Missing Grams...

Sissy made a paper airplane in her primary class today. When she got home, she was running around the house, trying to get it to fly everywhere. While I was making dinner, she stayed in the same spot and kept throwing it into the sky. She was getting noticeably frustrated each time it crashed to the ground and kept grumbling under her breath. As the plane crashed down the final time, she hung her head and said, "I've gotta get this to Heaven. It HAS to get to Heaven!!" Curiously I asked, "Sis, why are you trying to get it to Heaven?" In her perfectly innocent voice, she says, "Because if I can get it to Heaven, it can bring Grandma Tillotson back to visit. I miss her so much. It's been too long." I walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her, and we both took turns throwing the airplane into the sky.

Oh how we miss you every day, Grams. The ache in our hearts will remain...until we meet again.

Goddog

Today was an amazing day! I have officially become, and am so proud to say, a Godparent!! Although I am 100% sure nothing will ever happen to his parents, I am fully prepared to take on the responsibility of raising him. It would be so easy as I already love him so much. He is 9 weeks old and already weighs a whopping 21 pounds!! He's gonna be a big boy when he grows up!! His name is Hudson Bodi Scott. He is slowly adjusting to his new life with his parents and sister Layla, but I have no doubt that he will become fully acclimated within a few days. He already has so many people who love him! Without further ado, I introduce you to Sir Hudson of the Scott Clan!!

Oh my gosh!! Don't you just want to die?!? Seriously people. He is as snuggly and fluffy as you can imagine. I want to squish his face. All the time. And the puppy breath is TO DIE FOR!!

Look at that face!!

Holy paw!! He is seriously going to be a monster!! A monster who is loved so much! Oh Hudson. If you only knew how much you have been loved before you were even met...

Spilled Milk

Yesterday while I was working in my home office, Sissy wanted to come in and color next to me. Out of the blue the following conversation took place:

Sissy: "Mama, how did you get pregnant with me? Did someone spill milk on you??"
WHAT?!? I instantly burst out laughing, wondering where in the world she comes up with these things, but I decided to just roll with it.
Me: "Yes, Sis. Someone spilled milk on me. That is definitely how I got pregnant."
Sissy: "Well who spilled milk on you?? Was it Daddy??"
Me (trying, and failing, to keep a straight face): "Yes, it was your Daddy."
Sissy: "Well, was it an accident or did he do it on purpose, like throw the glass in your face?"
Me (again, laughing at the craziness of the situation): "Nope, it was definitely on purpose. But joke was on him because guess who started to grow in my belly? YOU!"

We both laughed together for a while, then the next set of questions began:
Sissy: "Well how does your belly go back together? Isn't there a big huge hole with lots of blood when the baby comes out?"
This is where I had to pause. She is at the tender young age of 6. She is too young to know everything, but too old, and way too smart, to be pacified by the story of the stork. So I made a judgment call and dove right in...
Me: "Well, some Mamas do have to have their bellies cut to get their babies out, but most Mamas have them...another way..." *insert uncomfortable pause here as your daughter stares curiously at you* "You see...most babies...well...most babies come out...well...hmmmm....let's see....yikes...they come out from the place that you go potty..."
Yes, I know. Mama Fail. Completely...and miserably...Mama Fail...I'm going to be terrible when I have to actually have "The Talk" with her. I apologize in advance.
Instantly her face turned pure white, then changed to pure red. All within a few seconds.
Sissy: "WHAT?!?! GROSS! GROSS! GROSS!! THAT IS SO DANG GROSS!! I'm NEVER having a kid. Never EVER!! Oh I can't believe that!! I just CAN'T believe that!! SO GROSS!!!"
And that is when I collapsed into a pile of laughter as she digested this "so dang gross" information. J peeked his head into the office to see what all the laughter was about, and as soon as I was able to barely get out "She asked where babies come from," he closed the door and quickly walked away.

And that, folks, is why you NEVER spill milk.

Praying for Boston

When I first started running, it was merely a means to lose weight. However, it quickly became my escape. As my endurance grew, I marveled at how my legs could carry me so far without giving out. I was able to see and appreciate so much more of nature than from the view of a car. Running was what I turned to when I felt depression or anxiety beginning to drag me down. Pounding the pavement opened my eyes to everything I was blessed with, made me remember all the positive things in life that I seemed to so quickly forget when wrapped up in the chaos of everyday life. It was the only time I could be alone, yet feel surrounded by everything I loved. So when I heard about the tragedy at Boston yesterday, my first thought turned to the runners. Were they OK? Were they able to finish that which they trained so hard for? Then news broke that most of the injured were the spectators, and my heart sank to my stomach. I instantly said a prayer in my heart. Dear Lord, please let the loved ones be OK. Whenever I run a race, my husband and my children are what push me through. The thought of being able to see their faces makes me push myself a little harder, run a little faster. The thought that they could have been hurt...or worse...because they were supporting someone they love...me...well, that almost pushed me over the edge. I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning, my thoughts on my own marathon that is coming up in just 8 weeks. I struggled with the idea of allowing my family to come support me. Surely they would be safer sitting at home, watching movies. I was so angry at whoever was responsible for this...the deaths, the injuries, the FEAR. So angry, and so scared for my children. But then I realized that I couldn't let this fear control me. I could not let them have that much power over me. When you ask my daughter what she wants to be when she grows up, she will say, “A doctor, a cake boss, and a runner like Mama.” That's right. She doesn't just want to run. She wants to BE a runner. Whenever she comes to one of my races, she is truly my biggest and loudest cheerleader. She gets so excited when I cross that finish line. Seeing her face light up, and hearing her shout, “Go Mama GO!!” makes my smile feel like it's going on for miles. No matter how tired or exhausted I am, her voice gives my feet wings to carry me through to the finish. So yes, my husband and kids will be at my marathon cheering me on. Running will continue to be my release and something I will enjoy with my daughter when she is old enough. Because right now, at this stage of her life, I am her hero, and she is mine. And no terrorist will ever take that away from us.

Me and my biggest cheerleaders, Miss M and Mr. K, after the Utah Valley Marathon, 2011