Day 4: Fun

Some weeks adulthood feels harder than others. Health insurance paperwork requires advanced degrees to decipher, to do lists never get shorter, home ownership costs take precedence over fall fashion spending and it requires an hour each night to pluck every last gray hair that's popped up. Or is that just me?

When staring at my day planner makes me feel 93, the only solution is squeezing in a bit more fun. Cheap fun, ideally. (There's that "adulthood" voice kicking in again.)

Tomorrow our Mac will be three, and we're having a day of Mac-ness to celebrate. It starts with a top-secret tour of our downtown fire station, then a lunch at his favorite Chick-fil-A and frozen yogurt at a do-it-yourself spot where he can add all the sprinkles he likes.

It's just the kind of fun I need - watching my favorite boy get giddy about some of the simplest treats on Earth. I've been anticipating that fire station tour as though it was a walk-through of Epcot by Walt Disney himself; I understand now why Christmas was always more fun for my parents than me.

I picked Mac up from school this afternoon to find out his class had been visited by two firemen and their big, shiny firetruck. Today. Of all days.

I hope that doesn't take the luster off of our Day of Mac.  I can't imagine it will; is there such a thing as Too Much Fireman Time when you're his age? I doubt it.

All this fun (and adult, paperwork-type activities) are taking my mind off the heart of the matter: tonight I'll take in my two-year-old son for the last time.

He already looks every inch the three-year-old; it only makes sense that his actual age catches up.

I do hope a bit of good old-fashioned memory-making fun takes the sting off of baby Mac growing up before my eyes.

*This post is day 4 in my 31 Days of What Matters.

Day 3: Every Ounce

This morning Mary Brooks went to the doctor to be weighed. Two weeks ago, at seven months old, she had fallen off the growth chart and her weight gain was slow, almost stagnant. 

After hanging around twelve pounds all summer, MB had gained just two ounces from August to September; we were disappointed. It was puzzling, even troubling. She is a great eater and we'd confirmed the volume of milk she gets each day is more than sufficient. So what did this mean? How could we fix it?

As her mom, and the source of her nutrition, I felt pressure, frustration, heartache. I hate dealing with the reality of what happened earlier this year; I like to pretend Mary Brooks has floated through her life without a care.

The stakes felt high. Babies with intestinal malrotation sometimes see long-term issues with weight gain or nutritional absorption after surgery, but to that point it had seemed Mary Brooks was going to avoid such issues.

We hoped she'd continue to thrive without intervention; for a number of reasons, I was eager to continue breastfeeding her exclusively. I nursed Mac his first year and didn't want to introduce formula to MB's already-manhandled insides unless we were certain it was necessary.

I wasn't ready to quit nursing. It felt wrong to give up breastfeeding when we could do it; so many other moms can't but desperately want to.

I consulted Mary Brooks' pediatrician, her surgeon, a nurse, two lactation consultants and a pediatric dietician. I sat on other moms' couches and clogged up their inboxes with questions. I listened to my gut, no pun intended.

MB is happy, strong, exceeding her developmental milestones, smiling constantly. I just knew she was well and didn't need anything to make her grow but time. Having set a date to follow up, we had just fourteen days to see a difference before things escalated.

And boy did we work hard these last two weeks.

I've been fighting off the same nasty sinus infection for a month, and nursing has kept me from the 'good' drugs. Besides popping thrice-daily antibiotics, getting steroid shots and hacking like the Marlboro Man, my top priority has been fattening up Mary Brooks.

Extra feedings, longer mealtimes, fattier additions (avocados galore!) to her homemade baby food - we did it all. Her nutrition was my full-time job, and despite her medical history and the unlikelihood of success, we saw a little miracle. A greatly appreciated little miracle.

Terrified that another two weeks without significant gains would mean a dire diagnosis or a series of tests, I plopped MB onto the scale this morning, naked as the day she was born.

The verdict? About 19 ounces gained in two weeks. The largest, fastest gain since her surgery. She's back on the growth charts at a whopping 2.35%. So, so very proud of our little bundle!

We're thankful for every ounce of you, Mary Brooks. May you remember this when you're 16 and "just want to lose three pounds." Your health is all we care about; your cuteness is secondary. And, for what it's worth, we happen to think you're physically perfect, scar and all.

Thank you, Lord, for insides that work and a baby who's growing!

*This post is day 3 in my 31 Days of What Matters.

Day 2: Little (Big) Joys

Today I'm reflecting on the little joys in life that don't cost a dime.

Last weekend my parents came up to celebrate Mac's third birthday a week early. (Can you believe he'll be three on Friday?!)

I took hundreds of photos while they were here! It had been a month or so since they'd seen Mac or Mary Brooks, and the four of them were one big puddle of love all weekend; I could barely stand the cuteness.

Mary Brooks showed off her new sitting up skills. 

Mac tried on his favorite birthday gift, a fireman costume, and pedaled furiously on the red tricycle he nicknamed his "fire truck."

My parents tried desperately to keep MB on schedule, but she was too sweet and snuggly to put down for naps!

Bradley and I got away for a fun engagement tailgate, Clemson got another W (despite a sketchy callback of a touchdown, see above) and Mac enjoyed cookies and a dinner at his beloved "Foodwreckers" while we were out.

You can barely tell, but this scarf is covered in tigers. I'm obsessed!

The weekend was filled to the brim with the kind of memories money can't buy, right here in our own humble abode. I didn't have to move a muscle to have a delightful, relaxing time; the only downside was watching them drive away as Mac shouted, "I love you! I love you!"

We miss his Mimi and Grandpa but it's wonderful, as fall catalogs pour in, to remember that what makes me happiest can't be ordered. 

(Not to say that my scarf obsession has dwindled, just that it doesn't love me back as much as my family does.)

*This is day 2 of my link-up with The Nester for 31 days of blogging about what matters.

31 Days of What Matters, Day 1: Hospitality

I'm a little late to the party, but I caught wind of The Nester's 31 Days blogging challenge and decided it's just what I need to get back on track.

Every day in October you can expect a short, simple post about what matters - to me, to my family, to our community. And possibly to my closet, but I'm going to put off being superficial for a few more weeks if possible.

As the month progresses, I'll list each new post on this one so they're easily found.

Day 1: Hospitality
Day 2: Little (Big) Joys
Day 3: Every Ounce
Day 4: Fun
Day 5: Mac
Day 6: Tigertown
Day 7: Affection
Day 8: Work
Day 9: Staying Comfy
Day 10: Resting
Day 11: Packing Smart
Day 12: A Quick Squeeze
Day 13: Saying Goodbye
Day 14: Catching Up, Getting Sick and Getting Out
Day 15: Sweet Cheeks
Day 16: My First Giveaway!
Day 17: Running Tunes
Day 18: Sweet, Awkward Moments
Day 19: Luna
Day 20: C-L-E-M-S-O-N
Day 21: Old Friends
Day 22: A Case of the Mondays
Day 23: Boy Mom, Girl Mom
Day 24: Dimmest Bulb in the Box
Day 25: Driveway Conversations
Day 26: Truck Stop Trade Off
Day 27: Solo Saturday
Day 28: Home Again, Home Again!
Day 29: Sick. Again.
Day 30: Pearly Whites
Day 31: A Sweet Halloween

So to get started: Today what matters to me is hospitality.


When we looked for a "new and old" house, we prayed to be led where we could grow our family, open our doors to friends and create a ministry of sorts just by being hospitable. By inviting the world in - not our strongest suit, believe it or not.

It's so tempting to throw on yoga pants, close the drapes, ignore your phone and hole up with the people who are required, either by law or genetics, to love you no matter what. That's not what we wanted anymore.

We envisioned having an open door policy, being in the center of things, living close to our friends and closely with them. (Think Romans 12:13 and Hebrews 13:2.)

It's not always easy for me, as I have a nasty perfectionist side. If I can't get it just right, in my own eyes, then I'd rather not do it at all. If my sunroom needs a bit more furniture or a hallway wall is missing the 'right' framed print, I feel sheepish letting people traipse through at their leisure.

Not to mention the dog hair! And diapers, stacks of correspondence, iPhone chargers, random boots strewn about. No matter how much I try to kick the clutter, it follows me everywhere I go.

You know what? That's not important. Hospitality isn't about pulling out my china and serving a spread that would make Paula Deen proud; it's really about being welcoming.

It's not about my feeling prepared, comfortable or proud of my surroundings - it's about making sure others feel at home, invited and valued here.

Small Group pre-party on the porch

Yesterday, as I stashed tote bags and toys before our small group arrived, I had to remind myself of this. We prayed for a place we could call home so that others could feel at home here, too.

I hope I remember, as supper clubs, showers and holiday parties line up, what hospitality really means. Know this: You're just as welcome at 9pm in your pajamas, face streaked with mascara from a long day's cry, as you are in your "get out into the world" grown-up gear at a pre-appointed hour.

My door's always open, even if I wince at the dust bunnies when you walk in.

GIFs Make Me Giggle: Part Deux

We've already established my affection for GIFs. Instead of spelling out how my life has been these last few radio silent weeks, I thought we'd try GIFfing it out.

(I just made that verb up to describe what you're about to see - go ahead and make note of it, as I'm sure GIFfing is the next big thing. Kinda like "fetch.")

This pup doesn't think "fetch" is gonna happen either, but I'm still holding out hope for GIF as a verb.

Yesterday I procrastinated so long on a "must do" item that I ran out of things to Google and blogs to read. I had writers' block and was in near-panic mode. After suddenly finding it 100% necessary to clean my bathroom counters intensely, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought:

While that line of thinking whipped the procrastination right out of me, I felt a little like:

 

"Tough love feels a lot like mean." - Brittany S. Pierce

Summer's over and somehow autumn has landed; I adore the cool weather!  It's given me no excuse not to run outside or have 100% commitment to my new diet, fueled by the end-cap displays in every drugstore on Earth:

I'm going to be Heidi Klum for Halloween at this (candy-eating) rate.

October brings with it another big holiday in the Smith household - Mac's third birthday! He's become a no-holds-barred, full-on boy in the last few months. He's every inch a three-year-old already.

No matter how he's dressed at the start of the day, you're bound to find him shirtless, pantless or both at any given moment. Post-potty redressing is a bear, evidently - and I've just surrendered to the nudity. I figure we'll cure him of it by kindergarten, surely.

Half the time I don't even ask where his clothes went - until someone calls me out on it via Instagram (eep!) or when guests come over. Then I'm all:

Along with the imagination, hilarity, affection, curiosity and silliness of this new age comes a fresh wave of independence and a few (dare I say it) tantrums. One minute he's professing his undying love for his mama and the next he's stomping in his "fireman boots" down the hall muttering about how wretched his life is.

When B is home and the meltdowns get really bad (as in, Mac would rather skip supper to continue crying), I have half a mind to bow out of parenting for the evening and let my even-keeled husband handle the drama. I have enough emotions of my own!

Sometimes I think Mac's a bit confused about who runs the show; it must be temporary amnesia. If only we'd listen to his infinite wisdom and never-wrong ways of thinking, his life would be a dream. He undoubtedly lies awake pondering how he can shape his parents up and get the rule-the-roost respect he deserves. Poor, adorable little Mac-face. 

 

Some of the antics are so ridiculous as to be downright laughable; it's all I can do to keep a straight face. Bradley, on the other, hand, is masterful. His poker face is remarkable, and he tends to nip Mac's less-stellar moments in the bud with a simple "really?!" look.


I need to get a "look" of my own, I suppose.

One thing I have been working on is keeping my calendar, and our life in general, as simple and uncluttered as possible. This means saying "no" a lot more than I am used to, but it's been relaxing to prioritize and focus my attention on my work, home, family and friends.

Wouldn't it be refreshing to have the openness just to say:

Ahh. Something to aspire to, right?

What have y'all been up to? Any fabulous GIFs I've missed, or am I the only gal who GIFs 'til her abs are sore from laughing?

I Got A New Attitude!

If this song isn't in your head right now, then you weren't on my 2nd grade competitive choreographed jump roping team. (Picture the following with jump ropes, swapping out Chippendales for gangly seven-year-olds.)

I hope you can tell from looking around that Anne Says So has gotten a facelift, courtesy of Munchkin Land Designs. The clean new feel is just what I envisioned!

The past month has been a blur of doctors' appointments, work, paperwork (ahh, adulthood), lack of sleep,  home improvement projects (pics to come!) and absolute denial that summer has come to a close. There has also been more than our fair share of sleeping in, park visits, grandparent time, library story hour, stories told and songs composed by an almost-three-year-old, sibling sweetness, snuggles and planning for football season.

My boots have been pulled out of their slumber and my white, white legs are rejoicing at the thought of long pants.

There's so much to fill you in on, and I can't wait to celebrate the new blog look with my very first giveaway, something I just know you'll adore.

Be back tomorrow with all the details! xoxo

Half a Year

Six months ago early, early this morning we met our beautiful valentine, the girl now known as Mac's "Mary Brooksie."

We loved you even before we knew you, Mary Brooks. Every day you captivate us even more; "smitten" doesn't begin to cover it.

We can't imagine the world without you in it, and I'd never want to.

Happy half birthday to the baby who's turned us inside out.

To the sweet pea who monopolizes her brother's affections.

To the cheeks that belie her bottom-of-the-growth-chart status.

To the "mamama" and "dadada" babbler who holds our hearts.

To the lovely creature who has beguiled us in every way.

You are a brave bean, Mary Brooks. Thank you being so strong, for being both a fighter and a sweet little spirit.

Thank you for teaching me how to survive what I never knew I could - twice now. You're worth every ounce of "hard" we faced.

Same onesie, different Tigers

You make us so, so happy. Happier than it even makes sense to be. You bring our family a distinct brand of joy, and we couldn't get by without you.

Zero, two, four and six months

If I could freeze time for you, my cooing, grinning, snuggling little angel baby, I would do it in a heartbeat.

My smiling, six-month-old babies (Mac in 2010, MB now)

 Since I can't, let's just enjoy this day and all the days after it. Take your time growing up, Mary Brooks.

As Mac says, we "sure do love you, baby guh-wuhl."