Mack “Attack” Brooks
Taylor and I almost share a birthday. We are off by 2 days, which means the day between our birthdays is prime time to celebrate. And in the summer of 2007, we celebrated by getting a dog together. This might seem like a normal idea but a) we weren’t married, b) we had 2 years of college left, and c) I was moving with friends into a rent house that didn’t allow dogs. (Yet we had 3. Sorry again, landlord Ann. The angry handwritten letters you left in our mailbox really did make us feel bad for being such horrible renters…) Getting a dog at that point in our lives was a horrible…
The World According to Beckett
Texas summer heat + third trimester belly + surprisingly fast oversized toddler + opinionated preschooler = a tired mama. And a tired mama = an impatient, grumpy mama. (At least in my case.) Do you ever have those moments when you float outside your body and hear the things you’re saying to your kids – or the tone of voice you’re using, or the ridiculous threats you’re making – and think, “Chill the heck out! They’re just kids.” Yeah, me either… The point is, I can see how I *might* have been hard on my biggest boy in recent months. I just want him to behave and speak like a civilized adult. IS THAT SO…
Ocean Lizard Animal Zebras
And just like that, we almost have a 4 year old. 4. How. The only thing you really need to know about an almost-4-year-old boy is how much of the day is spent in an alternate universe. There are about 12 seconds in a 24 hour period we are not living in the land of make-believe. It’s fun, creative, cute…all of the above. It’s also incredibly hard to play along. The plot lines in his make-believe world are super complex and ever-changing. I can never quite keep up with which character he is in which moment, or what my role is, or what foods/activities/words he does and doesn’t eat/do/say as said character. And just when you think you’ve…
Please Stop Wishing for a Girl on my Behalf
Brooks boy #3 has a name! A real name to put with a real face. (And real javelins disguised as legs that pierce my spinal column with each kick. That’s neither here nor there, just a struggle I’d like to mention.) A real name to get embroidered on bibs because that’s what Southern people love. I’m pretty excited about it. I should tell you his name – if for no other reason than to tempt you into making him bibs – but I won’t. I have taken a vow of silence. I’ve never been in the “let’s keep the gender/name/this entire pregnancy a secret until the baby is born” camp because I’m horrible (HORRIBLE) at keeping…