Thirteen Things I’ve Learned From A Toddler
No need for a drumroll.

Well, maybe just a little one.

1. You can search the world over, but you will never find a food more perfect than Cheetos.

2. Finding Nemo is a crowning cinematic achievement, regardless of what you think about the whole Marlin / Dory thing.

3. Potty training? Overrated. Clearly we should all just strap on some form of sackcloth and go about our business (and Our Business), because trips to the bathroom are really nothing more than an interruption to valuable playtime.

4. There’s no such thing as too many stuffed animals in the bed. You might foolishly think that 2 or 3 is plenty – but 15 is actually much more desirable.

5. Waking up grumpy is not genetic. Because if it were, I’d have sullen child stomping down the stairs every morning. But his ingrained personality trumps my genetic code every time – and he’s all, “HEY, MAMA! HEY, DADDY! HOW YOU THIS MORNIN’? DID YA SLEEP GOOD? WANT WAFFLE WITH SYRUP?” And I’m all, “GRRRRRRRRRRRR.” But then ultimately it’s hard to growl when a three year old throws his arms around your legs and squeezes.

6. It’s nearly impossible to discipline a child and utter the phrase “obedience brings blessing; disobedience brings consequences” without feeling God saying, “And yeah, Mama – that means you, too.”

7. Which reminds me: YOU PEOPLE SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT BEFORE I HAD A CHILD! I thought I was going to be doing the teaching…I had no idea that I would be learning the lessons. Daily.

8. Hearing “What’s that?” repeatedly does take a toll on one’s patience. And mental health. And demands a period of solitude in order to recover.

9. There is an instant, unbreakable connection between grandparents and grandchildren. And it really has nothing to do with candy. On some level Alex completely senses his grandparents’ complete and utter devotion to him. And vice versa.

10. When you were little and sick and your mama said, “I wish it were me and not you,” she really did mean it. I never, ever thought that I would wish that I could throw up in someone else’s place, but for the little man? Totally.

11. Daddies are clearly way cooler than mamas because daddies make things crank and cut and drill and flame.

12. And mamas are pretty good, too, especially for taking naps and fixing boo-boo’s and cuddling before bedtime.

13. Whether you have four children, no children, sixteen children, or one child – there is no greater earthly blessing than family. That I know for sure.

I just started a new Bible study that Heather has put together, and all the girls who are participating have been emailing introductions to the group so that we know a little about each other before we start posting this weekend.

By the by, I’m the crazy Southern participant. Sort of a stereotype, actually, but usually good for some comic relief.

Anyway, several of the women are writers. Not the way I’d say, “I’m a writer” and then collapse into a fit of giggles – they are for real, working-on-a-novel / get-paid-for-it-and-everything writers. My writing has never earned me one red dime – though my Southern lit. professor in college really liked a paper I did comparing The Color Purple to Ellen Foster, and she said she might like to enter it in a contest, but she never, you know, did.

It’s a rich writing legacy here at BooMama, is all I’m sayin’.

I’m always a little awed by people who can write fiction, because I SO cannot. I’ve talked about my limited skillz before. But thinking about these women who can and do write imaginative works reminded me for the second time in the last week about my college creative writing class.

Y’all.

Let’s just say that if it hadn’t been a requirement for an English degree, I would’ve never. ever. in a million years. taken. it.

Here’s what I remember – and Laura and Daph can fill in what I can’t recall because they took the same class from the same professor (but mercifully not at the same time I did – or I would’ve been forced into seclusion or at the very least would’ve donned a wig – the Raquel Welch collection, perhaps? – to cope with the sheer embarrassment of it all).

We sat in a semi-circle, and our appropriately bespectacled professor sat on one end of it. The first part of the semester we wrote poems, which I have TOTALLY blocked from my memory. Because have I mentioned how literal I am? And you want me to compare a tree to honesty? Why? Why would I do that? What does one have to do with the other? Why would we care?

You can see why I might have some problems crafting a poem.

The second part of the semester we wrote a short story, and it had to be 15 pages long. I cranked it out over the course of a weekend – I just wanted it DONE – and at the time, I was pretty proud of myself for completing it. Fiction is not, as they say, my thang.

I wish I could explain the mental block I have when it comes to that genre of writing. All I know to tell you is that I have no imagination. I have never sat around and dreamed of being someone else. I have never thought, “Gosh, I wonder what it would be like to live in New York,” and then created an imaginary world to accompany my musings. Because, hello? I don’t live in New York. I’ve never wondered what it would be like if I switched lives with one of my friends. Because you know what? I can’t. And don’t even get me started about acting, because the attraction of pretending to be someone else in a made-up situation is COMPLETELY lost on me.

I’m not so much of a skit person, if you were wondering.

So back to creative writing. I wrote a story about a girl (who was really just me with dark hair) who was really close friends with a guy (who was really just Bubba in a different fraternity because at the time he had transferred to another college and I missed him terribly), and the guy was killed in a car wreck (sorry, Bubba – something dramatic had to happen…I couldn’t just have us riding around singing like we did in real life…that would’ve only gotten me to page four), and then dark-haired me was very sad, and then she went back to the Bubba-esque character’s fraternity house, and sat in a rocking chair, and made her peace with everything.

Gripping, isn’t it? And not AT ALL cheesy.

That’s not even the worst of it. The worst part is that we had to make copies FOR EVERYONE IN CLASS and then READ IT ALOUD, and when I finished reading it, here is the absolute nicest thing my professor could say about it:

“Well, um. Okay. We’ve all had close friendships like that, haven’t we?”

Really, at that point, any back-of-my-mind questions I had about writing professionally were pretty much done forever.

But professional or no, what I love about blogging is that I don’t have to pretend. I can be me, for better or worse. I don’t have to create a person with a different name and dream up all the details of her life, because HAVE MERCY I can hardly remember how old I am, much less figure out how Laurel Marie St. Clair, the daughter of European royalty but currently “toughin’ it” in the big city to prove to her daddy that she is a Serious Businesswoman, is going to meet her handsome prince in chapter 10.

And that last sentence? It exhausted me.

So hats off to all you fiction writers. I don’t know how you do it.

But I hope I get to read it one day.

Since I’m finally following through on some of the recommendations that y’all have made in the way of TV shows, CD’s, etc., I can now wholeheartedly recommend four words for you to commit to memory before you embark on your next Target, Walmart, Family Christian, Amazon, WHEREVER shopping spree:

Watermark: A Grateful People

GLORY! :-)

Addie recommended it to me months ago, and honestly, it’s the best CD I’ve heard in a long time.

GIT IT. GIT IT RIGHT NOW.

Thank you so much for your prayers for Lauren and Norris – their little boy’s funeral is today at 2:30. And for all of you who have commented and emailed requesting their address, I have that info for you. I’ll post it in the comments of this post so that it doesn’t turn up in search engines. Please continue to pray for them.

It’s always surprising to me – though it shouldn’t surprise me at all – that summer can get away from me if I’m not careful. Our “lazy days” with no plans quickly turn into a calendar filled with playdates, and commitments, and projects, and trips. Because I constantly battle busy-ness, sometimes I have to deliberately slow down, take stock, and breathe.

There are a couple of things coming up at church, and I need to plan. I need some uninterrupted time with Alex (the child? At Plattapalooza? Not a fan of waiting in line or taking turns. We need to work on that). I need to sit on my front porch and drink diet Coke and watch the moon creep up over the trees. I need to hang out with my husband without trying to fold laundry or make lists or blog at the same time.

In short, I need to get away from this computer for a couple of days. A girl can’t keep up the pace of posting sixteen times a day without an occasional break, you know. :-)

I’ll see y’all Wednesday-ish.

About an hour ago I got a frantic phone call from my sister-in-law, Janie. Janie is always so laid-back and calm that I knew immediately something horrible had happened. Sadly, I was right.

She called to request prayer. Lauren and Norris, two of Janie and Stacy’s closest friends, have a weekend place on a river in Arkansas. Their precious little boy, Norris, drowned there today. He was their oldest child – six years old. Just typing that brings tears to my eyes.

Please lift them up in prayer as you feel led. And if you think about it, pray for them in your Sunday School classes and churches tomorrow. They are an adorable, fun-loving family – and I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the loss and the grief and the heartache that they’re facing right now.

Pray for Janie and Stacy, too – especially that they would have incredible discernment about how to comfort and minister to Lauren and Norris during this horrific time.

I know that there are some fierce prayer warriors who read this blog, and it means so much to be able to put this request before you. Thanks, y’all.