Pumpkin Patch Survival

Well, I survived the pumpkin patches.  Yep.  I said "patches."  As in, plural.  And by survived, I mean, that I survived the 31,000 pictures taken, the unbearably hot weather, and a gaggle of toddlers and babies in various stages of meltdown at any given moment.

Clearly, I should be given a medal.

(Or at least a nap).

Pumpkin Patch #1:  Berry Patch Farm

We went with Rod, Kristin, and baby Riley.  I decided, it's fall, darn it!  I shall clothe myself in boots and a sweater.

And then, apparently I shall sweat my rear off (unfortunately not literally), while we take pictures that I ultimately look horrible in.  But AG got to ride a pony, and that is what counts.

Or something like that.

Y'all.  No lie, the temp was about 80 that day.
This was 5 seconds before sweat started dripping down my forehead.

Also, love how AG's all like, "EXCUSE ME.  Who are you, and why are you taking our picture?!"

C'mon.  Those cheeks!  Love.

This is her, "PLEASE QUIT ASKING ME TO SMILE" smile.
Works for me.

Pumpkin Patch #2:  Norcross Presbyterian Church


Our small group got together for a 30ish minute window and frantically tried to grab cute pics of the kiddos amidst pumpkins, which is an experience not dissimilar to herding cats.

See what I mean?
(They know they can get away with it because they're so darn cute.)

I have to say, this picture is a great representation of our time at the pumpkin patch:
Almost no one looking at the camera, but lots of laughter.

Clearly overwhelmed with all the choices.  

I am all about an awkward leg grab to hide my car keys. 

I found myself having the following conversation with AG.  Repeatedly.

Me:  Ally Grace, sit down next to this pumpkin for me!

AG:  Where's Caleb?

Me:  No seriously, hug the pumpkin and smile.  

AG:  I wanna go play WITH CALEB.  

Me:  (While gritting my teeth, determined to get a picture if it ENDS me) Just smile one time and then we'll be done.

AG:  (Lips clamped firmly together in determination, while scanning the crowd for Caleb).

Me:  Fine.  I will give you some fruit snacks, if you will JUST SMILE.

No judging people.  I was desperate.

AG:  (Grabs that pumpkin like her little life depends on it, and grins from ear to ear.....for one brief moment in time.)  

Which unfortunately my camera misses.  Although it does capture a great shot of her streaking off to find Caleb.

Apparently, Kerie is a magician and can coerce a smile out of her.
Or maybe she just had some fruit snacks in her pocket.

Seriously, though, it was precious to see these kids running around together, since we have all arranged their marriages and will eventually form our own commune in the country we know they will be life-long friends.

But, I'm not gonna lie.  I put AG down for a nap as soon as we got home, threw myself onto the couch, pounded some mini-Crunch bars, and zoned out watching an episode of Glee.

I earned it.

Big Girl Bed

Y'all.  It happened.

My (truthfully too big to still be in a crib) three year-old just started sleeping in a big girl bed!
John and I may or may not have had a weepy moment in her room that first night.

Yes.  I know it's a HUGE bed for a little girl.
However, this girl's ALL ABOUT not having to move heavy beds up and down stairs, so we just borrowed this one from our guest room, conveniently located next door.

(Although, if you plan to be using our guest room anytime soon, I hope you're either less than 3 ft tall, or a member of cirque du soleil.  Because you'll be sleeping in a crib.)

My strategy was simple:  talk this thing up so much she would feel the emotional equivalent of a teenager given a brand-new car.

But even better.

So, during the last week, I heard myself way over-hyping this transition on a near constant basis.  Mainly to mask the fear.  (Mine, obviously).

WOW!  Ally Grace is going to sleep in her very own BIG GIRL BED!! 
(Thank you, Captain Obvious)

THIS IS SO EXCITING!!!
(Mommy's kind of freaking the heck out over here, so can you please, please, please stay in your bed and not do anything crazy?)

BIG GIRLS NEVER, EVER JUMP ON THEIR BEDS, BY THE WAY!
(Okay, fine.  They do.  But not until they're grown-ups, okay?)

YOU'LL LOVE THAT BED SO MUCH THAT THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO WAY YOU'LL GET OUT AND WANDER THE HALLS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!
(Right?  RIGHT?)

So, yeah.  I've been kind of nervous.  To put it (very) mildly.  But let me just tell you, sassy polka-dotted sheets are apparently AG's love language, 'cause that girl hasn't stepped a toe out of her bed in the last 4 nights!

YES!  SUCCESS!!  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find some wood to knock on.

I'll leave y'all with this video we took of her seeing her bed for the first time.  Thank you to our friend/babysitter, Alek, who entertained AG, while we moved furniture around and fought with sassy polka-dotted sheet sets.

Eight Years

Dear God,

Do you remember how I would sit in my college apartment, just praying that you would "hit me over the head with the guy I was supposed to marry."  You know, so I would "recognize him."

Thank you, Lord.

I recognized him.

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
Ephesians 3:20-21

Three

Dear Ally Grace,

You're three years old today!  I really can't believe how quickly those years have flown by.  I'm sure I'll get all sappy, and say that every year on your birthday, but it's true.

You've grown into such an amazingly sweet, creative, smart, funny, and beautiful little girl.  I am immensely proud to be your mother, and I can't wait to see what the next year of your life holds for us.

This year, it seemed like you would say something new and funny every single day.  Like the time, during potty-training, that you didn't want to sit on the potty and, very seriously, told me that "the poo-poo wants to sleep in my bottom."
(Um, NO. Points for trying though.)

Or the time that you told me that you don't like going to ballet class because "it's too loud."
(I mean, is it heavy metal ballet class or something?  I don't understand.)

Or when you told me that your "bottom just burped."
(As a side note, why do so many of your AG-isms have to do with bodily functions?)

And recently, when you told me that you "want a baby brother," and that we could "name him Elmo." (Because Elmo Dickens wouldn't get beat up on the playground. Not at ALL.)

(And no, I am not pregnant.  Although, clearly, you're anxious to be an only child no longer.)

Another quality I've seen in you this year is your compassion.  Not necessarily when we're trying to share toys at the playground per se, but more so in the times you sweetly hug me, and ask "are you happy, mommy?"  And somehow I know, that already, my answer is important to you.

(My answer is always yes, by the way.  Not necessarily because I'm in a happy mood.  But because even when I'm not, I will always be happy that I'm your mother.)  

You are admittedly becoming a little, um, dramatic. It's not unusual to tell you "no," and have you hang your head and say "that hurts my feelings, mommy."  (To which I usually reply, "it won't be the last time, sweet pea."  Or my personal favorite "just wait til you're a teenager."  To which YOU reply, "what's a preen-ager?"  And I just tell you the truth:  "A teenager is someone who loves God, and always respects and obeys their parents.")

(Bahahahahahahaha.  Here's hoping.)

You told me the other day that you "love Jesus."  You have NO idea what that did to me, little one. I may or may not have had to go cry some happy tears after I left your room.  I love that you already love Him, and I pray every single day that He will deepen that love into a life-long relationship with Him.  And somehow use me and your dad in the process, despite being the total goober-ish sinners that I know we are.

You are a little entertainer, with a BIG personality.  I have NO IDEA where you get that.  A-hem.  You literally made up a song about rain boots the other day.  Granted, most of it was unintelligible, but still.  Hilarious and awesome.

Sassy outfit that inspired the "rain boots song."
See? Hilarious and awesome.

In fact, I think if I had to sum up this year, it would be with those two words:  hilarious and awesome.

(Although I might throw in "tiring" just to keep it real.)

I love you so much, baby girl.  Happy 3rd birthday!!

Flashback

Last Friday, John and I went on a date.

(And I  know what you're thinking.  You're all, what the heck, Sherri?  Apparently y'all just go on dates and travel to Paris all the time.  Um, NO.  We also get into REALLY stupid fights and say dumb things to each other.   But I'm thinking y'all would rather hear about the fun stuff, than about how I got upset because I didn't like John's tone when he told me that no, he definitely does not want to watch Switched at Birth with me. Again. )

(Or you know. Something like that.)

Anyway, John planned this date and then very mysteriously wouldn't tell me where we were going.  As is typical, I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, while furiously trying to figure it out.

And, you know, maybe throwing out some ridiculous entirely reasonable suggestions as we drove......"oh, you're taking me to get a puppy!"

(Insert John dying laughing).

"I know!  We're going to a spa!"

(More laughter.)

"You're taking me on a helicopter ride!"

(Looks of disbelief, and an "are you for real right now?")

Finally, as we are headed into a random swim and tennis neighborhood in Dunwoody, it hits me.  I've been here once before.

We pull up to the clubhouse, and I am immediately transported to June of 2003.  A much younger, much skinnier, and probably much cooler version of myself walked in the doors of this clubhouse for a church singles gathering.  Despite having moved to Atlanta literally THAT afternoon, (AND despite already having a boyfriend), I was convinced to go to this singles thing by my best friend, Steph.

I made zero effort with my appearance, because let's face it, singles functions can be weird, and full of creepers.  Plus, the boyfriend.  I put on my favorite t-shirt, and my favorite comfortable pants (that John would later force me to throw away, they were so unfortunate).   Clearly, my expectations were not high.  Mainly I just hoped to grab some free food and make some new friends.

I'd say I got a little more than I bargained for.

I immediately notice this rather attractive guy, and had a thought that was something like:  "Hmmmmm.  How can I arrange to meet this young lad?"

(Because obviously my thoughts are Scottish.)

ANYWAY......fortunately for me, he was chatting with someone I knew.  So on my way out, our mutual friend is all, Hey Sherri!  Let me introduce you to John.

And I was all......Um, you're hot. And I like you. A lot. Do you want to date me?  Please, please, please want to date me! 

But you know.  Only in my head.

In real life, I think I managed something interesting and memorable, like "hi."

And that was it.  Because I went brain dead in his presence, I couldn't remember his name....although I thought about him enough over the next week to know that I needed to break things off with my (admittedly great) boyfriend.  I honestly didn't even know if I would ever see John again.

But God did.

Fast forward to our date Friday night.  We pull up to this clubhouse, and John pulls out the exact same t-shirt I was wearing the night we met.

And then makes me put it on over my (much cuter) date outfit.

We took this picture, and John was immediately like: "You're not going to like it."
He was right.
I am actually trying to point out the words on the shirt, and not force people to look at my chest.

Ahem.

(And by the way, I am wearing a belt under the shirt, not a giant roll of fat as it would appear.)

Everyone loves an Italian girl!
And apparently, I love being ironic.

 And then we walk around holding hands, and kissing, and saying generally mushy/barfy things like "Can you believe that was 9 years ago!"- (Him)   Or "What if someone had told you that we'd be married with a little girl next time we came back?"- (Me)

"I would absolutely have believed it."- (Him)

Yeah.  Me too.

We're Back!

We're back!

(Okay, we've actually been back for over a week.  But I've been alternately hyperventilating over the amount of clothes that need washing, and procrastinating by browsing the Pinterest humor boards and laughing hysterically to myself.)

(Because you know you're awesome when you're looking at Pinterest, and literally crying with laughter.  By yourself.)

(Yep.  Super awesome.)


Anyway, there's so much I could write about our trip to Paris, but I think I'll sum it up with a little list.

1.  Everyone was SO nice!  And I was really worried that the French would be all, hey, you are OBVIOUSLY a tourist, your French is atrocious, and we will ignore you/make fun of you now.  But everyone was really nice, helpful, and made valiant efforts not to laugh when I would say Bonjour!

Or else they just laughed as us behind our backs. I'm fine with it.

2.  The shopping.  I'm still dreaming about it.  Although I am now probably not allowed to purchase anything until about 2015. Still.  Worth it.

3.  There are LOTS of things in Paris that are designed to make you suffer from motion sickness.  And by "you," I mean, "me." For example, taxi drivers and curly staircases.  Did you know you could get sick trying to climb down a staircase?!? Neither did I.

4.  Afternoons spent people watching in little cafes were my favorite moments of our trip....mainly because I got to guzzle cappuccinos and eat nutella crepes.  Although, I actually learned a lot about fashion through all of our people watching.  Basically, I realized that, while Paris is home to lots of chic, super put- together women, it's also home to quite a few fashion FAILS.  Which made me feel a lot better about wearing my tennis shoes around town.

(I'm just kidding, I have a firm rule about wearing NOT tennis shoes with jeans, as I don't want to look like a tourist.)

(Because my southern accent, wardrobe of bright colors, and the dyed blond hair didn't give it away at ALL. )

(Ahem.)

Bringing me to my fifth and final point......

5.  It is ENTIRELY possible for your pinky toe to have so many blisters that they literally join together and form a sixth toe.

(A.K.A.  You will pay for your vanity, so just put on the darn tennis shoes, woman!)

Here are a few of the approximately 50,000 photos that we took:

This was the hotel where we stayed the first night. SO CUTE!

Lots of squeeze pics, since we didn't know how to ask people to take photos of us. 

Totally jet-lagged and pounding a cappuccino. 

Beautiful! John tricked me into climbing up the curly stairs to the top.   I just barely refrained from trying to scoot back down them on my rear end, as to avoid barfing at the bottom.

Taking the train to Dijon....apparently trains ALSO make me motion sick.
I am obviously such a fun travel partner.
Thankfully, I have a husband who made multiple runs to the dining car for cappuccinos and Toblerone bars.
(Which is clearly the remedy for motion sickness).

AND, another squeeze pic!

Y'all.  I found the French version of Anthropologie.
John could HARDLY CONTAIN his excitement. I could tell by the way he sat in a chair and sighed loudly while I tried things on.

Ooh!  We must've found some Americans to take a picture of us!

Notre Dame....and is there ANYTHING more awkward than standing alone to have your picture made?

Those bars really add a certain something to the view, don't they?

Wine tasting in Burgundy. Again somewhat motion sick from all the curvy roads.
(Pretty sure I was thinking "I hope I don't barf all over this table....maybe the driver will share his spittoon with me?)

Needs no explanation.  Awesome.

So, our driver convinced us to eat some grapes directly off this vine.  And since I am so carefree and all, I had NO WORRIES about whether I was possibly ingesting some kind of parasite.  There were NO THOUGHTS AT ALL about how I might end up on an episode of Monsters Inside Me.

None.  Because I'm carefree like that.

So.  John made me take this picture, and even though I assured him that no woman should ever be photographed from an angle like this, due to Turkey Neck issues, he wanted to be artsy.

And I had to post it, because, hello? I'm the size of the Eiffel Tower.

Which is exactly what I felt like on way home, after eating a diet of approx 32,000 calories a day.

More Americans!!  Side note:  the French get confused when you say "y'all."

Last day....so sad to be leaving! Pretty sure this was right before John saw our mini-bar bill, and was all, HOW MANY Toblerones did you eat this week?

And I was all, SHUT UP, I'M STARVING!!!!!

Or maybe I just said, "Oops."  I can't remember.

But then, after nearly 24 hours of travel, we got home to this girl.....

Paris has NOTHING on her, am I right?!

And I wouldn't trade her for all the Eiffel Towers, shopping, cappuccinos, and Nutella crepes in the world.

(Although those Nutella crepes are a pretty close 2nd.)

Birthday....It's Official

It's official.  I'm in my 30's now.  You may have been under the impression that "in your 30's" starts at 31. Or maybe even 30.  Well, not in my world, it doesn't.  I decided to give myself a grace year (or two), and only now will I grudgingly admit to being a thirty-something.

If I had to turn 32, at least I got to celebrate with a fun birthday week!

Two of my absolute best friends, Steph and Eryn, took me to dinner one night.
We had tons of fun, not to mention, a very overeager waiter who apparently wanted to grow a ponytail and dye it orange.

(He actually told us that without even a hint of irony.)

(Clearly he has the confidence to pull it off.)

Inappropriate? Completely.
Did I laugh my head off when I got this birthday card in the mail from a friend (you know who you are!)?
Why, yes.  Yes, I did.  

Another birthday dinner with two of our best friends, Rod and Kristin.
And baby Riley, of course.

As mentioned in my last post, a couple of noteworthy things happened during my birthday this year.

For starters,  I was actually surprised. 

I believe I've mentioned in the past that John and I are notorious for throwing each other "surprise" birthday parties.  As in, hey, which day is Sherri's annual surprise birthday party, John?

This year, it was more like, SURPRISE!  There's no birthday party planned for you.

But, you know.  In a good way.

John and I went to dinner with my parents and AG on the night of my birthday. He was being awfully pushy about what time we HAD TO get there, and so as we arrived I literally started looking around for friends' cars and familiar faces.

In my mind, I'm all, yeah, yeah, when is everyone gonna jump out and yell surprise.....let me mentally practice my surprise face now.

Or not.

Then, a couple of friends show up halfway through our meal, and I'm thinking......ah ha! that's smart, have everyone come LATE and surprise me.  Nice work, babe.

At which point I realize that our friends are actually there for a datenight, NOT a surprise party.

I had to tell on myself and admit all of this to John later.

(It must be a real treat to be married to me.)

Upon arriving home, John's all, "you have 30 minutes to pack a suitcase. Your parents are keeping AG tonight."

To which I reply, well that's easy, I'm still packed from Nashville.  Let's go.

And that was the first (and last) time I'll ever exceed his expectations on how long it takes me to get ready.

We head over to the Grand Hyatt in Buckhead, at which point he tells me, it's your birthday, babe! We can do whatever you want!  Which turned out to be putting on my sweats and watching a movie on TV.

(Again, it must be a real treat to be married to me.)

Before we start the movie though, he informs me that he has to leave for a work trip the next morning, but that I get to stay at the hotel all day. He has arranged for me to have an in-room massage at 10am, and then tells me that I should order WHATEVER I WANT from room service.

(It's almost like he knows that room service, massages, and watching tv in bed are my love languages.)

(Oh wait.  He does.)

This is all especially sweet and thoughtful, because a few months ago, we had the following conversation, on a day where I was just mentally and physically exhausted:

Me:  You know what would be my perfect day?

John:  What, babe?

Me:  Just going to a hotel and laying in bed all day, while ordering room service and watching tv.  Throw in a massage somewhere and I'd be good to go.

(Yes, I realize that could not possibly sound any lazier. Keepin' it real over here.)

John:  Would I be there too?

Me:  Well, um.....maybe for part of it. 

(Disclaimer:  I love my husband, and generally want to be around him at all times. I don't know why I told him I would want him there for only part of it, because when he actually created my perfect day, I got bored about 10 minutes after he left, and wanted him to come back and enjoy the laziness with me.)

(For the third time, it's obviously a real treat to be married to me.)

(I don't know why I actually put this stuff in writing for the world to see.)

(Well, let's be honest.  For all 4 of you to see.)


Anyway, the biggest surprise of the night was when he let me open my birthday present.  Where I find this:

As I try to wipe the shock off my face, he tells me that we're leaving in less than two weeks.....which, WHAT!?

And now I'm in the midst of packing a suitcase that I could literally fit my whole SELF into, while worrying about how the French are gonna feel about my "Bonjour, y'all" attempt at speaking their language.

This should be interesting.