It's safe to say Clark will never be a professional dancer.

I love that kid and his antics. I'm the luckiest person in the world.

Griffin Aaron Rice

We prayed for this child and the Lord has granted us what we asked of him.

1 Samuel 1:27

Every good and perfect gift is from above.

James 1:17

From the fullness of grace we have received one blessing after another.

John 1:16

Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born, I consecrated you.

Jeremiah 1:5

Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them;

for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.

Matthew 19:14

I sing for joy at the works of your hands.

Psalm 92:4

And the took the children in His arms, put His hands on them, and blessed them.

Mark 10:16

Dear Griffin: 1 month

Dear Griffin,

You are one month old. Actually you are older than that. I've been trying for three days to write you a letter about your first month of life but haven't gotten past the first sentence for the following reasons:

1. You started crying.

2. Clark shattered one or more of our nice bowls on the ground.

3. Clark plastered your face with stickers.

4. Clark shoved a goldfish in your mouth.

5. You pooped or something.

6. I fell asleep from the energy it now takes me to put words together.

Griffin, you are such an easy, sweet, angelic little baby. You have made the transition from one baby to two so easy for me, and for that I am so grateful. When you are old enough, just remind me how wonderful you were as a baby and I'll buy you some Bop's ice cream. I can't honestly say the past month has flown by for me. One month of you being around seems about right. You just fit right into our little family dynamic from the minute you were born and have already added so much to it. Little man, from the first second I laid eyes on you, you owned me. I am completely smitten over you and will probably never be able to tell you no. You will be spoiled and it will all be my fault.

For the first two or three weeks of your life I called you Clark. Sorry about that. The only reason is because you looked EXACTLY like your older brother. It was like some crazy sci-fi time warp situation when I held you because everything about you reminded me of him when he was a newborn. Slowly but surely, you have definitely developed your own little features and characteristics and I can see a little personality blooming everyday.

I think it is safe to say you slept through your first two weeks of life. When you can talk, I hope you'll be able to tell me what that was like. You were one sleepy boy and I had to pull out all the stops to keep you awake long enough to take a full feeding. You would have slept straight through your hunger pains if I would have let you. I had hoped once you entered the world you would have been excited to meet us, but that wasn't the case at all. I didn't mind because you love to be snuggled while you sleep. You have the most serene way of nestling your sweet little head right against my neck and staying there for hours. And that is exactly where you lived for the first week of your life. In my arms, your head against my neck, my arm holding your little bum. I love the way you smell, by the way. It is intoxicating.

I started trying to start us a little routine in your second week. It wasn't easy because of your marathon sleeping habits during the day, so I had to be super flexible. I tried to keep you awake after you ate even for 15 minutes and that was nearly impossible most of the time. I thought about sticking ice cubes down your diaper but decided that was probably cruel and unusual, and somebody should probably punch me in the face for even thinking it. It was also during your second week that you peed and pooped on me, and that was awesome. Thanks. You grew pretty fast that week because at the end of it I had to box up all of your newborn onesies and replace them with 0-3 months.

In your third week you kind of picked up on the concept of staying awake after you ate. You can stay awake for about an hour max, usually less, and then you nap for two hours. Repeat three more times throughout the day and then it is night time, and that is when the party starts. When you are awake, you are content to sit and watch the chaos that constantly surrounds you. It is a good thing you like your bouncer seat because that is where you spend a majority of the day. I would love more than anything to be holding you and rocking you and snuggling the crap out of you when you are awake, but there is a little toddler boy running around our house who has other plans for me. I do sneak some face time in with you as much as possible though and it instantly makes me giddy. You are definitely not a crier. I can count on two fingers the number of times you have cried that wasn't out of hunger or sleepiness. That is what I meant earlier when I said you are such an easy baby.

Not too much changed in your fourth week, but I did notice that you reached some pretty big milestones. You probably won't find this too impressive, but I wanted to throw you a party when I saw you reach for the little toys that hang from your bouncer. You are already batting at them and trying to make them swing. Genius. You also figured out how to put your hands together. Again, not exactly rocket science but I think you might be president one day. We took you to church at the beginning of the fourth week and you got lots of compliments on how handsome you are. You get compliments everywhere you go because you are one good looking fellow. I'm not biased at all.

Hey, do you remember that time you were born? You didn't give me a lot of heads up you were coming and you almost fell right out of my body. In case you don't remember, you can read about your story right here. I will probably use that story to guilt you into being nice to me when you are older. Well, apparently that is just your style. You are the quietest, most content baby I have ever encountered, until the very second you decide you are hungry. And then out of nowhere, you are able to belt out the loudest, most panicky yelp possible. After you eat you go back to straight up chillin' mode like you don't have a care in the world. You have spunk, and I like that about you.

By now you are probably used to the little person who is constantly screaming in your ear, sticking his finger up your nose and trying to stuff goldfish down your throat. That little person is your older brother, Clark, and really he loves you. He loves to kiss your head and pet you like a dog and say, "Hey Grif, how ya doin' great?" I can't leave him in the same room with you unattended because he doesn't really know how to handle you yet. But he loves to hold you and I have taken about three thousand pictures of him holding you to prove it. In the mornings after he wakes up, he always asks about you and wants to "hold it." You've probably noticed he can be pretty loud at times, especially in the car. But you are very patient with him, even though he can accidentally be pretty rough with you. Eventually you'll need to start sticking up for yourself, but you are playing your cards right for now.

In case you are curious, at your first doctors appointment (which was supposed to be a two week check up but since that fell during Christmas holidays, you didn't get seen until you were three weeks old), you weighed ten pounds and six ounces. You have gained a whopping one pound since you were born, which is actually kind of impressive. The doctor said big babies like you are a little slower to gain weight so he was happy. You nurse seven or eight times a day, including the middle of the night feedings, so I wasn't worried about you not gaining weight. I can already see how you have grown since the day you were born. It makes me sad and happy. More sad than happy. But still happy. But definitely sad. But happy you are healthy. But sad you are growing fast. Did you catch all that?

When it comes to night time sleep, I wouldn't say you are the world's worst sleeper, but you won't be receiving a medal any time soon. For the first couple of weeks, you clearly had your days and nights mixed up. You were up almost every hour, which meant I was up almost every hour. Ouch. Once I put you on a schedule in the day you got better at night. Instead of waking up, say, 75 times during the night, you got to where you would wake up three times. And now you are pretty consistently waking up twice, and that's ok, but I would like it if you wouldn't wake up at all. So why don't you just get right on that? On the day you turned four weeks old, I moved you to your crib in your own room. You had been sleeping in a little bassinet right next to our bed because I am incredibly lazy and unmotivated to move my body in the wee hours of the morning. While I don't enjoy doing the zombie walk from my room to yours a couple of times in the middle of the night, I absolutely love spending that time with you. You always fall asleep in my arms and we rock for a while before I put you back in your crib. We don't get to do that very much during the day so I'll take what I can get, even if I'm falling asleep too.

Grif, you are an awesome person. Daddy and I have loved spending this past month with you. You are such a breath of fresh air, even though you are incredibly gassy and you doodoo like a madman. Your little mannerisms are precious and your little squeaks and sounds make us smile. I can't promise you we are going to do everything right, but I can promise you this: we will always love you, no matter what. God will always love you more. We will always be there for you. At the end of the day, your family and faith is all you have. I am very much looking forward to watching you grow during your second month. I'm on pins and needles waiting for that first real smile. It's coming any day now, I just know it.

Love,

Mama

P.S. Our internet is acting up and won't let me post more pictures, but I will fix it soon and put some more up so you and the whole world can see how beautiful you are.

Meet Clark: 2 years old.

On Friday, January 6, 2012, we celebrated Clark's second birthday. His two years of life have been the most exhilarating, heart-stirring, amazing years I could have ever dreamed of. He has brought so much joy and contentment into our lives, and I know my purpose in this life was fulfilled the day he was born. God chose me to be his mother. Aaron to be his dad. Griffin to be his brother. And since Clark has been in my life, I am truly happy. There are just no words.

Two years old. He is definitely a two year old...that is all I have to say about that. I'm not going to say he is in the terrible two's, because there is and never will be anything terrible about Clark Rice. But he has entered a phase of life where he is quick to test boundaries and he will do whatever it get takes to get a reaction from you. He'll bang his spoon on the table as loud as he possibly can just so I will tell him to stop. He will scream at the top of his lungs in the car just so I will have to scream even louder to ask him to stop. He will eat play doh just so I tell him to stop. He takes pleasure in those little things, which is why my most frequented prayer request to God is to give me more patience and self control than the average person.

I’m simply amazed at how smart he is. He gets that from me. He learns new things by the hour and has the memory of a (insert anything with a great memory). He talks all day long and we can finally have real conversations where there is a very legitimate exchange of words. He can easily tell us what he wants as opposed to just pointing and grunting and this has eliminated about 85% of frustration from both parties. Some of my favorite things he says right now are: “Thanks welcome.” He doesn’t understand that one person says thanks and the other says you’re welcome. He just says both. Same thing with “How ya doing good great.” He asks and answers himself how he is doing. Most of the time he shortens it to “How doin’ great.” He loves to find any surface with a downward slope and walk down it and say “Weeee slide.” These things won't sound funny to anybody in the world except for me and Aaron. But we love it and laugh every single time.

Something I am so excited about is the simple fact that about two weeks before his second birthday, he trashed the pacifier. It was an incredibly easy process. I told him he couldn’t have it anymore because he’s too big. He said ok. That was it. He did ask for it a few times at bedtime, but I told him no, and he never fought it. It was easy as pie. He doesn’t even try to steal Griffin’s pacis. Even though sometimes I wish I had a dadgum paci in the car when he proceeds to scream at the top of his little lungs and there is no escape route, I’m glad to have ended that stage in his life. I don’t like them but I will always have them for babies. It's a love/hate relationship.

Another big milestone he is working on is the infamous potty training. My method of potty training is probably the most unconventional method ever and I wouldn’t recommend it to any other soul on this planet. But it is working for us pretty well, and I might be the least stressed out mom ever because of it. When we are at home, Clark is naked. Not even a diaper. Bum naked. He has a little Elmo potty in the bathroom, and when he has to go he runs in there and uses it. He’s doodoo’d in it a couple of times and pees several times a day. He definitely understands the concept and doesn’t need my supervision and usually doesn’t even tell me before he goes. I’m scared to go straight to undies because when he is wearing diapers, he doesn’t hesitate to let it all out and I don’t know whether or not he would do the same thing in underwear. But maybe I’m not giving him enough credit. I’m not going to worry about it and I plan on just waiting for him to give me some assurance that he’s ready. So in the meantime, he stays in his birthday suit. And he loves it. And I love seeing his little hiney running around my house. I’m mentally sick, but you know that already if you’ve ever read even one thing on this blog.

Clark is definitely in a stick-everything-up-his-nose stage right now. I decided this was the case after I spent thirty minutes one evening trying to dig a kernel of corn out of his nose. That sucker was wedged up there pretty good and I was getting ready to load everybody up and go to the nearest ER. Eventually Clark got tired of it being there and blew it out along with three pounds of boogers. Well I guess he decided it was great fun because he sure did get a lot of attention for it, so now anything smaller than the tip of my pinky is at risk for going up the nostril. I’ve learned if I ignore him and act like I don’t see him doing it, he’s not as interested. Ah, the mind of a toddler. It’s as foreign to me as nuclear physics and more.

When it comes to food, I hereby declare Clark the worst consumer of food in the history of all two year olds. I don’t know when or where I went wrong, but at some point several months ago he decided food was overrated. He’ll eat the heck out of some fruit and string cheese and that’s about it. He will literally go six meals in a row where he will eat the equivalent of a peanut. I have tried everything but I am determined to not make meals a battlefield, so I’m just going to trust that he is not stupid and will eat when/if he gets hungry. If he could eat a steady diet of chocolate chip cookies and coke, I’m sure he would tell you that would be fine. But I like to think I’m a better mom than that. I’ll just let him go hungry instead.

The last two weeks of Clark’s second year of life were highly traumatic because he got a new little brother. We tried to prepare him for this for nine entire months. I think he is still processing some of it, as in, the reality that this little baby thing is actually going to live with us forever. What I do know is that Clark loves Griffin. I sincerely believe he loves the little guy and is so affectionate towards him. He loves to kiss him, poke his eyeballs, hug him, spit on him, help put him to bed by screaming in his ear, and rock him in his bouncer to the point that Griffin is airborne. The transition from one to two kids has been relatively painless, minus a couple of moments of severe tantrums and one really bad day on Clark’s end. I had so much help from Aaron, my mom and Aaron’s mom that I think we managed to distract Clark enough to make it through the day. Although I have been a little taken aback by his separation anxiety since Griffin was born. There have been several occasions where he did not do well at all when I had to leave him. This is odd because in the past, he'd yell "holla!" when I walked away. This past Sunday at church they had to page me out of the service because he was so upset. I’ve read this is completely normal when a new baby comes into the picture but it breaks my heart. I am hoping time will heal this scenario.

On a different note, what I never realized until Griffin arrived was just how LOUD Clark Rice is. He has an impressive set of pipes in him and they are the most noticeable when Grif is trying to fall asleep. That is why I bought an industrial strength noise maker that is so loud I don’t think we would hear a bomb go off in the next room. It’s definitely helping the G-man sleep better and I’m a lot less stressed because I don’t freak out when Clark does his hourly lung strengthening exercises.

Some things Clark loves these days are Cars, both the Pixar movie and any automobile. He loves garbage trucks, mail trucks, tractors, school buses, helicopters, trains, airplanes, 18 wheelers, 4 wheelers…are you seeing a theme? If it has an engine, he is fascinated. He loves being outside more than anything in the world. He enjoys coloring, reading the same three books, slides, running, playing hide and go seek, Blue’s Clues, swimming in the bath tub, picking boogers and placing them anywhere he wants, seeing his friends at school (Mother’s Morning Out) and church, playing football with his dad, jumping in water puddles, pointing out every single thing he sees and telling me what it is, Chuck E. Cheese with Aaron, listening to the toddler radio station on Pandora in the car, singing Itsy Bitsy Spider and You Are My Sunshine, helping me cook, wearing the boots that his Geezer got him for Christmas, talking in third person, walking in any room and yelling “HEY!”, giving Aaron, Griffin and I big slobbery kisses and sweet hugs, and being awesome. He is definitely awesome.

The thing that blows me away the most lately is just how big he is. I know this is because he is always next to Griffin, and Griffin looks so tiny to me (even though he is a fairly huge baby). Yesterday was a really tough day for Clark. I had to discipline him a lot and he was unusually temperamental so it felt like all day I was saying no or threatening him with spankings (which I hate doing but seem do it all the time because it works like magic). The whole day sucked and I don’t really know what went wrong. It started at church and lasted all day. I was so ready to put him to bed at the end of the day and start over today. But last night at about 11:30 after I fed Griffin, I started thinking about how bad I felt for Clark that his day was so bad and wanted to make it better, even if the day was technically over. I went in his room and picked him up out of his crib while he slept and rocked with him in the rocking chair for about an hour. I couldn’t believe how big he was. He felt so heavy on my lap and his long legs and arms were draped over my shoulders. Even his breath seemed heavy. It boils down to this: he’s just not a baby anymore. He hasn’t been a baby for a long time, I realize this. But lately he seems so mature and I’m kind of not ready for it. But what choice do I have in the matter? Not much of one. He’s going to keep getting bigger, one day bigger and taller than me, and I’ll need to be a big girl about it.

We love this kid so much. There are days we don't get along and there are plenty of parenting moments I am not proud of. But he always forgives me and doesn't remember all the times I lost my temper. I am still cool to him. He lights up when I enter a room and I do the same when I see him. I hope this lasts forever. My goal for the next year of his life is to slow down and enjoy him. I want to savor his little Clarkyisms and write them down so I never forget them. I want to stop being too busy to sit on the floor and color with him. I want to let him play in the bathtub for as long as he wants. I want him to be fearless. I want to stop saying no so much and let him learn his own way of doing things. And my biggest hope is that he starts to understand the gospel and love Jesus. Our church will play a big role in that, but it is definitely mine and Aaron's responsibility. Big things will happen for Clark Rice this year and I get to see every single day of it. What a blessing. Being his mom is what I am least deserving of but most grateful for. I'm looking forward to the shenanigans that Clark gets into this year and hoping I can keep up. He is definitely a dark shark on the prowl.

Griffin's Story

The day of Griffin's birth seemed as if it was taken straight out of a movie scene. Aaron and I have had many past conversations where I tell him that not all labor and deliveries take 14 or more hours like Clark's did. Sometimes women go into labor and they barely make it to the hospital or end up birthing a child in their car or on a sidewalk or something crazy like that. He was convinced that only happened in the movies and that I didn't need to worry about having a hospital bag packed or anything because we would have plenty of time.

Well now he knows better.

Saturday, December 10, 2011 was an exciting, painful, scary, beautiful, and unexpected day. This is how the events of that day unfolded.

We woke up that Saturday morning as a family of three and wanted to take advantage of what little time we would spend together because Aaron planned on working that afternoon. Nothing at all was unusual about that morning. I waddled into the kitchen, fixed Clark some oatmeal, made Aaron coffee, had my bowl of Cheerios, and we spent most of the morning lounging in our pajamas. We decided to take Clark to Northpark Mall to get his picture taken with Santa Claus and then grab some lunch before Aaron headed to the office. Sounds like a fairly uneventful day if you ask me.

At about 12:45, we loaded up and headed to Northpark. Let me emphasize that at this point, I felt great. Perfectly fine. Not a clue what the rest of the day had in store for me. We got to the mall at 1:00, located Santa and the two mile long line of overzealous kids and parents waiting to sit on Santa's lap, and stood in line for almost an hour. Actually, I stood in line while Aaron entertained Clark by taking him up and down the escalator and buying him a ridiculous amount of chocolate chip cookies. I had a feeling Clark would not cooperate very well with Santa because it was so close to his nap time, so when it was Clark's turn, I warned the nice photographer lady that he was probably going to freak out and to just take the picture. There was no need to distract him or try to make him smile. It just wasn't going to be pretty.

Clearly I was right. The up close and personal view of Santa was enough to send him straight into panic mode the very second Aaron put him on his lap. I instructed the photographer to hurry up and take the picture so we could get the heck out of there before we caused a huge scene. I made my way to the cashier who I think was judging me the whole time and gave her my credit card.

At the exact moment she gave me my credit card back, I felt my very first contraction and it almost sent me to my knees. It completely took the breath out of me. It was bad. This was at approximately 2:00 p.m. I grabbed my card and the pictures out of her hand and told Aaron I was positive I just had a contraction and we needed to get out of there.

Two minutes later, I felt another contraction and it was just as painful and ridiculous as the first. And then another one came two minutes later. And another one. By that point, I started semi-freaking out. We walked out of the mall and I was trying to breath through the contractions while Aaron was letting Clark dawdle aimlessly in the parking lot. I can specifically remember Aaron patiently telling Clark to stay with him and that he couldn't run in the parking lot, and I turned around and yelled in a very demonic voice to pick up the dadgum kid and throw him in the car. It was around this time that I started getting very mean. Very, very mean.

Once we got in the car, I started timing the contractions on my phone. They were about one minute and 40 seconds apart and unbelievably painful. Even though I really wanted to go home and get my bag and take a shower and shave my legs and put make up on, we headed straight to the hospital. But not without Aaron first asking if we had time to stop at a Mexican restaurant so he could get some lunch. He was hungry, poor guy. That is a true story. He actually did that.

I would like to take a second to emphasize the timeline we were dealing with. The first contraction hit at about 2:00 p.m. while we were in the mall. We got in the car at about 2:10 to go to the hospital. In between contractions, I tried to call a few people to let them know we were on our way but ended up screaming in their ear because the next contraction came too fast. You should have been a fly on the wall in our vehicle on the journey from the mall to the hospital. I was screaming in pain like a dadgum drama queen, Aaron was trying to maneuver around some very heavy traffic on one of the worst possible roads in Jackson, and Clark was in the backseat looking at us like we were on drugs. I was demanding in a very loud tone that Aaron run every red light, weave in and out of traffic like a madman and honk at any car who dared get in our way, and yes, we went about 100 miles per hour on the interstate.

We got to the hospital at about 2:20 and I stumbled into the waiting room, looked at the lady behind the glass window and pointed at my belly and said, "this is happening right now." Then I doubled over a wheelchair sitting next to me while a contraction hit and screamed a little more. The contractions were about one and a half minutes apart by then and each one seemed to be more painful than the last. Oh the pain.

I was so not prepared for this level of pain. I was fully prepared to casually walk into the hospital on my scheduled c-section day and have a baby, but definitely not prepared to experience full out labor with zero pain medication. I couldn't breathe through the contractions and I had mini panic attacks with each one.

The nurse in the ER instructed Aaron to stay in the waiting room with Clark while she admitted me, and then she had the audacity to ask me for a dadgum urine sample and my entire medical history WHILE I was standing there minutes away from giving birth. At this point, I'm pretty sure I grew horns on my head. I let my inhibitions fly out the window and vocalized any thought that entered my mind. And believe me, these were not happy thoughts. It was kind of great, actually. I had never spoken my mind like that and probably won't ever have an excuse to do it again. In fact, looking back it was kind of funny. But at the time, nothing was even close to funny.

I think it was about 2:45 when they put me in a bed and this is when I started getting very irritatable and barking unpleasantries at anyone who made eye contact with me, mostly my husband. It seemed to me at the time that they had just stuck me in a bed and completely forgot about me. I was experiencing the most horrific pain in my life and screaming every minute and a half and I desperately needed an epidural to make it out alive. Aaron assures me this wasn't the case. They had not forgotten about me, they were just getting the operating room ready and calling my doctor and the anesthesiologist and blah blah blah. All I knew is that I needed pain medication or somebody was going to have to die.

Note: I've never been one to disclose personal information on the ole blog, but years down the road I'm going to want to remember these details, so I'll try to be discreet but I'm going to go ahead and let it all out. Brace yourself. The first time they checked my labor progress I was 6 cm dilated. Ten minutes later, when I honestly didn't think I could handle the pain anymore and I was violently screaming at every poor soul that entered my presence, they checked me again and I was 8.5 cm. Aaron was standing next to me me almost the whole time, although I'm positive he would have loved to have hung out in the waiting room to avoid being brutally yelled at. Have I mentioned how bad the pain was? Because it was bad. Aaron tells me that I repeatedly yelled the phrases, "Where is the freaking anesthesiologist!?" and "pain medicine! pain medicine! pain medicine!" no less than 200 times in that short span of 10 minutes. I needed relief and fast. It was horrible.

A lot of it is a blur to me already, but I do have very vivid memories of a few things. I remember watching Aaron getting suited up in scrubs and being wheeled into the operating room and thinking how cold and strange everything was. I remember feeling my last contraction while the anesthesiologist was giving me a spinal block and the wonderful feeling of relief I felt about 30 seconds later. I remember being worried that my doctor wasn't going to make it in time but being so thankful she arrived just in time to do the procedure. She was so encouraging and calm and made the whole thing as pleasant as it could possibly be. I remember Aaron sitting close to my face and smiling at me while he held my hand. I remember my doctor holding Griffin up above the curtain and tears streaming down my face. She said over and over again that he was a big boy and was beautiful and healthy and looked great. I remember a nurse saying, "You won't believe how big this baby is. He's nine pounds, six ounces!" I remember seeing Aaron hold Griffin for the first time and how happy that made me. I remember thinking about Clark and wondering what he was doing. I remember asking my doctor if she could do a little bit of liposuction after she pulled the baby out to kick start the baby weight shedding process. I remember when they wheeled me out of the OR and my family and friends were standing in the hallway waiting for me. That was such a sweet moment that I'm going to hold on to for a long time.

So Griffin Rice was born at 3:15 that afternoon. I had no idea when that first contraction hit at the mall that only one hour and fifteen minutes later, I would be holding our newest baby boy. That hour and fifteen minutes was the longest, most horrifyingly painful time period I could ever fathom and I never want to do it again.

We spent three wonderful days in the hospital getting to know Griffin and hanging out with a steady flow of visitors. My recovery was a walk in the park (compared to the first time) and I am confident a c-section was the right decision for me this time. As soon as I publish this post, I'm going to start writing about the last three weeks and fill you in on who this Griffin kid is. This one was entirely too long so I opted to forego the three thousand pictures I've taken since he was born, but rest assured that in my next post you will be overwhelmed with how cute he is. And Clark and Griffin in the same photo is almost too much to handle in one sitting.

You won't find scrooge in our house this year.

Last year I was the ultimate scrooge. I didn't put up a tree for fear that a certain one year old would terrorize it and also because I just didn't feel like it. That is me being honest. I also waited until Christmas Eve to shop for everybody in the family. And I had little motivation to decorate because I knew we wouldn't be home on Christmas morning and Clark was way too young to know any difference.

But this year is different. I believe it was the day after Thanksgiving that I was bitten by the Christmas bug and busted out the tree and what little decorations we had. Let me clarify: my Christmas decor is and never will be impressive, but that doesn't matter. It got our family in the spirit and I am so unbelievably excited for Christmas morning to roll around. The difference in this year and Christmas's past, besides the addition of a new Griffin, will be the lack of Rice's. Due to all these little babies being born and the fact that four out of five Rice kids have moved out of the great state of Mississippi (crazy, I know), it just wasn't possible to make it happen this year. So Aaron, Kelly, Clark and Griffin Rice will wake up in our house on Christmas morning, make some breakfast and hot chocolate, read the story of Jesus' birth, and then open presents. And then hopefully Clark and Griffin will want to take a Christmas morning nap at the same time. But I seriously doubt that will happen.

I love our tree. It is extra special to me this year because of the addition of 25 new Jesse Tree ornaments. We are doing the Jesse Tree as a way to really put the focus of Christmas on Jesus. I'll have an entire post dedicated to this in the very near future.

I won this bad boy playing bunco last year. It might be my favorite piece of decor I own.

Our mantle. Mantles are intimidating to decorate, if you ask me. Especially when you have to work around a Direct TV box and dvd player, and even more when you are creatively challenged, as I am. You can't see it, but there is garland up there and the words "Joy" and "Believe" pop out at you every time you look at the tv. I did the best with what I had, and maybe next year somebody can help me make it look better.

Up close view of the stockings my 91 year old grandmother, Yaya, recently stitched by hand. She's so talented and thoughtful, and these two little stockings will be in our family for the rest of our lives. You wouldn't believe the detail if you looked at it even closer. I am 100% positive I could never do that.

And we even have some presents under the tree. I'm only semi-embarrassed by the cheap bows I stuck on them. You would think after living with Megan for three years, I would have learned how to tie a pretty bow around a gift, but that is definitely not the case. I'm just proud of myself to have (almost) finished my Christmas shopping in advance and even get them wrapped before Christmas morning, which is much more my style.

And these little guys are our temporary centerpiece. I had them stuck in a box and didn't know what else to do with them. I hope it's not too tacky.

So that about covers it. I realize that whatever decorations I put up will have to eventually come down, and since procrastination is one of mine and Aaron's biggest gifts, I have a feeling we will be celebrating Valentine's Day with our Christmas tree up. I will pay somebody to take this tree down after a reasonable amount of time has passed. I will certainly not be up for the task, and I would put money on Aaron avoiding it like the plague.

Merry Christmas to all of our friends and family. To all you Rice's around the globe, it just won't be the same without you. We hope you enjoy your Christmas morning. Please take pictures. Love y'all!

My Spoon Victory

I should have known our morning was bound to be tragic when I heard Clark waking up and I looked at the clock and it was 5:50 am. Friends and loved ones, this is way too early. I let him stay in his crib for at least 15 minutes thinking he would fall back asleep, but when I looked at the video monitor, he was standing up holding his blanket and crying hysterically. I went into his room holding back tears because I knew at that point he was awake for the day and so was I. My point of telling you this is because 5:50 is really early for Clark and I knew he didn't get his ideal amount of sleep which is approximately 12 hours each night. In other words, in order for him to be a happy kid throughout the day, he would have needed a good two more hours of night night.

And I was right. From the second I went in his room, the floodgates opened and I could not get him to calm down. It got old and really fast, but I was patient with him and just let him work it out until he settled down. At about 7:00, he started whining for oatmeal and I was ecstatic to hear anything other than an all out scream fest, so I fixed him a bowl and watched him scarf it down.

This is where the story actually starts. After he finished his bowl, he asked for more, which actually sounds more like the word mower. So I got some more oatmeal and poured it in his bowl and went to get the milk when I saw him trying to eat the oatmeal dry. I told him to stop eating it because we need to put milk in it and heat it up first. This was the moment that Clark broke down. Freaked out. Melted down. Panicked. Almost died. It was horrible. How dare I ask him not to eat dry oatmeal. He got so mad that he yelled, "No!!" and chunked his spoon across the room as if he was saying, "I curse the ground my mom walks on."

Whoa. He has never done this so I actually had no idea how to appropriately react. Spank? Time out? Demand an apology? I didn't know. So I gave him my mom glare, told him in a relatively calm voice that throwing the spoon was not okay and he needed to pick it up.

He walked to the spoon, picked it up, handed it to me and said "Sorry, Mommy. I love you."

Just kidding. That didn't happen at all. In fact, he screamed louder and continued his temper tantrum until I just walked out of the room and left him by himself. He followed me into the other room, still screaming, and holding his arms up like he wanted to be picked up. I told him I wasn't going to pick him up until he picked up the spoon. That didn't go over well.

For the next couple of hours I walked around cleaning up my house, leaving the spoon exactly where he threw it, and Clark literally spent an hour following me around with his blanket in his hand screaming and crying and saying "up, mama." I constantly repeated that I wasn't going to hold him until he picked up the spoon, and every couple of minutes I would ask him if he was ready to bring me the spoon and he would tell me no. Eventually he dropped the idea of being held and played by himself but I continued to ask him about the spoon. Being the stubborn mess he is, he said no every time.

At 8:50 am (remember, this all started at about 7:00), the heavens opened as I was in Clark's room putting his laundry up. He came in the room with his blanket in one hand and the spoon in the other. He slowly walked over to me, handed me the spoon, gave me a really big hug, and then asked for more oatmeal. That really happened, people. It only took two hours of refusing to hold my son, listening to a very constant, high pitched scream, and not giving him attention to send a message.

We walked into the kitchen and I made him some more oatmeal and put it in front of him. He took one look at it and pushed it away like I had just presented him with a giant bowl of poop. Instead of losing my mind, which would normally have been my first reaction, I told him that made me sad because I worked hard to make him some more oatmeal and he needed to eat it. So he pulled the bowl toward him and proceeded to eat the whole thing. I thanked him for being nice and told him I loved him and lots of other cheesy jargon.

This may not seem like a big deal, but I did a happy dance. It was a victory for me, and I'm not sure Clark learned even one thing from the whole ordeal, but whatever. Although the morning was extremely difficult to make it through, I wouldn't change anything about it because I learned a couple of valuable lessons that I'm going to keep with me for a while.

The most important thing is that I will forever reign over all the spoons in my house.