Preschool and Social Media

I got a little choked up this morning at Super Coop's preschool open house.

And not entirely because he is growing up WAY.TOO.FAST.

And not entirely because he has THE. MOST. AMAZING. TEACHERS. in all the world. But seriously, he does. Is it possible to fall in love with sweet people any faster than I have with Ms. Catherine and Ms. Whitney?

We have always been blessed with the most incredible caregivers for Coop. Ms. Lori is an absolute one of a kind. She was, and still is, a rock for our family. I handed little 13 pound Coop over to her at 12 weeks and never worried about him for one second. She dealt with us when Chris lost his hair and I lost my mind. Through it all, she loved on us all like crazy and showered Coop with more love than he could handle. We moved and Ms. Emily came into our lives (and home) and loves Coop like he was one of her own. He goes to sleep and wakes up saying "Miss Emily coming today, Mama?" She wakes her TWO cutie patooties up at the butt crack of dawn, drives a long, long way and is outnumbered by sweet (but rowdy) little boys three days a week. Having Holden and Rylan as super buddies is just too cool.

Remember that whole 3 month streak where we got the silent tap or page during worship to go and wrangle Cooper? Remember when he cried all over the felt Jesus and dropped  threw his Goldfish crackers because he couldn't handle us leaving him? Enter: need for a little healthy dose of preschool. Circle time and centers and chapel, sign us up.

I was pulling through the Chick-fil-a drive through crying into my sweet tea cup this morning, thanking God for allowing me the opportunity to be with him more. Signing him up for church preschool would have been next to impossible, had I stayed on full time at CHOA. Working that much was fine and dandy. It really was. But being able to be an active part of his little life just tickles me silly. I have an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that he gets to participate in such an amazing program and that I well, get to be his mama.

I've had an off week with "social media". Do y'all ever get that way? Like one of those sit at the kitchen table and wring my hands over where our generation is headed. Old soul. I know it. I am addicted to Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, Blogspot, Words with Friends. I really am. I love keeping up with so many sweet folks and spending hours pinning incredible homemade dinners while Coop eats peanut butter and jelly for supper.

It's all super duper but this week in particular, I began to realize how 1) I miss real conversation 2) As parents, we are too often guilty of texting and checking ____ (insert addiction of choice) while missing crucial moments in our children's lives. Cooper almost fell in the bathtub because I was busy pinning a homemade ruffle Christmas tree skirt pin, y'all. A Christmas tree skirt. No lie. 3) Comparision is the thief of joy and social media is one giant pin board begging you to compare yourself to others. 4) Everyone has an opinion (always have had, I know it), social media just allows us all to lambast opinions on everything from breastfeeding to politics to chicken and sometimes, it's not because I don't value everyone's opinions (isn't that what's so fun about social media?), it's just I just don't always wanna be bombarded with information overload. Opinionated about opinions. (Pardon me, it's just the Clomid talkin darlin.) And most importantly (yes, I am still ranting about social media through social media) 5) how stinkin' accountable we must be for our words. I'm serious. I think sometimes we forget just how impactful we can be. I witnessed two situations this week where people I love were significantly impacted through social media. Status updates can be almost as much fun as eating cotton candy and corn dogs and going for a spin on the tiltawhirl but I think we should be called to a higher standard about how we choose to broadcast ourselves. I had to stop and ask myself if the good Lord called me home right now, would I absolutely streak nekkid up to heaven proud of the imprint I have left?

Nothing says it better than an e-card.

Cheers to modern technology, y'all, cheers!

We do pantsless.

Have y'all seen that darlin' quote floating around the Pinterest Stratosphere that says something about "We do sorry. We do thank you. We do goodnight kisses. We do second chances..." Blah, blah?

I want one that says "We do pantsless".

And "We do Christmas-wreaths-stashed-on-the-floor-of-the-office-un-put-away-until-August". *Emily, don't lie, I know you've seen them.*

And "We do 10:30 pm bedtimes".

Because that's how it goes around here. 75% of the day Cooper doesn't have pants on. He plays out in the back yard in his Thomas the Train skibbies. He runs shrieking along the catwalk in his crab clad undies.

I'd blame it on potty trainin but that was done months ago. Every time he accompanies me to the potty, which by the way, I want "We do communal 20 question potty time" on my sign too, he asks: "Mommy, you potty trainin'?" or "You done potty trainin' yet mommy?"

I have a gazillion pictures of him that I have been itchin' to post but he isn't wearing pants in any of them. And I thought y'all'd be all "that's so weird" and "why does she let her child run around like a wild banchee pantless" and all.

So if I thought if I had that quote on a sign, then maybe I'd be excused.

Coop is attached (understatement) to his Woody right now.

He takes that dern doll EVERYWHERE. And I won't dare stop him. It's too stinkin' cute.

He pushes Woody in the swing. He lets Woody drive his Cozy Coupe. He fixes Woody supper. And let's him play with his Legos. Today I walked in and found him putting Woody in time out. Um. Is there a manual for parenting out there? Anyone? Anyone?

Woody's pants are attached. Guess he never had to do his potty trainin'.

This morning we were getting ready to go meet our sweet friend Lori for lunch (interpreted: I was trying to put on make up while blocking Coop from getting into my bathroom cabinet with one leg and trapping him in the bathroom with the other) and Woody, welp, fell into the loo.

Coop was heartbroken. He hollared something about "Woody can't swim, Mama" and made me drop my blush brush and come runnin'.

Baywatcher. Right here on a Wednesday morning. Pantless. With Christmas Wreaths still out. And baggy eyes from too late bedtimes.

It's a beautiful mess and I sure wouldn't trade one nanosecond for anything in the world.

Down to a Nub

6 years!

6 years ago we had no idea just how far we'd come. No idea how much our love would grow. No idea how many blessings God would pour out over our family. No idea how strong we could be (or would have to be). We've gotten wrinkles, laugh lines, battle scars. We've learned to put God first, to lean on each other, and to be grateful for every moment of every day. 

*Two hands this year made things interesting. We got tangled. *

6 times on the way home to scoop Coop last night we asked "ARE WE THERE YET?"

6 times we thanked God over and over.

6 times I wondered if He created the oceans, knowing that we would need to see them and to know He is near.

6 times we hugged and kissed our little man and told him how much we missed him.

6 times we told our parents how much we love and appreciate them.

Coop grew up a trillion times while we were away this past weekend.

He even (gasp) gave.up.his.pappy last night when we got home. Yes. He still had one. Sort of. If you'd call it that? It's been a process.

Anyway, he woke up this morning, told me he learned how to gallop (proved it right then and there by doing two laps around the laundry room) and told me he is just fine without it.

Done. He's down to a nub. Victory!

Honey Boo Boo and Baton Relays

I'm addicted to two new things as of this week.

1. Honey Boo Boo Child. It's 1000% ridiculous. I love it for about a gazillion reasons. For starters, it's a sister show to my Toddlers and Tiaras train wreck. In addition, it involves a teacup piggy, mud diving, awkward filming with silent pauses at the most hilarious of moments, pregnant teenagers, and bug scratchin' crazy people. I might have danced about our bedroom in my pajamas saying "A Dollah makes me Hollah" until I Chris couldn't stand it any longer. Did you expect any less from me?

Moving on.

2. Mama Laughlin. Her blog. It's insanely inspiring and a written with lingo that is more-fly-than-I-could-ever-try-to-be. I can't stop reading it.

Chris and I have been running a lot.  Go ahead and interpret that loosely. We have formed our own sort of Davis Family Relay Team at the duckie park where we pass the baton jog stroller while we sweat and heave from heat exhaustion while Coach Coop sings Chariots of Fire.

Mama Laughlin's blog. She has lost a crazy amount of weight and is a fashionista/Super Woman all wrapped up in one. My favorite thing? She says things like "I'd rather *poop* in my hands and clap" when asked why she doesn't have a Twitter account, and "holy calf fries" when she talks about stuffed peppers, and "*heck* yes, I can do that twice, in heels, pushing a baby stroller" when asked if she will ever run a full marathon, and my alltimefavorite "the vom (dot) com" when speaking of all things throw-up.

Oh, and "lamesauce". I like that one too.

She is sure to make me laugh. And run harder. And faster (than Chris). JK, honey. You smoke me every time.

Anyway thanks to Honey Boo Boo Child and Mama Laughlin, I survived this week.

Which rocked, because I had my pretty much least favorite day in all of history at work on Tuesday. That just about never ever ever happens because I am crazy in love with what I do. Crazy. But still. It was a bad day. I cried. In front of my co-workers.

I blame it on the fertility woes that also accompanied this week. Jazz hands. Fist pumps. Bleh.

You know what though? In less than 12 hours I will have my toes in the sand with this man:

Um. No, not the un-named fireman. My Big Love. Chris Davis.

The man I love like crazy. Upside down and inside out. 11 years of burnin' love, 6 years of wedded bliss. SIX! We've been through a few things together. Just a few. He is my wing man. My heart and soul. My rock. My hero.

Love him, love him, love him.

**Oncologist appointment in the morning on the way to tickle toes in the sand--whisper a tiny prayer for God's continued grace if you think to, pretty please?**

Oh, and if anyone wants to come over and watch Honey Boo Boo with me, I've got it DVRed. That's right. 90 minutes of space on the DVR. Thankyouverymuch.