Where's my tape recorder?

Oh how Alex makes me laugh ...

At 5 years old, he's trying to be big. He wants to hang with the big guys, but he's still so young.

So to compensate, he uses big phrases in completely inappropriate situations. When he uses those big sayings in appropriate situations, it's even funnier.

Take our back-to-school shopping experience last week. I was showing him lunchboxes, letting him pick one out when he announced, "These are all totally lame." I laughed throughout the store ... He was kind of right.

(Oh, and that picture is of Alex on Lake Monroe. He told us he was "Alex Soup." He does look like he's in a soup bowl.)

Or when I asked him if he was going to get a girlfriend in kindergarten, and he replied, "Only if she's hot."

When he got his haircut Friday night, I told him he looked very handsome. His response was to shake his bottom, wink and say, "Boom, boom shaka laka."

Sitting in the bathtub with Emery last night, he had Emery laughing hysterically. Alex was dumping water on his own head and making silly noises. Emery was giggling to no end when Alex announced, "This is how I roll, Emis." I almost fell over ...

On our way to dropping Jacob off at church camp on Sunday, he found a ping-pong ball in his cup holder. He pulled that ball out and said, "Hmmm, what do you know ... I found a ball."

And when I made him chocolate milk last night, he asked me, "Make it with extra love, Mom." I obliged and kissed the top of the sippy cup.

It's a phrase a minute with that little guy. The world is his stage, and he's more than happy to entertain.

He hears things from his big brothers and tries to use what they say. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. More often than not, he leaves me laughing and shaking my head.

I write them down as he says them, but I almost can't keep up. I sure love that little guy and appreciate each and every giggle he gives me.

And I'm just getting started ...

This is me mad. Not really. That's me pretending to be mad, but I doubt that's really what my mad face looks like. But if you want to know what my real mad face looks like then you're going to have to ask my kids or my husband. I'm sure, though, it's much more furocious than this.

I started thinking the other days about my pet peeves. I'd thought for the longest time that there were only a few things that made me mad, and there are. Like child abuse, just for example, or child neglect. Now, those tick me off. We're talking blood boiling anger. Nope not gonna get picked for jury duty with my feelings.

But when I say pet peeves, I'm just talking about those little things that annoy me. I'll gripe about it for a few seconds, or grumble to myself, then the day goes on. Pet peeves? Yep. I've got several ...

Take the woman in JayC today scouring the aisles with her three-ring binder of coupons. The coupon craze is driving me crazy. People, coupons have been around for a long time. It's nothing new, but I guess if TLC says it's important, then by all means, jump on the bandwagon. After all, you can never have enough bottles of $1 Colace tablets, right?

Big trucks that blow out billows of black smoke. I'm no environmentalist by any means, but it seems a little on the senseless side. Most of these guys probably suffer from Little Man Syndrome, and the black billows that pollute my air are likely a replacement for other psychological issues. Regardless, save your money and buy a house or put it back for your kid's college education and save the rest of us some air to breathe.

Old people who drive 20 miles under the speed limit. All old people who drive slow should be sentenced to driving a Mustang Cobra with nitrous in the trunk so they have no choice but to go fast. I'm no crazy speeder, but there's nothing wrong with the speed limit.

Yard sales. Hate having them, rarely visit them. If you don't want it, then likely I don't want it either. If I do happen to want your stuff, then you might want to organize it neatly because I will never dig through piles of clothes on a table, hoping to find that cute little outfit for my son for 50 cents. Nope. Gonna drive on by ...

Facebook rants. Facebook many things, actually. If you knew how many of my Facebook friends are blocked from my newsfeed, you'd be surprised. Almost all of them. If you've annoyed me at any point in time, you're blocked. Sorry. Rants against your boyfriend's ex-wife who can't even see your FB posts, cursing and other nonsensical stuff doesn't need to be a part of my day.

And like I said, I'm just getting started ...

My constant struggle

It hit me right after high school. That's when I stopped my stints with cross country and track, went to college and gained the freshman 15, or maybe it was 20, or could've been 25. I wasn't counting. I had a meal plan, plenty of time to sleep and no desire to attend class. It was coming on fast.

And from that point on, I began the Weight Struggle.

I'd balloon up, get tired of being overweight, and shrink back down. I'd have a baby, gain 60 pounds, then work my tail off to get back down to a healthy size. It was a constant yo-yo that took control of my 20's and continued into my 30's.

Oh, and I have excuses. Plenty of them.

Bad DNA. My parents have both had their fair share of weight struggles.

Four Babies: Any woman who has four kids in 12 years will fight weight, right?

Loving Husband: He doesn't care if I'm as big as a house. And he likes to eat and never worries if he gains a pound or 10.

But the bottom line is that I wasn't exercising, and eating anything I wanted. I love food, good food, and hate healthy options. It was my own fault, plain and simple.

My weight hit home during the pregnancy of Baby No. 4. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. It was awful. Poking myself four times a day and eating apples and chicken for months to control it was miserable. I knew I didn't want to be diabetic. Not during a pregnancy; not ever.

And I was heading in that direction. I already have high blood pressure and take pills for that. I already had high cholesterol. I was a walking time bomb who was falling in line with my father, who suffers from all of the obesity-related diseases a person can muster.

I made up my mind quickly that I love my father, but didn't want to carry on his health problems. I needed to get healthy for me and for my family. It wasn't an option.

Three weeks after Emery was born, I drove to the high school track, where I started running. I did this for a few weeks until the weather interfered, then I joined the local gym. I've been at the gym religiously since the beginning of November 2010. I go three to six times a week, depending on my schedule. I can run 5 miles, and I'm as physically fit as I've ever been in my adult life. I started eating better. I cook with ground turkey, not beef. We eat a lot of chicken and vegetables. Fast-food trips include a salad, not a burger.

And so far, I've lost almost 50 pounds.

That's not enough. My goal is still about 20 pounds away, although that number is quite negotiable. If I lose another 10, I'll be happy as a lark, and if I lose another 25, I'll be thrilled beyond measure. I'm still considered overweight on the BMI scale, but not obese. And all measurements indicate I'm "healthy."

It's not easy, but after coming to the end of my rope, this is my only option.

But being overweight isn't easy either. It's not simple to see your son come home from school crying because kids at school were calling his mother fat. It's not fun to answer your toddler's question: "Are you having another baby, because your stomach looks like it?"

Weight is a struggle for many people. America is as fat as it has ever been, and nearly 30 percent of Hoosiers are obese. No amount of government intervention is going to change those numbers. It takes personal resolve. You have to want to do it, and you have to do it right.

A friend the other day asked how she could lose about 30 pounds quickly. I laughed to myself, and answered, "Diet and exercise." There is no magic pill, no simple solution.

And when my son turns a year old on Sept. 25, I can't wait to pose with him for pictures. It's amazing the difference one year can make.

Practice in letting go

“The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.”

— Iris Murdoch, “The Red and the Green”

For a mother, it turns out to be nightmarish exercise in utter futility, only comparable to learning to tie one’s shoes.

Load up one very gangly little boy, knees already covered in scabs, bruises and scrapes, position him on this two-wheeled contraption and let go.

(It’s the letting go part that bothers us moms.)

Because as soon as mom lets go, the bike starts wobbling to and fro and she knows that those knees are going to be roughed up again.

He crashes, of course. Mom walks a few feet over to where he lays, picks the bike up off that little boy, and wheels it back to the starting line.

Little boy is loaded up once again, while mom grabs the back of the seat. She pushes off and yells, “Keep pedaling. Don’t stop!”

He stops when the bike lands on top of him.

They wheel it back up to the starting line again.

By this time, little boy is getting defeated. So mom keeps cheering him on.

“You can do this!”

So he climbs back on, gripping the handlebars as hard as he can. Still holding on to his seat, mom doesn’t want to let go. Not again. She pushes off, and he pedals, and he pedals some more.

“Use the brakes,” much older, wiser brother screams.

Brakes used, gravel flies and bike again lands on smiling, happy, exuberant little boy.

“I did it. I did it!”

Little boy wanted a shiny, new bicycle for his 8th birthday, so he and his mom headed to discount haven to see what they could find. Walking in the double sliding doors, the excitement was pouring out of his little body. New bike day is a big day — almost bigger than turning 8. Mom and her little boy made a bee line to the back of the store, where many shiny bikes hung in wait for little boy to pick out his favorite.

The first bike they pulled out of the cage was a sky blue Tony Hawk version. It was a full 20-inches, and had shiny black pegs that little boy knew one day would support his very brave little brother. The pedals looked super cool, and little boy was convinced this was the bike for him. No other would possibly do. He tried it on, and it fit — just barely. The seat would need to be lowered, but the sky blue Tony Hawk bike made little boy smile.

Mom loves to see little boy smile.

He patiently wheeled it through the store, rounding curves, as mom picked up toilet paper, diapers, soup, cookies and more. He held on tight to that bike, as people couldn’t help but comment, “Looks like someone’s getting a new bike.” Little boy’s grin only grew bigger with each passing comment.

The new bike was loaded up in the big truck and hauled home. The seat was lowered with a simple Allen wrench by experienced mom, and little boy began practicing his pursuit of ultimate boyhood — learning to ride a bike.

And as mom watched with awe, she realized that it’s always going to be the letting go part that’s the hardest.

It's me, only much better

It's not hard to see that I am in a better place than where I was, say four or five years ago. But to be honest, I don't notice it much anymore. It's just become my life. Well, it's me, only better.

I spent the first 12 years of my adult life with one man. And it's hard for me to remember now being happy during those 12 years with him. I don't say that as a jilted divorced woman with an axe to grind. Not in the least. No axes, here. No vendettas. He's who he is, and I am who I am. Those two people just stopped fitting together.

When that was over, life was hard, until I met the man I was truly meant to spend the rest of my life with. It wasn't hard for anyone to notice. Even my son, who was a mere 8 years old and who was having his own issues dealing with a divorce, remarked, "Mom, Henry makes you smile. You haven't smiled in a long time. You just cried." Pretty deep words coming from a kid, and I knew what he meant. I wasn't me until I met Henry.

Dear Friend reminded me of that tonight as we strolled through town. We chatted about the latest news, and I told her my ex was getting remarried. I told her, "It's no big deal. I've been better off for a long time now." She remarked, "Yes. You're totally different." She's said this to me before, and I know what she means. I value her opinion, and understand her truths. I know who I was then, and I know who I am now, and I know where the credit for that recovery goes. There is a man who makes me truly happy. Who makes me laugh, smile and enjoy my life again.

I don't think about it much anymore because it has become normal for me to be happy. That's a good thing. I've accepted my divorce and all that came with it, the good and the bad. I'm not happy I've been divorced. I mean, who is? But I've come so far ...

Really, I'm still me, but with Henry, I'm much better.

Hey, let's make Emery laugh!!

It's the newest game in our house: Let's make Emery laugh.

It's not a hard game to play, but The Three Big Brothers sure love to play it.

Take Thirdsie, for example. If he laughs at Emery, Emery will laugh right back. Em definitely loves Thirdsie, and the feeling is mutual.

One day last week, I heard Em laughing hysterically. Then, Thirdsie would follow suit. Em would laugh again, then it was Thirdsie's turn. The laughter came when Thirdsie would pull Em's socks off his feet. That's it. That's all it took.

Think stuffed animals are funny? Em thinks they are quite hysterical, especially when Eldest Son lobs one in the air and it plops into Em's lap while he's sitting in the high chair. Or when Thirdsie tosses one up and it hits the ceiling, then falls to the ground.

Or last night's bathtub experience, when no one, absolutely no one wanted to take a bath, UNTIL I said that Em was taking a bath in the real tub, not his baby tub. Then, I ended up with three little boys in our bathtub. It was quite cramped, but full of fun. You see, that's when Lukie Dukie decided to stick his head under water, come up and spit a mouth full of water at Em, who rolled with laughter. He laughed so hard, he almost fell backwards several times. Good thing Mom was there to catch him.

They say laughter is the best medicine. In our house, it's definite true. The Three Big Brothers love to make Em laugh. The more he laughs, the more they laugh. And Mom and Dad often get in on the fun. Truth is, we love to see all four of them laugh.

Proud of petite progress

Ahhh, Lucas. What can I say really? To know him is to love him.

Little Lucas, tiny and vibrant, skilled yet different. Always stood out. Grabs your heart, twists it and never leaves it the same. Yep, that's my Lukie.

It wasn't very long after his birth that I realized Lucas was different. He whimpered, cried and craved me. He awoke every hour to nurse and couldn't be put down. But it wasn't until after his first birthday that I realized Lucas was really different. Things just weren't right. I'd only had one other kid, but I knew in my mamma heart that my quiet, backward toddler wasn't where a 2-year-old needed to be.

At his 2-year well child exam, I said as much to Dr. Sorrells, who agreed and pointed me in the direction of First Steps for speech therapy, because my tot was talking. That was the beginning of a long, often discouraging journey that has created moments proud enough to bring mamma to tears.

I cry a lot when I think of the steps Lukie takes in life. I cry for the little boy who works so very hard to take those big steps. I'm crying now. He just does that, ya know?

Lucas was diagnosed with both developmental and speech delays. He had a developmental and speech therapist for more than a year, then he went into the special needs preschool, where he worked at becoming a big boy for two years. Then, he went into kindergarten. Here, he spent another two years developing. Then, we took the very big step of first grade.

Two months into first grade at the parent-teacher conferences, his teacher explained that we would have to look at holding Lucas back again. He just was not progressing, couldn't read and was really struggling to keep up with first grade work. He was just too far behind. She would work with him, she said, and we agreed to do our part. I cried for my little guy. Another big step ahead ...

We got Lucas' report card today. He got an A+ in spelling, B+ in math and a C+ in reading. In previous report cards, Lucas wasn't meeting "grade level expectations." Now, I'm thrilled to report that he's exceeding them. Yes, exceeding, not just meeting -- all in just five months.

When I told my little man how very proud I was of him, he said, "I did good, didn't I?"

Oh, Lucas, you did good buddy. You hit it out of the park.

Lucas has to take very big steps in life. It doesn't come easy, but he works as hard as any little person ever has. He accepts every challenge head-on. It may take time, but he wins the race.

I couldn't be prouder of my tiny, yet tenacious first-grader whose well on his way to second grade.