Stop the Clock

**Warning: possible spoiler alert for This is Us fans** 

Are there any of you who are working moms, who also treasure every single second of a sick day at home spent with one of your kids? The thought of taking sick days and running out of them is always a fear of a teacher parent, but when the day comes and we all know we can't predict them, there's not one single second I regret having to take. 

With our son starting kindergarten, we have had MANY bouts of illness this school year. Everyone told us that we would; that the germs and bugs and viruses would be limitless, and they were 100% right. December through January has been extremely rough, forcing our sick days to dwindle, but I refuse to complain. It breaks my heart when one of our children is sick, yes, but I know that they cannot help it, it's not their fault, it's not our fault, and therefore I should just embrace it. 

Today my son is home sick with a stomach bug. He threw up at school yesterday [that was a first] and the pitiful guy puked again and again once home, until coming to a halt around dinner time. I gave him sips of silver water [my mom's natural remedy go-to] and set a timer on my phone for when he could have more. We switched to Gatorade when he was clearly holding that down, and knock on wood, I think that's the shortest virus or stomach bug he's ever had. At one point this morning he said, "Mom, what should we do?" I responded, "I think I need to hold you." He climbed into my lap and rested his entire torso down my body. At five and a half years old and with a six foot four dad, he is quickly becoming as long as me. I literally stared at the numbers on the DVD player in our console. "Please don't move," I prayed. "Please let me hold you for one more minute." At one minute exactly, he said, "Mom, I think I can get down." I quickly said, "One more minute." For two entire minutes, I held my son in complete peace and quiet. 

Do two minutes not sound like a long time? Well, that's because it's not, of course. Two minutes too short for Mom but clearly two too long for a growing and energetic boy. It had me thinking about ALL the (many) times I would walk through the grocery store, both kids restless, hyper, sometimes screaming and fighting. I would mostly get nothing but sentimental smiles from all the older women who passed by, and I would always hear at least ONCE, "Cherish these days because they'll be gone before you know it." At the time, I wanted to punch anyone who uttered that phrase to me in the face. And hard. In my mind then, those days were never going to end, my life would never again entail calmness, and these children were surely going to ruin me. 

Enter this new year, 2018, when my kids are four and five years old. Life is still pretty chaotic when we go places, especially to Target or Lowe's or really anywhere that WE want to get a few things done. But at the same time, it is immensely and heartbreakingly different from just a year or two ago. Y'all...I don't even know time has slipped through my fingers THIS fast. 

Do you watch This is Us? Did you watch Parenthood? I literally cried EVERY damn episode of Parenthood. Every single one. Sometimes when it ended I would not even be just casually wiping tears, I would be SOBBING into pillows on the couch. This is Us hasn't been THAT dramatic or emotional for me, but we are now getting to the season (I hope you're caught up!) where the father Jack dies. And he is going to die in a FIRE of all things. The last episode showed all three of his kids disregarding him and putting him off, choosing their friends or girlfriends over him. They do a long drawn out moment where the camera shows Jack looking at his children's heights marked on the wall and he smiles, pausing to remember. Earlier in the episode, he reminds his wife that this is their "last Superbowl with the kids" because they are all seniors in high school. It knocked me like I had been thrown from an airplane; my chest hurt, my heart rate soared, and I wanted to CRY. Nothing bad had even happened yet, it was just proof that these years, ALL OF THEM, are fleeting. They are racing and flying and sprinting and I swear to you every year is over quicker than the last. 

Every single second of today was wonderful. I don't think there is a time in 24 hours of a day that I am happier than when I am home with my kids, (or when I am with Addie, the horse down the road.) There's something extra special though about the 'sick days' spent at home. When the mantra for the day is to rest, rest, and more rest. He tried to get out of napping but I kindly reminded him that his body will recover even MORE if he sleeps, and because he's the most obedient child I know, he's very peacefully sleeping upstairs. My last post was kind of joking about how I stay up so late because my kids need me SO drastically at bedtime; but the truth is, mamas, I wouldn't change any of this. Before I know it, they are going to be eighteen, filling out college applications, and no longer request tummy tickles and You are my Sunshine. 

If there was a way for me to stop the clock, just for a season...just to enjoy their current ages a LITTLE longer, I really would. I have loved every stage, (well, maybe not the threenager months with a certain girl of mine) but still. Four and five is pretty great, and I think I'll just keep begging them to let me hold them, if even for one more minute. 

Mom, Why Do You Stay Up So Late?

I remember being a kid and after being tucked in for the night, I would wait quietly until I knew for sure no one was around. I would then silently creep out of bed and position myself at the top of the stairs, trying to hear and see what amazingly interesting things my parents were doing in the living room. I was certain they were throwing parties or talking about how wonderful of a child I was--all very real things we parents do right?! Sometimes, my big brother, Sean would join me, and we would sit there, in complete and utter silence, feeling so rebellious for being "up" past bedtime. For many seasons, the night used to be my parents time to plop down on the couch, popcorn and peanut M & M's in hand; Dad in his pullout chair and Mom curled up in the corner of the sectional. They would usually watch ER or Lois and Clark, nothing whatsoever that childhood Ashley had any interest in watching--but there was something magical to ME about them being up 'super late.' Which back then, was probably 9 pm. 

I don't know what it is about the night, but there is something about it that I believe calls most moms [some dads?] Still to this day, my mom stays up WAY too late and I am often the one joking with her to go to bed! 

But after us kids were down, that was always when she had a chance to just breathe. Not 100% by any means, because she would wash a million loads of laundry AND fold them. She would do all the dishes and start the dishwasher. She would (still does) have her quiet time with the Lord and read her devotions. Once we were all in bed, nighttime was when she could sit, at least for a few minutes. 

As I write this, every single being in my household is sound asleep. The kids have been dozing peacefully in their beds for three hours, my husband is snoring, our cat Alfie is perched above my head on the couch, Manny is on my pillow, Sammy is on the chair across from me, and the dogs are on our bedroom floor. The heater is blowing warm air and the buzz of the fan is making me slightly sleepy, which is a plus because up until now I wasn't tired at all. 

My son Pierson has asked me for several years, "Mom, why don't you go to bed when Reese and I do? Why do you stay up so late?" (and HE thinks I stay up just until 10 pm!)  If I ever say during the day that I am tired he looks at me so seriously and says, "Then you shouldn't stay up so late, Mom."

Here it is, midnight, and I have a full work day ahead of me tomorrow. But if you're like me then you can relate to the gazillion things that are working themselves through your tired/not tired brain, and you get a crazy second wind the later it gets. There's a large part of me that dreams of being a morning person. Can anyone else relate to this? I wish so badly that when my alarm went off at 6:15 am for work, that I could actually get OUT OF BED at that time. Instead I hit snooze at least 300 times, and I am scrambling to jump up by 6:50, when I am supposed to be leaving twenty minutes later. Lord help me in the mornings. And my poor kids are permanently going to remember me as the parent who hates mornings. Nighttime though, I can DO that. I unfortunately am not as productive as my mother; washing, drying, and folding laundry, but sometimes it's nice just to sit in silence. To listen to the hum of the heater, to know that everyone around me is safe, warm, happy, and loved. 

There's another reason that staying up late is just destined to happen, and moms, I KNOW you can relate to this one. Eight o'clock rolls around, the kids are in their own beds, teeth are brushed, faces are washed, comfy clean pajamas are on. And then Reese especially needs 2,300 hugs. And when I am trying to leave her room, she yells, "Mom! Wave!! Mom, wave! Wave, Mom!!" So then I wave. To my daughter who is in bed, whom I have hugged 2,300 times. And she tells me that I didn't wave RIGHT. And then once I got the wave down pact, I close the door. And I hear her scream, "MOM!" I open the door. "Love you, Mom." "I love you, Reese," and I close the door. "MOM!" I hear. Oh my good Lord have mercy and help me not to completely lose my lid. "Reese, what! You have to stop." "Wave, Mom." 

From there I go to say goodnight to said son who wonders WHY I am up so late. At this point it's almost 8:30 pm (usually). He lifts his shirt for me to tickle his belly and I always climb in the bed next to him. We pray, I sing a song (It is Well EVERY single night), and tickle his belly. He'll either proceed to ask me a hundred questions, or I'll start to fall asleep, my fingers coming to a complete stop on the warmth of his tummy, startling back to life as he pokes me. "Mom, if you're tired, just go to bed.  You don't have to stay up late." 

Except I don't WANT to go to bed, Pierson Clive. I want a hot cup of tea, a scalding shower, to read a book, or write a blog post, or browse the Internet aimlessly, or take the dogs for the walk (yes, sometimes at 9 pm), cuddle with my husband, watch some TV shows, edit pictures, eat a snack, and the list goes ON my dear boy. I've been poked and prodded all day since 7 am. I've heard the name, "Mrs. Glass" at least 8, 742 times from my five and six-year old students. I've been hugged and sat on, high-fived, sometimes pushed or glared at, occasionally threatened and DEFINITELY have had my literal bubble popped at multiple points in the day. Most of those things are such a blessing, not at all bad and I am thankful for my roles. But I've been teacher for seven hours, mom for twenty-four, and sweet son of mine, sometimes I just need to BE. 

Here we are, much past ten o'clock, and my eyes are finally feeling heavy. And look at that! Blog post written, thoughts sorted, and sweet memories of my childhood relived. 

The Oops That Became Our Biggest "Thank You, Jesus!"

Dear Sisters, 

There have been several of you who have asked to hear my story about "the time I found out I was pregnant with our daughter," or as I like to call it, "the time I put an extra emphasis on the F Word and how God used it ALL for His good." I wrote an e-mail back to a mama recently and decided that I would share it here in this space, with all of you. 

Soooooo yes, our son Pierson was seven months old when I discovered I was pregnant AGAIN. Which means he was SIX months when it happened. I blame our anniversary, my hyperthyroid, and my husband. Duh. 

I sat on the toilet, please keep in mind that I am a Christian and love Jesus dearly; peed on the stick while my husband cooked us lunch, and our son was napping. It was Martin Luther Kind JR day and the reason I remember is because well, first off, it was traumatizing, but also because we had the day off as school teachers. 

"What the F***K are we going to DO!?!?!?" I screamed when my husband entered the bathroom. He looked down at the stick, kissed the top of my head, and said, "We're going to have a baby!" 

I then sat there and wept into my hands, refusing to leave the toilet. I called my mom and barely got two words out before she said, "Oh honey..." and then I lost it even more. 

I had some pretty terrible thoughts those early stages, I will be 100% honest (and vulnerable here). I remember at one point thinking that it would be OKAY if I didn't have this baby and it would be OKAY if God decided I couldn't carry it. I'm talking, EARLY EARLY, like before 8 weeks of pregnancy. It is an AWFUL thought to have as a mom, but I'm human. And I was hormonal x 10000. I, of course, did not do anything to try to hurt my belly or baby, but I wondered if somehow it could or would just go away.

I then began to have super irrational worries [aka the most trivial, strangest, random thoughts EVER]:

We lived in a house with a lot of stairs going from the street to the front door. I remember thinking, legit, HOW I was going to go up and down stairs with TWO kids?! 

C'mon, Ashley... women have sextuplets... 

Girl, I wondered how I would grocery shop. 

Oh, wait... my husband primarily does that. Like 99.789% of the time. So it was another really dumb thing to panic over, but I definitely panicked. OH, and again, women have sextuplets, Ashley, CHILL.

I started to crave sweet things: chocolate, LOTS of chocolate, and NO red meat or sour things [which is what I craved w/ my son]. My face started breaking out galore and I just knew it was a girl. Which is what I wanted if I was having another baby, which clearly I was. We had a gender reveal and sure enough, the cupcake inside was PINK. 

I FINALLY started to bond with her... I FINALLY started to feel okay. Once I embraced WHO was growing in my belly, I actually began to LOVE her. And pray for her. And get excited to meet her. 

So this giant novel is written to express to you that I DEFINITELY freaked out. Like, more than the average mom I am suspecting...? Maybe?? And it's okay if you have or do TOO. Because you do have a long time to continue growing him or her. And he or she IS a miracle. You wouldn't be pregnant with him or her IF there wasn't a plan. And I'm positive God has a beautiful one in mind. 

My Reese tests and challenges me like no one EVER has in my life. I have never disliked someone so strongly and yet LOVED them so deeply; the emotions are a whirlwind often, but she literally makes me laugh out loud and is one of THE funniest humans on this planet [and she's FOUR.] I pray deeply for her as a girl who will turn into a woman; she has a STRONG personality, a very strong will to be seen, heard, and loved. She is going to move mountains, FOR REAL, I am just certain. 

If you're wondering how the transition will be, well, you may as well stop worrying about that :) There's NO way you can really plan for it. Pierson was fifteen months old when we brought her home. Barely toddling around himself and here was his mom, pulling out her boob to nurse this brand new BABY. I can remember some difficulty when he wanted me at the same time as I was feeding. But I very quickly learned how to time and gauge those moments. 

-Make sure he has a snack WHILE I am feeding her, and make sure it's an easy one he can feed himself! 
-Turn on the TV or something that he can watch for 20-30 minutes WHILE I nurse
-Praise him and love him and laugh with him, as OFTEN as I can 

Those were just a few. You'll learn. And he or she will just fit. And you won't know it any other way. I often wonder what life would look like if ours were 2+ years apart [my goal was 2.5 because my brothers and I are all 2.5 years apart!] Clearly, God's plan was different. I was on the pill and nursing and still got pregnant. Soooooooo not much more I could have done!! 

I hope while you're reading, you've laughed a little, and you can breathe a little easier. Tonight as I sit here typing I'm actually a little envious of you! Isn't that funny!? My husband got a vasectomy when Reese was six weeks old (for his 30th birthday, lol) no joke; because I just didn't want my body to go through it so quickly again and I feared it would. But I do miss it!! The wonder and excitement, the RATIONAL parts of the fears, the movements and hiccups and the belly growing each month. Sigh. See? It's ALL going to be okay. 

Chin up, sister. You've got this! And if I can help whatsoever, know that I am here and willing!!!! 

Daughters & Dance

I'm experiencing all the Mom emotions over here as I sort through these images and work through what exactly brings me to tears and what is making me jump for joy with my 4-year old daughter starting ballet. She begins classes tomorrow and this is the most excited I've ever seen her. 

When we bought the black leotard, pink tights, and ballet shoes, it first brought me back to MY ballet classes. I don't remember them super well, but I can see myself running through the large studio, practicing simple plies, and the first [and only] recital I did. I don't recall why I didn't want to continue with classes, other than maybe I was more into horses and was trying a LOT of different sports at the time. Reese right now, has it made up in her mind that she will be a dancer and perform on stage, and hey, maybe she will! 

Before taking these photos, I opened Spotify and put in "ballet music." Reese immediately began to twirl and spin and attempt her own versions of plies and grand jetés. She was so serious and yet having so much FUN all in one. 

I feel so much pride in her, and as her mom, am so excited to see how this helps her grow and change. At the same time, I see a little girl who IS going to struggle with failure, difficulties, and perhaps even have her feelings hurt within the sport. I know, I know, she's FOUR. The other little girls in her class will be so sweet and having so much fun, but as a woman who participated in sports, starting at very young ages, it's hard to accept the hurt that eventually, my baby WILL walk through. 

If you ever did sports, do you remember the times you felt insecure? Not good enough? Ashamed? I started volleyball in the fourth grade, and it wasn't too many years later that my uniform was skin tight miniature spandex shorts. In high school, I was a tanning bed babe, obsessed with getting golden brown for those fluorescent gym lights, and I was always insecure about my thighs touching. So yes, I realize that Reese is four. But it won't be too much longer before she's fourteen, and I know that insecurities and feelings of doubt begin MUCH before then.

I took these photos of my beautiful baby girl dancing and LOVING being in her ballerina outfit because I wanted to remember this moment. This season of life she is in, where she doesn't know where insecurities are, what shame looks or feels like, and while she believes she IS beautiful because she is. 

I so hope that I can instill in her courage, bravery, and the strength to put aside negative feelings and hurtful people. My high school insecurities didn't last forever, but they were still there, and those years weren't exactly easy. Maybe Reese will experience them, maybe she won't, and maybe I need to also pray that I am strong enough to guide her regardless. 

Reese Elisabeth-Morgan, OH how I love you! What a magical season of life you are in right now. I cannot wait to watch you dance and make new friends. You are a light and a bundle of strength and laughter. If you want to dance throughout your years, I will be so elated to watch you. Smile, always, because Daughter, you are radiant and you are so loved. 

PS: Yes, I know her strings need to be cut on her ballet shoes. I'm totally going to let her teacher help me tighten them and fit them accordingly. Also, here's a photo of me in my dance years, or should I say YEAR. Thanks, Mom for sending it!