How I Broke my Toe Playing Pinkilicious

Otherwise titled, "Seriously? You don't have a better story than that?"

It all started happily enough. The girls were out of school for President's Day today and wanted to play Lily Baker's Pinkilicious board game. The game has cards that you pull and you have to do what the card says to get your points.

Ann Catherine pulled a card that told her to pretend she's driving a car, and we all had to follow her lead.

Rather quickly, her sedan turned into a Corvette and off she went. LB and I followed along.

Oh, you know where this is heading, don't you?

Off she went into the kitchen. LB was hot on her heels and I was bringing up the rear. As I turned the corner into the kitchen, I slipped in my socks and the only thing I remember is one leg flying up in the air and then landing, rather unceremoniously, sprawled out on the kitchen floor. There was nothing graceful about it. I banged my knee on the hardwood floor and one of my toes on my left foot hurt like all-get-out.

This is where it gets good.

At first, the girls were oblivious. Then I guess they heard me groaning because, to her credit, Ann Catherine poked her head back into the kitchen to make sure I was breathing. Once she realized I was still alive, off she went. Lily Baker, however, never looked back. I could have been a twisted, mangled, mess and she wouldn't have known it. She was on a mission to win the Pinkilicious game. Sorry, mom.

Think we're a little competitive in this family?

I finally got up and limped back to the game. We began to play, then I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Girls," I said. "Thanks for the help back there. When you are hurt, who drops everything to pick you up and make sure you're okay? That would be me. Instead, you guys were leaping over me like I was roadkill!"

Guilting them into asking me how I was began to backfire. Instead, they started giggling.

"At least Ann Catherine checked to make sure I was alive," I continued. "Lily Baker, you just left me in a heap on the floor with tire tracks across my back."

That's when Lily Baker got up, mock sympathy oozing through her from head to toe, and said, "Oh, mommy, I'm so sorry. Let me see your knee," and she inspected it as if she was on staff at Johns Hopkins.

Ann Catherine, at this point, was in full-blown laughter.

LB gave me a hug and a quick smooch on the lips and mumbled something like, "Can we start playing the game again?"

That, my friends, is gratitude.

I'm wondering if I should have the following conversation with girls: "Hey girls, you know how I showed you to use 911 if there's an emergency? Well, if mommy ever becomes unconscious during Wii 'Just Dance' or a fierce game of Princess Yahtzee, could someone please pause the game for about five seconds and make sure I'm still breathing? I get that you all want to win, but seriously, is that too much to ask??"

It only got worse once Chris got home. You see, sympathy is hard to come by in this household. Chris doesn't feel bad for anyone. He once played a hockey game he doesn't remember. He went back in after taking a puck off the face that knocked him out and left him with a concussion. (on a personal note: kids, I am not condoning this. Your dad clearly has scrambled eggs.) At the end of said game, he had titanium plates put in behind his eye where he was gashed during the game. Then, he played the next night. It's why baseball players who go on the DL because of hangnails make him crazy.

He loves me with all his heart, but believe me, I get no sympathy from him.

So he gets home, and I tell him I think I broke my toe.

"So, how'd you do it?" he asked. I just looked down.

He starts smiling. "How'd you do it?" he kept asking.

Oh, he knew it was going to be a good one. Finally, I confessed.

He laughed the entire time I told the story. Then he looked down at my purple, swollen toe and said, "Yep, looks like you jammed it pretty good," and walked away.

Then as he got to the bedroom, he threw out, "Maybe you should just stick to Wii dancing."

My poor, aching toe. And battered pride.

Tonight as we were tucking the girls in and doing our nightly "I'm thankful for" ritual, Chris said, "I'm thankful no one was seriously injured today while playing the Pinkilicious game."

And the girls started cackling.

Seriously, the outpouring of love is overwhelming in this household. Living here is not for the faint of heart.

I had a migraine yesterday that put me in bed all afternoon and evening. Today, I wiped out during a children's board game and knocked my toe out of whack.

Can I get a do-over? I'm thinking it's not going to be my week.

Wait for the Rainbow

I have a picture that hangs on my mirror in my bathroom.

It's a picture Ann Catherine drew when she was younger. It's a picture of me (you know, the awesome stick figure kind, without hair :) with a halo over my head. I put it there as a reminder of how my daughter sees me, even though it's so far from who I really am. It's a reminder that she is watching everything I do - and learning from it.

Sobering thought for moms, huh?

I added another picture the other night. But before I tell you about it, I must explain what happened that night.

Ann Catherine had one of her grief attacks. I have no better way to describe it. Out of the blue, she'll start thinking about Melissa and she'll just begin to uncontrollably cry. And this goes on for a while.

Have you ever watched as your child truly grieved someone?

It is absolutely heartbreaking.

I went into her room as she and Lily Baker lay in bed. I held her and she sobbed and sobbed. She kept telling me how much she missed Melissa and "I just wished that I could have seen her before she died." I bet she repeated that sentence eight or nine times.

I held her in my arms and told her that I missed her, too. I kept telling her that we would be with Melissa again one day. And each time I said it, she replied, "I just want to see her now!"

I began to cry, too. Tears rolled down my face as I tried to reassure her.

Ann Catherine grieves just as I do. When it finally hits her, she can't hold it back any longer. I grieve the same way. Once I give in to crying, I will cry hard for a good five to ten minutes. So, I didn't rush her. I just held her and let her cry on my shoulder.

The song "Our God" popped into my head. As she sobbed, I rocked her and began to sing, "Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other. Our God is healer, awesome in power, our God. Our God."

Then Lily Baker, who loves this song, joined in. And the two of us sang the chorus over and over and over as Ann Catherine cried.

It was one of the most gut-wrenching and beautiful moments I have ever shared with my daughters.

And then, when I couldn't sing through the tears any longer, I stopped. And Lily Baker just kept going. And she sang that as I rocked Ann Catherine back and forth in my arms.

About twenty minutes later, she stopped crying and I put them both to bed. Then I came into the den, collapsed into the sofa and began to bawl. Chris came over and put his arms around me as I cried.

"I just don't know what to say to her sometimes," I told him. "I know we will see Melissa again one day, but I know that doesn't soothe Ann Catherine's pain right now."

And that's the problem.

We, as parents, are "fixers." We can't stand to see our children sad. So, we try to fix the problem.

This is one problem I cannot fix. I can't bring Melissa back. I can promise Ann Catherine that we will see her again, but that doesn't take away her pain right now.

Please pray for our family as we navigate this journey. Please pray that God will give us the answers we need to these tough questions.

I want to be real with my children concerning Melissa's death. I want them to see me cry. I want them to see me grieve. I want them to know that I miss her too, with all of my heart.

At the same time, I want them to see my faith. When they are older, I want them to look back on their years with me and I want them to say, "I know that my mom loved Melissa and missed her with all of her heart. But, I also know that she trusted God's plan for our lives and she knew that He was in control. She wasn't bitter or angry. She believed that God could bring something beautiful out of so much pain."

So back to my picture. As you all know, we call Lily Baker our rainbow. She is the promise that God sent to our family after that horrible, tragic storm of losing Melissa. The rainbow is a powerful symbol to our family of God's love for us. It is a powerful symbol that life could go on after the storm.

This week at preschool, Lily Baker drew the most beautiful picture of a rainbow. I asked her if I could keep it. I taped it to my bathroom mirror, just above Ann Catherine's picture.

When Lily Baker walked in my room the next morning, she said, "You put my rainbow on your mirror!" She was beaming with pride.

When she walked out, I thought about what we experienced with Ann Catherine the night before. I realized that the rainbow goes so far beyond Lily Baker's birth.

She is the rainbow we celebrate on earth. But one day, we will see the ultimate rainbow.

When the four of us are reunited with Melissa, that will be the final part of God's promise to us. That yes, it may be hard for now, but the rainbow will appear one day. It will shine over our family - our family of five - as we are finally together the way God meant for us to be. When I hold Melissa in my arms, all of the crying, all of the hurt, all of the sadness, all of the grief, will be gone - forever. Not just in my heart, but in Chris' heart, Ann Catherine's heart and Lily Baker's heart.

That rainbow is going to be so spectacular.

Thank you, God, for the rainbow.

Outgrowing our Children's Toys

There’s a scene in Toy Story 2 that always makes me sad.

It’s when Jessie recounts the story of how her friend and playmate outgrew her. One minute the little girl is spending every waking moment with Jessie, the next minute the doll is under her bed as she giggles and plays with her friends. She is older now, and she has moved on.

I know its fiction, but it always gets me.              

I already see it in Ann Catherine. She deems herself too grown up for some things, as she walks through the house with her earphones on listening to her favorite music.

But, Lily Baker? Oh Lord, thank you for Lily Baker.

At any given moment of any given day, I can find Lily Baker in her room with her gazillion miniature princesses and princes sprawled across the room. She talks to them, plays with them, loves them.

Her favorite is Belle.

I don’t know when Lily Baker first came to love Belle. It just seems it’s always been that way. Yellow is her favorite color, because that’s the color of Belle’s party dress. She loves the Beast, Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Chip – all of them. She’s seen Beauty and the Beast so many times she could recite it by heart. And as far as heroines go, Belle’s not bad. She’s smart, loves to read, isn’t a damsel in distress and teaches the beast how to love. Not too shabby. My child’s role models could be worse, you know.

We took the girls to Walt Disney World in April. They were the perfect age. They believe in the magic. By golly, Cinderella actually lives in that giant castle on Main Street. Each night as we walked past, we wondered aloud which bedroom was hers.

But the best part? Watching Lily Baker meet Belle for the first time.

It was at dinner at Cinderella’s Castle. I snapped this picture as Lily Baker saw her from afar for the first time and watched her walk towards our table.

I couldn’t even look at Belle for looking at Lily Baker. Her reaction was priceless. It was worth every single penny we had paid to go there.

It just so happened that Beauty and the Beast was the featured show at Hollywood Studios so Lily Baker got to see it on stage. I don't think she blinked the entire show.

This past weekend we had another first with Belle: Beauty and the Beast in 3D. She had never seen it on the big screen and she was beyond excited.. She insisted on wearing her Belle dress to the theater. Each time her favorite songs came on, I found myself watching her instead of watching the movie. I was overflowing with happiness. It was completely worth the inflated ticket prices and ridiculously priced popcorn.

That’s when I realized something: these memories are as much for me, as they are for her. When I am old and gray and Lily Baker has children of her own, I will see a Belle doll and immediately think of Lily Baker and her love for this princess. I will hear "Be Our Guest" and hear Lily Baker's voice singing it. I will immediately be transported to a time long ago – a time when Lily Baker called her sister “Ann Caf-rine,” a time when she begged to wear dress-up clothes each time we went to the grocery store, a time where it made complete sense to her that Belle could talk to household objects, like a candlestick and clock. A time that now seems so crazy and rushed, but I have a feeling when I reflect back, I’ll long for that craziness.

Maybe our children’s childhood toys – those they absolutely cherish – are more for us than them. Maybe God is giving us memories as well, a reminder when they are older of how wonderful life was when they actually believed in princesses and fairytales.

One day, Belle may find her way under Lily Baker’s bed as she giggles with her friends, painting their nails.

When it does, I’ll still remember her.

I think Lily Baker will, too.

Hockey with Heart!

I'll never forget when the Huntsville Havoc approached us five years ago about doing a fundraiser for Melissa's Fund.

The players were going to wear pink jerseys. PINK!! I just couldn't imagine those tough guys wearing pink jerseys.

They did. And they were such good sports about it. Before the game, Chris took Ann Catherine into the locker room and told them all about her and Melissa. He told them about their brave fight in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Huntsville Hospital for Women & Children. He told them how Melissa's fight ended way too early. He told them how Ann Catherine beat the odds to finally come home to us 68 days later. He told them how the auction of those pink jerseys would allow us to give other parents - parents just like us - hope.

When he finished, those players understood why they were wearing those pink jerseys. They played their hearts out, won in front of a packed crowd and we raised $65,000 in one night as we auctioned off those stinky, smelly - and in some cases, bloody - jerseys.

I'll never forget that night as long as I live.

Lily Baker was only two-months-old. The pain of losing Melissa was still so fresh. But on that night, we realized the impact Melissa's Fund could have on those precious babies and their families.

We learned that this town's hockey community didn't just love hockey. They love giving back. And Chris and I are beyond humbled at the way they have embraced the Melissa George Neonatal Memorial Fund.

We are so grateful to the Huntsville Havoc front office who put their heart and soul into this event. We are grateful that they have chosen to partner with us for the last five years to help premature babies and their families.

(Ann Catherine and her daddy dropping the puck at last year's game)

If you've come to this special night before, we hope you'll come again this year. If you haven't been before, clear your calendar for this Saturday night and join us. I promise you won't regret it!

The first 1,000 fans to bring an item for the NICU will receive a Havoc/Melissa George Fund water bottle. What to bring? Premature clothing, booties, hats or disposable cameras. Why disposable cameras? We leave them at the baby's bedside so nurses can take pictures of them when the parents aren't around. In fact, Ann Catherine received her very first bath at night. I wasn't there. But thanks to our nurse, and our disposable camera, I have a picture of it. That, my friends, is priceless.

Your support of Melissa's Fund means more than you'll ever know. For the past five years, hundreds of families have been on the receiving end of your kindness. You may never meet them, but please know that you have made an impact on their life.

Thank you from one very grateful family. We'll see you Saturday night!

Where Toys Go to Die

My mom got new furniture this week.

And because I'm not at all too proud to get used/free stuff, I got the old stuff.

I decided I would move my sofa in the keeping room into the girls' playroom, which meant a load of toys had to go.

I am not a glutton for punishment. I usually do this when I'm alone to avoid the wailing of my children as I throw out toys they haven't played with in years.

But here's the thing. I hate purging/throwing away/any general house cleaning work, so when the mood strikes me I have to do it right that minute or it will never get done. So all of a sudden at 9am yesterday, I decided it had to be done.

I walked in with trash bags and started sorting things into the "keep" pile and the "give away/throw away" pile.

The girls were helping and it was all going well.

Then I opened the toy chest.

Apparently, it had become the place where toys go to die.

It was full - overflowing actually - of toys, stuffed animals, games, puzzles, etc. I began pulling out things I hadn't seen in years.

All of a sudden, Lily screamed.

"Little Red!!"

It was the figure from "Super Why" and I had placed her in the "give away/throw away" pile.

Now, keep in mind that Lily Baker hasn't watched "Super Why" in at least a year, maybe more. She had no idea that she even had this doll. She cried anyway.

"I love her!" she cried.

"Lily Baker," I said. "You didn't even know you had it."

"But, I love her!!" she countered, as if saying it a second time would drive the point home.

"Right," I said. "You love her so much that you left her at the bottom of this toy chest for two years."

I know it might sound tough. Yes, I could have given in and kept Little Red, but I would have found her again in six months at the bottom of that same toy chest. I was in the zone with trash bag in hand and Little Red had to go.

I mumbled something about "this is why I never do this when you two are around," but I held firm. So long, Little Red.

I did allow them to keep some things, but I stood my ground on others. Lily Baker agreed to give away other things, too. Once we finished, the playroom looked awesome. You could actually find things again and find a place to sit.

Mission accomplished!

Not a Creature was Stirring...

...not even a mouse!

That was Lily Baker today - the mouse in "The Night Before Christmas" at her school's Christmas program.

The 4-year-old class performs this each year at Christmas. She was pumped when she first learned she was the mouse. Then she realized something. My girly-girl who loves nothing more than wearing skirts and pretty shoes learned her attire. Gray sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt with mouse ears.

It was all over.

"Mom, I wish I was one of the Sugar Plum ballerinas!" she told me last week. "They get to wear tutus and dance around!"

I thought fast.

"But Lily Baker, you are the first person on stage! The mouse comes first!"

She wasn't even slightly impressed.

"And, there are three ballerinas but only ONE mouse!"

"Mom," she answered. "There's also only one Santa, one Rudolph and one Frosty."

She had a point there.

"Oh!" I shouted out with my ace in the hole. "You get to wear face paint!!"

And with that, she was finally on board.

So as her lines were delivered by the narrator, she tiptoed across stage. And I think she was the cutest mouse I've ever seen.

I also couldn't help thinking something else.

This is it.

You see, my children started at this preschool when Ann Catherine was just 14 months old. They went to daycare there because I worked full-time.

That means I have sat through this program every year for the past five years. I can sing the songs, recite the lines, and do the hand motions. I have lined up thirty minutes early to get a good seat. I have snapped pictures while Chris recorded video. I have giggled over children singing off-key and laughed at shouts of "Hey, Mommy!" coming from the stage in the middle of a song.

It has been as much a part of my Christmas holiday as stressing over gifts and making last-minute runs to Target.

And now it's over.

We leave this place when Lily Baker graduates in May and that makes me so sad. I know that each chapter brings exciting changes and moving on is a part of life.

But there's something about preschool that is happy. And warm. And comfortable. And safe.

There's something about watching four-year-olds on stage skip over an entire verse of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" without even realizing it. There's something about watching children dressed as Santa, Frosty, angels and reindeer. There's something about watching your "tends to be shy" baby girl tip toe on stage - quiet as a mouse - and then belt out "Jingle Bells" without a care in the world.

And I'm going to miss that.

Things I Want My Girls to Know

Dear Ann Catherine and Lily Baker,
Today is your daddy's birthday. And it's a big one! I won't "out" him on my blog, but if you are old enough when you are reading this, you can do the math. :)

Here's the thing about family. You know everything about each other, warts and all. When you live together, you see it all: the good, the bad and the ugly. You already know I can be a control freak and a worrier. You already know your dad can be impatient and a bit grumpy at times. That's no surprise to either of you. Instead, I want you to know these things about your father today:

Your father loves you.
That is the understatement of the year. He loved you before he ever knew you. When he laid eyes on you, that sealed the deal. When he held your tiny bodies in his big, strong arms, he was forever changed. In a very good way.

Your father loves me.
And he isn't afraid to let you know the pecking order. I'll never forget one time when you interrupted us, and he borrowed a line from our pastor and said, "Girls, I am talking to your mother. She was here before you came and she'll be here long after you are gone." He openly shows his love for me. That's a powerful message for little girls.

Your father is a good man.
He loves God and he seeks His will. When making a decision, he always has our best interests at heart. He tries to do things the right way. When asked once what I thought his greatest trait was, I didn't hesitate: loyalty. He is incredibly loyal to those he loves. Which brings me to my next point...

Your father will always support you.
That doesn't mean he'll always think you are right. I've already witnessed him gently letting you know when you are wrong. It means that when you are doing the right thing, he will fight for you. He will be in your corner. He will support you. And, God love him, he will sit through dance recitals, cheer you on at t-ball games and always tell you how pretty you look. That's just the way it is.

Your father will always feel the need to protect you.
This one is non-negotiable. It happened from the moment you were born. He looked at you and the first thing he thought was, "She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His second thought was "And if someone ever tries to hurt her, I'll...." I'll let you two fill in the blank there, but I am pretty sure it involves a hockey stick and your father's ability to swing it. You might want to prepare your boyfriends for the first time they ever visit. Oh, I'll try and be the voice of reason but there's only so much I can do. And woe to the little boy who tries to pick you up without coming to the front door. It's safe to say it will be the last time he visits. I could go on and on about this one, but know one thing: this is your dad's job. No one will ever be good enough for you, in his eyes. That's just life. As you grow older, refrain from the need to roll your eyes about this one and, instead, embrace it for what it is: love.

You are both incredibly blessed to have him.
Never doubt that and never forget it.

You gave him a new Bible today for his birthday. What a perfect present for him to receive from his little girls. Don't forget to tell him today how much you love him and how grateful you are that he's your daddy. I won't either.

Love,
Mommy

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