Tiny Dancer

Cat’s Dance Story – Part One


Welcome to my first post on my revamped blog! 

In choosing my first topic, I considered lots of different things. There’s so much swimming around my brain I would love to share with you. However, I finally decided the best idea was to start the blog with something autobiographical, something that tells my readers a little about me.

I don’t believe in the idea of a “life story.” Instead, I think every life is made up of many stories. In some, you are the hero. In others, you are the villain. And in many, you are both. I’m no different. As I was trying to choose one of my stories, something significant happened. I won’t reveal it now, because it will ruin this series, but, recently, I had a life-changing moment. And because of that, I will be telling my dance story first.

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How to Speak “Maclane”

Maclane.  “Wee-Bubby”.  My “little one”.  My “snugglebutt”.  My “big Mac”.

If there’s one thing about Maclane that stands out, it’s his history with speech.  As some of you know, Maclane was in speech therapy for about a year, because he could only say about three words at nearly two years-old.  His doctor told us this was most likely because he had fluid in his ears for a long period of time before having tubes put in.  Needless to say, the speech therapy was very, very effective.  Now, Maclane never stops talking.  Ever.  As he said to his Papa recently, “I just start talking when the sun comes up.”  And the other day, he informed me, “Mommy, I have a lot of words inside of me.”  Except…that first sentence came out of his mouth like this, “I jus start tal-ting when da sun tomes up.”

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Blessed

Happy New Year to all!

We’ve made it through the Mayan ‘apocalypse’ and I have made it through a rough few weeks with the flu and pneumonia.  It seems like getting sick is my Christmas tradition, but this was one was especially bad.  Thankfully, it seems to be on its way out.  Having been doing a lot of sitting around while sick, I’ve been catching up on my Facebook/Email/UselessReadingThingsOnline.  While reading about everyone’s holidays and some sweet Christmas stories, I stumbled upon a couple of personal stories that really hit home.  These are two stories from two moms, neither of whom I know personally.  I found their stories because they had been shared by friends of friends on Facebook.

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Sutton Faith

First off, I apologize to everyone for my hiatus from blogging.  Obviously, I had a baby, and I’ve taken a few weeks just to focus on her when I have quiet moments alone.  It’s been eight weeks now, though, and I’ve been itching to write again.  So I’m going to start off by simply telling Sutton’s birth story.  I have each of my children’s birth story written down somewhere, and I love to be able to go back and remember the details that become fuzzy over time.  Also, with each pregnancy, it was fun to look back and see how my doctor appointments went, how dilated I was (or wasn’t), and wonder if the current birth would go like the ones before.  This, however, will be my last birth story…

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Half The Pillow

As I sit here, still awaiting the imminent birth of Baby (#4) “Button”, I have my last baby on my mind.  Maclane was #3, and he was supposed to be the last baby.  I think, because of that, I’ve seen him as a ‘baby’ much longer than the other two.  Of course, in reality, he’s very much a big boy now.  He is three years and three months old, and he talks up a storm.  Sometimes, only I can understand his continuous monologue, but he keeps on all the same.  During the day, Maclane is independent, assertive, and curious.  He has something to do all the time.  At night, however, he is Mama’s baby.

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Lady in Waiting

Yes, yes, I know.  The title of this post is also the title of a popular Christian book for girls about remaining a virgin until marriage.  That is absolutely not, however, what I intend to write about today.  Although I think the message of that book is wonderful, I think it’s clear that, for me, that ship has sailed.  Ten years after getting married, however, I find myself a different kind of ‘lady in waiting’.

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