attention that was showered upon her by the staff at the restaurant where we ate after the show. She loved how they made over her and spent the better part of her meal regaling them with stories from dance class.