You're Here With Me Now.

Dear August,

You know, I love you. The greatest moments of my day are the ones when you stop what you're doing, look at me and give me that adorable little grin. It's like you're saying, 'You know what, Ma? You're all right.' I love those smiles. I love almost everything about you.

There is, however, something I'm not so fond of, and this is your official warning to take note and change your ways before I have to take actions into my own hands.

STOP GROWING UP.


You hear me, little dude? Stop it. Just stop it. No, seriously... stop it. You're trotting around the house on your hands and knees, sitting up on your knees and reaching for things, sitting on your bottom and looking at me like, 'Yeah, I sit. I'm big. What of it?' You're outgrowing clothes and car seats. You like toys with buttons that make noise. What happened to the day I could give you a sock and you'd be entertained for hours? Huh? You chase the cat around until she's madder than a hornet. Wasn't it just yesterday when you didn't pay attention to her at all?


You're almost six months old. How did that happen? Where did the little guy in the NICU go, the one I thought would never get to come home? You're getting so big, so fast.


Today, I baby-proof the house from your curious hands and mouth. Tomorrow, I'll be sending you off to school. Next week, you'll be graduating college. Next month, I'll be watching you say your vows to a beautiful woman you'll have been raised to love fully and unconditionally. Next year, I'll be... oh, goodness, no... a GRANDMOTHER.


Please, buddy, slow it down. I don't want you to stop being my baby.


I'm not joking. Stop grinning at me.


Seriously, stop!

The Soggy Mini-Wheat.

You know what I feel like?

I feel like a soggy Frosted Mini Wheat.  You know, the one drowning in the milk with all its icing washed off?  That's how I feel.

I'm the mini wheat that's not fun to eat.  Ew, soggy mass of whole grains.  Yuck.  I'm the one that the kid (Who doesn't want to eat Frosted Mini Wheats in the first place, mind you.) picks around until he finally HAS to eat me.  But maybe he won't eat me.  Maybe he'll just dump me down the sink.  I'll get caught in the milk current & get dragged down, down, down, into the garbage disposal, which the kid will turn on just to hear the neglected mini wheat slosh.  My sad, tattered, cereal-ingly gory remains will wash into a public sewage system where who knows what is floating around.  Oh, poo.

Funny thing is, I like the soggy Frosted Mini Wheats.  I'd rather have them than the brand spankin' new, solid, crisp ones.  This may be God telling me to actually like myself.  Huh.  Interesting.

There Is Nothing Quite Like...

There is nothing quite like picking your adorable, sweet, hilarious son up first thing in the morning and cheerfully exclaiming, 'Good morning, Mr. Awesome!'.

There is nothing quite like the adorable, sweet, hilarious son puking curdled formula all over your face.

There is nothing quite like anxiously attempting to clean the curdled formula out of your ear and knowing you're failing miserably.

There is nothing quite like coming up with the brilliant idea to shove a shower jet into your ear to eradicate remnants of curdled formula.

And, finally, there is nothing quite like having swimmer's ear for the remainder of the day.

Ah, yes, having children... There is nothing quite like it.

The Devil's Playground.

The skies were dazzling and luminous, a sprinkling of downy white clouds adding innocence and charm to the view.  A slight breeze played with the tree branches, making the warm temperatures a bit easier to bear. Smoothing her shirt down over the top of her jeans, the girl slowly looked to the heavens and cursed the beautiful sight above.  The brilliant weather conditions held no candle to the evil our heroine would soon face:

A trip to Walmart.

The girl straightened her back, determined to take on the major retailer with quick wit and fast legs.  Her mission was simple: Rush in, procure the few items she needed, and high-tail it out of that wicked location.  She would not stand for delays or an extended search, oh no.  She knew what she needed, and she knew where to go.  Nothing could detain her.  With a deep breath, she marched through the doors into a malicious world of vile disasters.

Nimbly side-stepping around fellow patrons, or, as she thought with a chuckle, the mindless hordes of zombie shoppers, the girl dashed in and out of aisles, snatching what she came for.  Silently congratulating herself for her success thus far, she was on her way to obtain the last item when misfortune struck.  In the blink of an eye and the swift turn of a corner, she found herself challenged with a catastrophic setback:

She was stuck.

Two elderly women blocked her route of escape with their nearly-empty shopping carts.  Stopped, but not discouraged, the girl pulled a risky move by nudging herself as close to the old folks as she politely could, praying they would recognize her impatient failure-to-maintain-a-safe-distance mentality and make room for her to pass.  No such luck.  The customers merely stayed put.

Not wanting to waste any more of her precious time in the aisle, the girl spun around on her heels and took off in the opposite direction, slipping easily into another aisle and making her getaway from the area.  Only mildly annoyed, she took another corner at breakneck speed only to find herself once again at the mercy of hindrance.  This time, a hefty woman was blocking the entire walkway.  Eager to try her earlier plan yet again, the girl stepped up next to the woman, who happened to be chatting on a phone of cellular nature, and nonchalantly cleared her throat.  The vicious woman chose to ignore our champion and maintained her passageway domination.

Again deterred, the girl backtracked, only to find herself in an aisle jam-packed with teenage mutants.  No, not turtles... boys.  With a gasp of horror and a prayer she wouldn't be seen by the female-seeking robots, she stealthily fled the aisle and tore down an empty one.

Once she was clear of the perilous dangers she had nearly been lost to, the girl acquired the last item from her list.  Certain she could make it out alive, she quietly peeked around a shelf to see if the way was clear, only to hear something so eerie, it would make her spine shiver and blood run cold:

'Would you like to try a sample of pizza, dear?'

Eyes wide, the girl slowly turned her head and instantaneously froze.  There behind her stood another woman of aged persuasion, only this one wore a sinisterly sweet smile and a black apron.  She was situated behind a cart piled high with bits of tomato sauce-drowned, cheese-piled artery cloggers.  Her unrelenting gaze nearly foiled the girl's plans of departure, and she found herself confronting a dilemma: She could either partake of the food pieces and surely die, or she could find the strength and voice to deny her foe and shimmy away as fast as possible.  With great courage, she opened her mouth, and said:

'NO, thank you.'

Quick as a wink, she took flight and soon found herself at the checkouts.  Bypassing all rows where a line of angry customers were anxiously awaiting to send her straight to doom, she flung herself in front of a blessedly empty express lane.  With shaking hands, she handed her treasures over to be scanned and paid, only to find herself fighting to free her bag of merchandise from the cold, metallic clutches of the bag corral.  Glancing around nervously, she spotted the leader of the checkouts watching her, and in that moment, on the verge of a menacing calamity, she rescued the bag from the apparatus' steely grip and departed the store with impressive gusto.

With a sigh of relief, the girl found herself outside.  As she jaunted towards her vehicle, victory radiating from her face, a final blow was about to be dealt:

'Miss, would you like this cart?  I don't need it anymore.'

THE END.

Based on a true story.  Results not typical.  All claims founded on the first-hand experience of one Breanne Jackson of Papillion, Nebraska, United States of America.