I’m suspicious.

I think someone fed my baby a few adult-size spoonfuls of sugar sometime yesterday. Getting her to sleep was so far beyond ridiculous.
(“That so ‘dicious, it’s REdiculous.” -can you name that movie?)

I snuggled up in bed with her, and she nursed. She was so hungry to nurse… her back arching, her head rooting. She latched on and guzzled. I took a deep breath and relaxed. It wouldn’t be long now, and we’d both be asleep… fast, fast asleep.

I.
Was.
So.
Wrong.

You know when kittens nurse, how they use their paws to dig into their mamas? She is like a kitten. Correction: a tiger cub. She was a tiger cub last night, digging her palms into my skin and slowly making fists -which meant my skin was being pinched by the tiniest hands in this household.
OUCH!

A painful little alarm.
I switched sides. I tried patting her, rubbing her back.
She blew raspberries WHILE nursing (which was only cute the first 15 times).
I continued to switch sides, I softly blew in her face in an attempt to discourage all the spitting. She decided to try and talk while she nursed.
“Da-guh-da-guh-da-guh…”

“Alice… go so sleeeeeep,” her Dad said. He reached over to caress her crazy-haired head, and one little arm flew backward, landing on her Daddy’s face. She quickly rolled to look at him, quickly rolled back to me, rooted her head…
I scooped her up and held her tight, attempting to calm the crazy.

I’m seriously SUSPICIOUS that SOMEONE fed my baby mass amounts of sugar sometimes yesterday. And I solemnly swear that if and when it happens again, I will drop The Tiger Cub off at the Sugar Feeders house and let them try go through the Da-Guh Raspberries Game.

I slept very fitfully (as did the Alice) and dreamed that I was traveling in luxury with the cast from The Great Gatsby (which I haven’t even seen).
I woke up this morning with an aching body.

Today is promising to be lazy. At best, the kids and I will get all of the puzzles they dumped out onto their floor organized.
Again.
In the meantime, I give you Safe Alice (aka: what happens when Trenton -who is afraid of a lot of scary things in life -is left alone with baby Alice and he wants to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself):

I won’t lie… I wouldn’t complain if Trenton surrounded me with pillows and put a blanket on me. I’m tired.

You have to lean in REALLY close to hear her whimper, but it is WORTH it!

After getting her shots, Alice curled up on her Daddy and just whimpered so pathetically, and he would ask her, “Are you tired?”
She would whimper and drop her head.

The first time it was cute.
The second time it was adorable.
The third and fourth times, I realized I NEEDED to get a camera rolling on this.
And then she quit… but I was able to catch her doing it twice more. You just have to wait and be patient.
Not like you’re doing anything, right? You have time, right?

I was sitting in the waiting area of our Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor when the call came in.
My Dad wondered if Lacy would be home by 5:30… she had been invited to accompany Grandpa and Cousin Elly on a Journey.
To?
The TRUCK STOP!
They would make the journey on their bikes!

The thrill was almost too much for my little Lacy, who giggled with glee at the mention of THE Phone Call. I realized that Lacy had never gone so far on her bike, and we needed to stop on our way home from the Doctor and buy her a bike helmet.
(which of course meant that we had to buy TWO helmets because Trenton can’t be left out.)

We got home at 5:00. Lacy strapped her carefully selected helmet on (and applied a lot of make-up because you must be FABULOUS for journeys) and waited.

She perched herself at the end of the driveway and waited.

“Mom, did he forget?”
“Mom, you better call Grandpa.”
“Mom, you really need to call him.”

“Lacy, I’m not Grandpa’s Mom. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten.”
“Then WHEN, Mom?”
In what felt like an eternity (by Lacy’s standards) she finally caught a glimpse of… THEM.
“She bounded off her bike and into the house, running rampant around the yard, arms flailing, “THEY’RE COMING!”
Paul Revere would have been so proud.

“Them” was, of course, Aunt MariJoe, Cousin Elly, Cousin Kylie, Cousin Jens, and… GRANDPA!
Can you find them?

This was a big deal -a JOURNEY. JUST the big girl cousins. JUST Grandpa.

“Bye, Mom! Bye! I’ll miss you!”

I was worried that she wouldn’t hold up through the entire ride, but she DID. I’m so impressed.

Kylie and Jens came inside to play for a few minutes, but not before I could snap a picture of Jens all bundled up (his male-themed helmet is in the Coming Soon stage -it’s hard having only older sisters):

Not to be outdone by her mother’s cool passenger, Kylie had brought along a few of her own passengers:

I’m still pretty in-awe that my daughter made it all the way to the edge of town on her little training-wheel clad bike. I’m proud of her!
Here’s her “after” picture:

Thanks, Grandpa!
And, just in case you’re experiencing any negative emotions right now… here’s a quick cure from Alice Michelle:

You smiled.

Admit it…

I can’t believe it’s been six months.
I also can’t believe I haven’t had this girl in my life ALL OF THE TIME. She just makes sense with me. It’s like she’s always been there, even though she wasn’t.

Or maybe I’m just so sleep-deprived that I can’t recall my life before December. It’s likely.

She’s learning how to sit up. She refuses to take a bottle, even if it’s filled with Mama Milk. She loves feeling like she is part of our family (don’t leave her in the bouncer while the rest of us eat dinner or ELSE). She loves sleeping with Mom. Lacy is her favorite person in the whole world. When she’s upset, she uses the “D” syllable.
“Dadadada.”
When she’s irate, she uses the hard “B” syllable.
“BBBBBBBBBBbbbb.”
You really have to be here to hear it.

(Caption the top left picture. for fun.)
She loves sticking out her tongue. She loves blowing raspberries. She loves anything that crinkles -tissue paper, wrappers, toy plush books that make special crinkly noises. She loves HAIR and will reach out to feel it (or hold it hostage, if you’ve got enough).

She’s started sitting up. She’s started laughing.
Her favorite television show is Eebee Baby. Her favorite game is Patty-Cakes (use her feet. always her feet). She loves it when I hold her as tightly as I can and say, “You are LOVED!”

And she really really is.
LOVED.

MONTHS ago, for the first time in my little life I submitted something to a publisher.

I’m proud to present to ya’ll my very own, my very FIRST rejection letter:

So I was bummed for an hour or so, and I even tried to write about it on facebook.
“My very first rejection letter: proof that I’m brave enough to put myself out there no matter what… also? a good excuse to eat more chocolate.”
It wouldn’t post.
That’s right! My post about my rejection letter was rejected.
Welcome to my life.

Okay, that’s just being dramatic. My life isn’t always like that, but in that moment it certainly FELT that way. And I’m feeling a mixture of pride in myself for sending a piece of my work and life out there fully knowing that people could reject it, toss it in the garbage, and send back a thoughtless mass produced letter addressed to Ms. Alicia Deets.

They don’t know my life!

But I did it anyway. I DID IT. And there’s another part of me that takes the letter as a personal challenge. Like, “Oh YEAH?! Well, I’ll show YOU!”
And then there’s part of me that wants to go back to playing it safe…
A few weeks ago, Lacy put Alice on the couch on top of a blanket. She quickly rolled off the couch and hit her head on the metal part of her bouncer. She screamed and screamed. And the only person to rival her in tears was her older sister, Lacy Lou.
I doled out hugs at a record-breaking rate and then took a little time to teach Lacy about how to safely put baby down.
Apparently, the lesson took. I found Alice in a very safe place last night, but you know what? I think she hated it.

And I gotta admit: I hate padding myself with fear, knowing that if I never put myself out there, I’ll never be rejected.
Rejection is proof that I’m becoming fearless.
At eating more chocolate.

Last evening, I took the kids to great grandma’s to make s’mores. While there, my Dad called to tell me my brother and sister-in-law were in town for night, and we were invited to come up and visit.
After all was said and done, I walked through my door at 10:15 in the PM.
“Okay,” I said, “Time for PJs and prayer.”
My son trudged off into his bedroom. I waited for him to emerge.
I waited.
We waited.
The girls all waited.
I called out… no answer.
I called out again… no answer.

I finally realized there was no getting around it, and I got up (hate that).

PJs are sometimes too much to ask for, Mom.
Look at that serene, worn out little face:

And those cute little cock-eyed legs:

I left my oldest daughter to herself while I went to my bed to nurse Alice Michelle. And I, of course, fell asleep. I woke up just after 1 am, put the baby in her bed, turned off all the lights, and panicked a little when I couldn’t FIND my daughter.
Not in her bed.
Not on the couches.
Not on my floor.
Not on the floor by her Polly Pockets (a frequent favorite sleeping spot).

And then, THERE she was:

Sleeping away in perfect peace right next to her brother.
Why? WHY?
Because, Lacy of the Future, YOU LOVE HIM!

A few weeks ago, she was singing a song to me.
“I’m full of love.
Full of LOVE!
I love my mother and father!
And my brother!”

Then she stopped and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “I don’t really love him… that’s just what the song says.”
“You don’t love him?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” she sighed deeply, “He always watches POWER Rangers. and I HATE that show.”
Love DENIED.
Take that, Rangers.

One of my older piano students (a grown up) recently said to me, “We all need one person in our lives that we can just lose our tempers on, say whatever comes out of our mouth -even if it’s swearing -and know that when we’re done yelling at them, they will still love us and forgive us because they know our hearts.”

I know that I have that in my Father in Heaven because I HAVE yelled at Him, and in return I felt nothing but overwhelming love… almost as if He’s glad I’ve let my guard down enough to be wholly honest with Him.
But guess who I don’t have that in? My husband.

When he came home from work that day, I brought it up.
“I don’t feel comfortable making any kind of mistake with you,” I said.
“I’ll try harder to be more —” he started to respond, but I cut him off.
“The thing is, I don’t think YOU feel comfortable like that with me either.”
He tilted his head in thought and then agreed that yes, he didn’t feel comfortable making mistakes in front of me or making mistakes and having to tell me about them.

I took his sweet bearded face in my hands, looked into his eyes -much to the awkwardness of all involved -and I said, “I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you.”
He chuckled.
“Say it back to me….” I prodded, “Do it…. SAaAaaaaay it……”
“I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you.”
“Even if it’s hard,” I said.
“Even if it’s hard,” he echoed.
“Even if it’s scary,” I said.
“Even if it’s scary,” he echoed.
“Even if it hurt…” I said.
Immediately, his eyes filled with fear.
“Have I hurt you?” He asked.

Oh, guys.

We have a long way to go. A looooong way to go.
I want to be SO MUCH for my husband, and I hate that I go over budget sometimes. So I hide it for as long as I can.
And that’s just a minor offense!
He’s the same way.

But the more we offend and are honest about it… The better our marriage is.
I’m serious! My husband and I fight more than we ever have, but our connection is more equal, much deeper, and it’s vulnerable and real.

You know what I don’t want? I don’t want to be the couple in their 80s with our hair all grey and/or gone who believe that the wife is somehow “The Better Half.” That doesn’t appeal to me in the least. I want to be his equal half, his other half, his missing half.
But better?
No, thanks.

We’re both trying to weed our marriage and home of shame and fear. It isn’t easy, and we’re pretty clueless as to THE HOW of it all, but we both know that somewhere in the Bible it’s written, “Clulessness begat Prayer.”
Right?
I’m pretty sure it’s there somewhere…
(The only recent picture I can find of BOTH of us together. Can’t seem to catch us without at least one kid sandwiched between us these days. Not that I’m complaining. Kid Sandwiches are the best.)

Last night, we had a Family Home Evening on Music and what a gift it is. We talked about how music can be something to help us feel better when we’re feeling badly.
I played different songs for the kids and asked them how the songs made them feel.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Guys,” I said, “There’s SO many other feelings that just ‘good.’ You can say, ‘silly, crazy, goofy, happy, strong, sad, yucky’ -think about what the song makes you want to do!”

After that it was a free-for-all.
“It makes me want to take a horse in a horse pen and grab his feet and FFFFFFrow it outta there!”
Okay, Trent… whatever floats your Feelings Boat.

After listening to several songs, I told the kids we were going to make a CD for our family. We were going to fill it full of songs that make our family feel good.
“When one of us is feeling badly, we can listen to the music and it will help,” I said, “What should we call the CD?”
“Feeling Good Music,” Lacy said.
“Jeep Radio!” said Trenton.

Feeling Good Jeep Radio.
It’s our album.
I want to share it with you.

#1) I Am His Daughter Nicole Sheahan -added by Lacy and Alicia
#2) Made In America Toby Keith -added by Lacy and Trenton
#3) Red Solo Cup Toby Keith -added by Lacy and Trenton
#4) What Makes You Beautiful The Piano Guys -added by everyone
#5) Folsom Prison Blues (The Voice Performance) Midas Whale added by Trenton
#6) Grace Kelly MIKA -added by Alicia
#7) Walk Like a Man Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons -added by Lacy
#8) A Little More Country Than That Easton Corbin -added by Alicia
#9) Pecos Bill Roy Rogers -added by Lacy and Trenton
#10) Corn Fed Shannon Brown -added by Lacy
#11) Beautiful Boy Ben Harper -added by Mom because it reminds her of Trenton
#12) If I Had $1,000,000 Barenaked Ladies -added by Lacy and Trenton
#13) Chicken Fried Zac Brown Band -added by Lacy and Trenton
#14) One Woman Man Josh Turner -added by Danny, approved by Alicia
#15) Eye Candy Josh Turner -added by Danny
#16) Fallen Angels Black Veil Brides -added by Danny and Trenton
#17) In the End Black Veil Brides -added by Danny and Trenton
#18) I’d Rather Be With You Joshua Radin -added by Danny
#19) Colors (Acoustic Version) Amos Lee -added by Danny
#20)Kung Fu Fighting Carl Douglas -added by Alicia FOR the kiddos

Alice didn’t approve of any of our antics and screamed throughout the entire activity.
Our taste in music isn’t up to her standards.

This weekend, I flew the coop. I packed up my littlest chicken and flew the coop.
I met up with a gaggle of hens, some I knew, some I didn’t (but do now!) and I knew the weekend wouldn’t be complete without Oreos. I bought three family-sized packages and scattered them throughout the cabin we crashed at.

I came home yesterday with three half-eaten packages of Oreos. I made it to the last hour of church, and as my kiddos rushed to my side as church let out, I promised them an Oreo once we got to the car together.
Within seconds of being handed their promised Oreo, they were begging through chocolate-cookie covered teeth for “just ONE more, Mom!”
“After your dinner is gone…”

I came home and put one package of Oreos away in the snack cupboard. I put it on top of the Strawberry Milk Mix. On TOP.
And then I went outside and unloaded a few more items. I went to put a second half-eaten package away in the snack cupboard and I found the first package of Oreos by the SIDE of the Strawberry Milk. My daughter sauntered into the kitchen.
Guilty has a certain, special sort of aura that Mothers can sniff out from under a pile of dirty diapers.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked, shifting from one foot to the other and looking in every direction but one: AT me.
“You stole an Oreo!” I said.
“HOW DID YOU KNOW?!”
“What consequence should we have?” I asked.
“No piano for three days,” she flippantly suggested.
“No Oreos after dinner,” I firmly replied.
“WHAT?” She threw her hands in the air, “No FAIR!”
“If you make an Oreo mistake, you get an Oreo Consequence,” I said, not unaware of my hips and bulging stomach and the TRUTH I was speaking.
She threw a little fit, and life went on. I told her maybe she might be able to have one, single, solitary Oreo right before bed… we would see how the rest of the day went.

The rest of the day went swimmingly, so around 9 pm, I gave each child one Oreo each and packed them up to go visit Grandma and Grandpa really quickly.
I apologize once again to Mom and Dad for the late hours.

“You promised one before bed, remember?” My daughter asked.
“This is the one before bed.”
“So I had THREE Oreos today?” She asked.
“Right. One for a treat after church, one as a mistake, and one before bed.”
“How did you know I stole? I was so quiet and I even close the door when I snuck.”
“I’m not going to tell you how I knew!” I laughed.
“Why?” She whined.
“Because! Then you’ll use it later to sneak more stuff!”
“ugh,” she groaned, “Please will you tell me?”
“No.”
As we drove up to my parent’s house, her voice spoke up again, softer this time.
“Mom? I need to tell you about a mistake again.”
“Just a minute, I’m working with Sissy…”
“Mom.”
“Mom.”
As I got out of the car, she tugged on my hand…, “MMMMMMommmmmmmmmmmm.”
She meant business.
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you about another mistake.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Actually, there was two more Oreos,” she held two fingers up in front of two terrified eyes.

And I BURST out laughing. I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it.
And she BURST into tears.

I scooped her up because she’s still light enough to do that with, and I put her on the hood of our ’98 jeep (tanker).
“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“I am SO AFRAID!” She said.
I soothed her and talked to her about mistakes and making not-so-great choices and about honesty and bravery and doing things that scare us.
When her tears dried up, she went on to confess, “I took three Oreos. I snuck so quiet to my bed and held so still so you wouldn’t see and I was behind my sleeping bag and my pillow and I was eating and breathing and you didn’t even know.”

Her honesty is inspiring, and I’d like to take this chance to come clean.
Mom,
I took at least 600 cookies and ate them in the bathroom or my room.
And I also ate probably 20 cough drops, just for fun. And not to rat anyone out, but I had help. And his name rhymes with Bike.

Dad,
I took at least 200 Little Debbie snacks and ate them without asking. I mastered the art of taking a package out without letting the plastic wrap make any noise. In a small way, I’m sort of proud of that. I mean, those things are really noisy.

Also: the numerical figures I gave are probably on the “plus” side of the actual numbers, but I’ve found erring in the way of awfulness to be key. I mean, what if I shot low and said I took 6 Little Debbie snacks? I’d spend the rest of my life RAKED OVER WITH GUILT wondering if it was more!
So let’s stick with the figures I gave you.
Apparently Lacy saying, “So I had THREE Oreos today?” just riddled the poor girl with guilt… because she knew it was 5.

And here’s to today: It’s not quite ten and already Trenton is begging for Moreos… a cute smash-up of “more” and “Oreos” which I believe fits awesomely.
Brad and Angelina belong together JUST AS MUCH as do More and Oreos.