Exhibit A

Can I make a confession? Sometimes I'm overconfident in my role as a communicator. Not so much in the role of daughter, wife, or mother - but as someone who likes words (and uses them a lot) I feel pretty good about my ability to communicate with people. Which is probably why I tend to OVER-communicate when it comes to my own children. I've just always wanted my kids to feel like they can ask me anything, and count on receiving honest and sincere answers.

If you've been a parent for more than 45 minutes, you know that this is a bad, BAD parenting technique.


Allow me to share with you a bit yesterday's conversation with Ella and Evie:


Where do babies come from?


(Oops! Don't hit the brakes...) Um, what did you ask, Ella?


Where. Do. Babies. Come. From?


Oh. Well, you know the answer to that, right? When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, and God decides they are ready, He puts a baby in the mommy's tummy. (That's a good, honest answer that ought to make her happy.)


I know God puts it in your tummy, but HOW does He put it in your tummy?


Um... Uh... (Stall! STALL!!!! Maybe she'll forget what she asked.)


Mommy?


Mommy??


MOMMY?!


Yes, Ella?


HOW does God put a baby in your tummy?


Oh. Well... (OK, what was that one answer you heard someone suggest that one time? Just go with that. And make it snappy.)


Mommiesanddaddiesgiveeachotheraspecialhugandwhentheyhugitmakesababy.


What?


(Crud.) I said, 'Mommies and daddies give each other a special hug, and when they hug it makes a baby.'


Oh! Like Daddy hugs me?


(Oy.) Not exactly.


I hugged Luke one time. Do I have a baby in my tummy?


(Ack!) NO!


(Oh wait, stay calm. You're a cool, honest mom.) I mean, no - it's a very, very special hug and you only hug like that when you're a mommy and daddy and you're ready to have a baby.


Does the daddy pick the mommy up when he hugs her?


(I suppose laughing now would be inappropriate.) Uhhh... I guess he can.


I saw Daddy pick you up one time. He likes to wrestle with you, too.


Yeah... (I'm going to KILL him.)


I like hugs.


I know you do. I, uh, like hugs too. (Wrap this up.) But no special hugs until you're all grown up, okay girls?


(CHANGE THE SUBJECT!!!)


And hey - no growing up too fast! You kids are getting so big! I can't believe how tall you're all getting!!


Don't worry, Mommy. We won't grow up too fast, because we don't want you to get old. Because then you're going to die, right?


Right, Mommy?


(Dear Lord, this parachute is actually a knapsack.) Yes, Evie, I'm going to die.


But don't worry, Mommy! When you die, you're going to heaven, right?


Uh, right. Yes, someday Mommy will go to heaven. (I'm halfway to dying right now...)


Will you see Gigi in heaven?


Yep, Gigi will be there. (Stick to great-grandma. Please.)


Because everybody who dies goes to heaven, right Mommy?


(Ugh.) Well... everybody who knows Jesus will go to heaven. (Please, PLEASE stop there. I'm so not ready to explain the concepts of heaven and hell to a five-year old.)


Yeah, I know who Jesus is. We talk about Him at church all the time. He did all kinds of cool stuff.


(Deep breath. You don't want to miss this opportunity!) Well, yes He did, Ella. But it's not just about knowing Who He is. It's important to actually ask Jesus to come and live in your heart.


I did that, Mommy!!


Yep, you sure did, Evie. Do you remember when you prayed with Mommy and Daddy and asked Jesus into your heart? That was a very special day. (The BEST.)


I asked Jesus into my heart too, Mommy.


You did, Ella? When? (And how did I miss that?)


Just now. I said it really fast in my head so you couldn't hear me. I'm ready to go to heaven now!

(Ugh. Where is our exit?!?) Well Ella, we don't just ask Jesus to live in our hearts so we can go to heaven. We ask Him into our hearts so that He'll forgive us for our sins and help us to make wise choices.


Yeah, I pray for Jesus to help me obey.


That's great, Ella! (I just wish you wouldn't talk down your shirt when you're praying. This whole 'Jesus-lives-in-my-heart' thing is too hard to explain to a literal-minded 6 year old.)


It's doesn't work, though. Naughty Jesus!


(Okay, forget it. There's the exit anyway.) Hey, who wants to get a treat?!

O Holy Night

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior's birth.

I love the artistic license we take in imagining Christ's birth - the sweet Christmas nativity displayed to us since childhood, complete with sleeping baby and lowing cattle. Most likely, it was a much dirtier and intense experience than our imagination cares to reflect on. Still, there is no doubt this was a truly holy night, marking the arrival of not just any child, but the only child ever sent as a suitable Savior to the world.

Was it a bright, starry night? We don't really know. It could have been cloudy and misting, for all the detail Luke's gospel gives us. But it certainly became a brightly shining night to a certain group of shepherds working the late shift in the hills of Bethlehem, when God's angels greeted them with news of the manger-dwelling Christ child. Within hours of His birth, those shepherds were proclaiming His arrival to the world... the first missionaries.

Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

Sin isn't new. It's not something we've managed to create or enforce through our current culture, despite what your political views might be. Satan has never needed to be creative. The sin we find ourselves languishing to today is the same sin introduced way back in the Garden of Eden - the belief that we somehow know better than God. Most sin stems from humanity wrestling for a place over divinity.

But then this child appears, miraculously born to a virgin teenaged girl and placed in a manger of all things, and suddenly humanity is invited in - not to share divinity with God, but sonship with the Heavenly Father. The "soul felt it's worth" because God isn't just about salvation. He is about relationship - and He desires, if you can believe it, a relationship with imperfect, languishing, prideful us. He chose to adopt us as His sons and daughters because in His eyes, we are worthy.

A thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

When we truly understand and embrace what God has done - when we truly accept the undeserved love and salvation He extends to us - can we be anything but thrilled? He is the hope that our weary souls long for, whether you're experiencing that hope for the first time, or you're being refreshed by it once again. We rejoice because it's Christmas morning, because our adopted Father invites us through His Son to cast the burdens we've been carrying - marriage, children, illness, disappointment, fear, and so much more - into His divine hands.

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices. O night divine. O night, when Christ was born.

Respond to His great love with worship, not because He demands it, and not because it's "part of the deal," but because your heart is overflowing with gratitude for what He's done. Fall on your knees or stand up and shout; sing a song of praise or whisper a prayer of thanksgiving. But whatever you do, join those Bethlehem angels in giving praise to a God who, on this most divine and most holy of nights, began the process for your salvation and mine by sending His Son to be that baby in the manger we celebrate this Christmas.


May you have a blessed and Merry Christmas,

She Just About Cracked This Nut

In honor of my mom's birthday this weekend, my mom, my sisters, my three daughters and I went to see a local performance of The Nutcracker. I wasn't sure how the girls would do with such a long show, but they were all really excited about the performance. Evie was particularly thrilled. She just loves her ballet classes, and she couldn't wait to see all of the dancers perform.

Unfortunately, I didn't adequately prepare her in terms of ballet etiquette. Therefore, below is a synopsis of the running conversation we had DURING the Nutcracker performance. I just had to record it for posterity.

*************************************************************************************

She starts out on my lap, sitting up as tall as she can and trying not to miss a thing...

What are they doing?

Are they dancing?

Is there going to be any talking? Why is nobody talking?

Over time, she slumps down and starts sighing loudly...

This is kind of boring. Miss Ellen said there would be butterflies. I don't see any butterflies.

Is this the show with Clara? I saw her on the Wonderpets. Remember when the Wonderpets saved the Nutcracker?

Where's Clara?

Sitting up again...

Is she Clara?

What did that man just give to Clara?

Mommy, what's a nutcracker?

Who is that? Why did he break Clara's nutcracker?

He's a mean boy!

There's a lot of dancing, isn't there Mommy?

Half-lounging, with her leg draped over the next seat...

I want to see the mice.

Where are the mice?

Are the mice coming? They were on the Wonderpets.

And up...

Are those the mice?

Is that boy a ballerina?

That's so funny, Mommy. Boys can't be ballerinas!

What happened?

Did he die? Did that mouse die?

Is he going to heaven now?

Waving frantically through several performances in the Land of Sweets...

Mommy! Mommy! It's Miss Sarah! See her dancing?

Where did Miss Sarah go?

Oh, I see her!

Where did she go?

Oh, there she is!

Is that Miss Sarah?

Right there? Is that her?

There she is, Mommy!

She's now at full attention on my lap, and I can feel her flexing her fanny to the beat of the music. No joke. Left cheek. Right cheek. Left cheek. Right... Left... Right. Left. Right. Leftrightleftrightleftright...

Oh Mommy! It's the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy! I love the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy!

Is she the Sugar Plum Fairy?!? She's so pretty!

I want to be a ballerina when I grow up.

I know how to do a pirouette.

Tussling over the flower we had for Miss Sarah...

It's my turn to hold the flower, Ella!

I'm not putting it in your face, Mommy.

Can we give Miss Sarah the flower now?

What about now?

Now do we give her the flower?

I want to give her the flower.

Ooops! I dropped the flower, Mommy.

She decides to stand now, but she can't see the dancers. She sits in the seat next to me, and still can't see. Now she's off to sit with Mimi, who in exchange sends Emily down my way.

The twin thing is so weird. She's a flexer, too.

Yes, really.

Left. Right. Left. Right...

Whine, Whine...Wine

Hmmmm. Seems some time has passed since my last post. If you're wondering why that is, it's because there's NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT MY LIFE. This is a critical problem. I like looking at the humorous side of raising four children - and living with five (ahem) - but there just hasn't been much to laugh about since August.

No tragedies, no traumas... just not funny.

Needless to say, I'm back in the dark place. Not that my whole life is dark. I'm back to teaching two days a week and I love being in the classroom. Something about it just feeds my soul. Grading papers? Dealing with slap-crazy, totally insane, where's-my-padded-room parents? Not so much. But I am totally and utterly passionate about what I get to do in that classroom.

My marriage? Pretty good, considering we're in the midst of football season. I haven't seen much of the hubby since my last post, but I haven't had to set myself on fire to get his attention yet either. Auburn is undefeated so I'd say we're doing pretty good and "War Eagle," thank you very much.

The house? I've got a ton of unfinished summer projects in the works, but it's still standing, it's relatively clean, and Christmas decor covers a multitude of sins. I can't complain.

Family? Friends? Well, there's never enough time in the day to be the daughter, sister, or friend I want to be, but I've got some pretty amazing people in my life who let me pick up in the relationship wherever we've left off - even if it's months between conversations.

Children?

Hmmm. The children.

The children. Sweet Lord, how do I even begin to address the children?







See? I got nothin'. This is where it's just DARK.

I am really struggling in the Mommy-role these days. I'm probably the only mom in the carpool line who cried when the teacher wished me a "Happy Thanksgiving Break!" And dear heavens, Christmas is right around the corner. No school for them. No school for me. I told my dad the other day that if I go missing over the holidays not to come looking for me. I don't want to be found.

The problem - and you've probably guessed it from the title of this post - is whining. My children are extraordinarily whiny. And there are four of them. I wake up most mornings to my nearly five-year old twins laying on the floor by my bed, rolling around, whining "Huuuuuuuuuuuungryyyyyyyyyyyyy. Huuuuuuuuuuuuuungryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy." Once breakfast is over, their mantra increases in volume until, by the end of the day it's "HUUUUUUUUUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! HUUUUUUUUUUUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

And before you contact the Department of Child and Family Services, yes, I feed my children - multiple times a day.

Of course Ella, who is now six, is the master whiner. She's a bit more theatrical than her sisters, so her whining usually involves a series of acts.

"Can I have a snack, Mommy?"

"Not right now, Ella. We're about to eat dinner."

"Yes! I want a snack RIGHT NOW! (foot stomp) You NEVER let us eat! (more foot stomping) It's so NOT FAIR! (now she's throwing herself on the floor) I'M STARVING!!!! (she throws in an "arrghh" of frustration to punctuate her point)"

And then, unfortunately, there's the three-year old boy - who's going to whine simply by virtue of the fact that he's three. And he has mentors.

I've got to tell you that I really feel like I've tried everything to shut down the whining. First of all - and most importantly - I've never, ever given in to the demands of whining children. Which makes me wonder, "Why do they keep whining?!?!" They get time-outs, vinegar water, toys taken away, TV privileges revoked... and still they whine.

I'm in a really dark place. I'm one discouraged mommy. I knew that motherhood would be extremely difficult when I started - I wasn't delusional going in. But I have some really strong-willed children - you can ask any one of my friends, family-members, or babysitters. And I've lost my humor somewhere along the way, because I can't find pleasure in motherhood. It's work, and that work just gets more and more intense with every passing stage.

Can you give me some hope? Does someone out there in blogland have some sage or brilliant advice to offer me? Please - tell me how to stop the whining before I'm numbing myself with my own good wine!

The Great Debater

As the summer wears on, with nary a first day of school in sight, I find myself engaged in more and more ridiculous battles with my eldest. Seriously, this girl will argue any point, any time, just for the sake of killing time. And without school to break up the days, there's a lot of time to kill. Of course, I have to admit that my Ella-apple didn't fall far from either parental tree, since both my husband and I not only engage Ella in debate, but we actually try to win.

In my defense, though, sometimes winning counts. Like when Ella walked into the house a few weeks ago carrying a dead bunny.

...I'm sorry. Let me pause for a moment while you re-read that sentence...

She walked into the house carrying a dead bunny.

OK, maybe you grew up on a farm and this seems like no big deal. Me? I don't do dead nature. EVER.

And since I don't do dead nature, I did what any good, non-farming, suburban mom would do: I ran away from her screaming, "GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!!!"

And Ella, the Great Debater, stood there with her bunny corpse in hand arguing, "But Mom, it's fine! See? It's fine!"

I'm not sure if I won the argument, but I finally convinced her - from several rooms away - to put the bunny back where she found it. And I DEFINITELY won the hand-washing battle. I just wish they still made lye.

Especially since our visit to the pool last week when Ella announced, in a very loud voice, "I NEED TO GO POTTY RIGHT NOW, MOMMY." Since I don't do dead nature OR public pool restrooms, I sent her off to take care of business on her own. Moments later, I saw her strolling by in search of her water bottle.

"Ella, I thought you had to go potty."

"I already went."

"You did? That was fast."

Too fast. So I felt it necessary to ask a list of obvious questions.

"Did you go in the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"On the potty?"

"Yes."

"Did you take off your bathing suit?"

"No, I didn't need to."

The fellow parent standing within ear shot started choking on his hot dog.

"Ella, go get in the pool right now."

"I don't want to swim, Mommy."

"NOW, Ella."

"I want a snack."

"GO GET IN THE POOL RIGHT NOW, ELLA."

She finally got in the pool. It's gross, I know, but I'd like to believe that chlorine is like a modern-day lye.

But gross or not, sometimes I engage in battles that I don't need to win - I just really want to. Like today, when Ella told me to take a left instead of going straight.

"I know where I'm going, honey. I need to go straight."

"No, Mom! This way is a shortcut. You need to turn!"

"Nope, I need to go straight."

"Well, when I'm sixteen and I can drive and I have a car [a grand assumption on her part], I'm going to go that way."

Trying to diffuse the pointless argument, I responded, "Okay, Ella. That sounds good. And you know what honey? I think you are one super-awesome kid."

"I AM NOT AN AWESOME KID!"

"No, you are Ella. You're an awesome kid. I think you're amazing."

"I AM NOT, MOMMY! I'M NOT AWESOME AND I DON'T DO MAGIC!"

Huh? "You know Ella? You're right. You don't do magic."

I figure I've got to let the kid win once in awhile...

If Life Gives You Lemons, I'm Guessing She'll Charge You

There are only two days a year when I demand complete organization from myself: the first day of school and the last day of spring cleaning. (New Year's Day was supposed to be a third, but I gave up the dream when I married my husband and discovered that his bowl games and my obsessive compulsive disorder don't mesh.) I try to give myself a bit of grace on the other 363 days of the year.

Since organizationally I totally missed the first day of school, I took this year's spring cleaning very seriously. VERY. SERIOUSLY. I printed out last year's two-page typed list of chores, updated it to three, and assigned everything to fit into a two-week cleaning schedule. The list is pretty important, because I really like being able to check off each chore accomplished:
Scrub and disinfect the trashcans (check - GROSS!!!)
Move the refrigerator and vacuum underneath (check - Add "call the chiropractor" to the list.)
Touch-up paint the downstairs (check - Keep the paint out. Ty just walked by with a Popsicle.)
Wash the windows and wipe down all the woodwork (check - I get one lousy check mark for two day's worth of work???)
You get the whole crazy, ugly picture...
My plan was to host a garage sale at the culmination of this cleaning rampage, because I was hoping to net enough money to buy a comfy reading chair.

The problem with cleaning a house that has four children in it, unfortunately, is that while I was waging war against a battalion of dust bunnies under the fridge, a nuclear bomb was going off in the family room. And while I washed one window, sticky hands were smudging up the other ten. I spent a lot of time re-cleaning the house and re-checking the list in my pursuit of one, perfectly organized, post-spring-cleaning day.

I also stretched my two-week schedule into three... which pushed the garage sale back to Memorial Day weekend... which is a really lousy time to host a garage sale.

Of course, I didn't realize my timing was bad going in. I was a woman on a mission to clean out and restore my house to its pre-child glory - and buy that coveted reading chair. So I dutifully posted an ad on Craigslist, made a collection of colorfully-ballooned and directionally-sound garage sale signs, and organized and tagged a yard-full of quality discard items. At the last minute, I picked up some Country Time Lemonade and a package of Styrofoam cups. My goal was to keep the kids away from my busy sale by distracting them with a lemonade stand.

Garage Sale Day dawned sunny and hot. Mom showed up early with bagels and shmear, which we ate quickly in preparation for the onslaught of early-morning customers. Since the sale started at 8:00, I wanted to be all set to go by 7:30. Ella, who it turns out was totally on board with the whole lemonade stand thing, was also ready by 7:30.

"Are people going to give us money for our lemonade?"

"Yes."

"How much money, Mommy?"

"Uh, how about a dime for each cup?"

"Nah. Let's do a quarter. We get to keep the money, right?"

"Sure, honey. Y'all can keep whatever money you make at your lemonade stand, and I'll keep the money I make at my garage sale. Sound good?"

"Yup!"

Ella made a sign for the stand while Emily and Evie took turns pouring lemonade into cups. And Ty tasted it for them. Several times. They were all pretty proud:

By 8:00, the kids had gone through about half their product and were starting to wonder if any customers actually planned to show up. Just then, Ella spotted our next-door neighbor taking a pajama-clad walk of shame to deliver her garbage down to the curb.

"Miss J! Miss J! Come buy our lemonade! Over here! Come buy some lemonade!!!"

The kids all took off in hot pursuit of the embarrassed Miss J, who managed to make it back into her house before they reached her with their lemonade-filled Styrofoam cups. Lucky for her, Ella spotted a car coming up the street before she could ring Miss J's doorbell.

"Hey, girls! It's customers! Customers! Hey! HEY!" She started chasing the car down the street. "Come buy our lemonade! And then go look at my mom's stuff!"

It turns out that no one in that particular car was interested in purchasing lemonade, or in looking at my stuff. However, Ella felt she was on to something and started shouting at every car that came down the street. Eventually, someone stopped and bought a cup - for $1.00. Then a couple more stopped. Miss J came back out - dressed now - with some money too. Even the garbage man hopped off his truck to buy a glass. Suddenly, the kids' lemonade stand was doing booming business. It didn't hurt that Nana, Papa, and Auntie M showed up about this time to enjoy a swig of Country Time.

Finally, FINALLY, one of the lemonade customers strolled up to peruse my garage sale goods. She picked up a chipped tea pot and handed me a dollar.

"There's a matching tea pot over here, if you'd like," I offered helpfully.

"I only have that dollar. I used my other change to get this lemonade."

"Oh."

"But I really like that second pot..."

"Oh, um, well here. I'll just give it to you, since that other one is chipped."

"Thanks!" She smiled and walked away just as I noticed the $20 bill hanging out of her pocket.

Awesome.

At least I had a second customer waiting in the wings. He'd already bi-passed the lemonade stand and moved on to inspect my junk. Evie, however, poured him a glass, chased him down, and handed him the drink anyway. Then she waited. Expectantly. Her four-year old stare (or was it the open hand) turned out to be more than he could handle, so he fished out a quarter, downed the lemonade, and headed back towards his car without making an offer on my kitchen table.

Double awesome.

By 10:00, my mom and I had dubbed our day "THE MOST DISMAL GARAGE SALE DAY IN ALL OF HISTORY." Meanwhile, the kids' stand was hailed by all (mainly Ella) to be a huge success. I decided to close up shop early and headed off to collect my signs. While I was gone, Mom reported, Ella kept chasing cars. Apparently, one of them laid a wheel trying to get away from the scary little girl and her lemonade.

Her hard-sale tactics worked, though. In the end, Ella and her team made $8.79 in lemonade sales. If you subtract what I spent on signage, my garage sale netted -$9.00.

"Wow, Mommy. We did a whole lot better than you did. We're really good at making money. A lot better than you. You didn't sell much at your garage sale. What can we buy with all our money? Can we buy noodles to swim with a the pool? That would be a fun way to spend our money, since it's ours and we get to keep it. You don't really have any money to keep, do you? 'Cause we made more money than you."

I'm thinking about setting her up with a stand at the front of our neighborhood and renegotiating our original deal. There may be more than one way to get my hands on a new reading chair. But stay away from our street if you're not interested in buying some lemonade. You're liable to get stuck with a drink you didn't want.

I Did and I Do

Ten years ago I took this man...

... for better and for worse...

No, it's not all coming up roses in our house. Let's face it: Four kids can make for some pretty intense arguments, especially when we're both worn out from the effort of parenting. But we committed early in our marriage to put God first and our relationship second. Everything else - even our children - comes after those two things. It's a conscious, daily decision to place one another's needs above the more urgent demands of our family, and it's rarely easy. But having children seems to have opened up a line of communication in our relationship that wasn't there in the early years, perhaps because we are so much more conscious of the decision we've made to protect our marriage. These days, there's a lot more of the "better" and a lot less of the "worse".

... for richer and for poorer...

If four kids make for some pretty intense arguments, then watch out for the fireworks created by our "financial discussions". But there are two important notes I'd like to make about this section in our marriage vows. First of all, PRAISE GOD I married a fiscally responsible man. We would be living in my parent's basement or in a cardboard box if I controlled the family finances. My husband is a wonderful steward of our money, and I am so grateful for the opportunities we've had to live comfortably, travel extensively, and give generously. Which leads me to my second note: Even though we've (and by we, I mean my husband) worked hard to be responsible with our money, we've (and by we, I mean I) made plenty of mistakes. Yet by God's grace, we are kept secure.

... in sickness and in health.

This is a tough one. We've faced some pretty hard challenges in this part of the vow, namely in the area of pregnancy. I battled infertility and miscarried three times before Ella was born. My actual pregnancies were miserable and life-threatening. The twin pregnancy in particular was brutal, and we spent a lot of time in the hospital. Our marriage really took a hit around that five-year mark. But the celebration today is that we've learned something from those difficult times. No doubt there is a future in which we will face these trials again. Sickness is often a part of life. But I'm determined to celebrate fifty years with the man I love, so we're going to learn from past mistakes, lean on each other in the future, and take our vitamins!

T, I take you to be my husband all over again. For better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, I am committed to love and respect you as my husband. Now, ten years later, I know so much more about what those vows mean, and the difficult choices they require. But I choose you joyfully, gratefully, and lovingly. Thank you for being my husband, my friend, my lover, and the father of our children. I can't wait to spend the next forty years by your side, celebrating the sweet blessings our life together will bring.

Happy Anniversary, babe. I love you!