Meet Tiffani Price. She’s small town Texas girl, mother (two kids, several chickens, probably some goats and horses, and a countless number of dogs and cats), and wife to a man who spends at least half the year on an oil rig in the Gulf. She’s a crazy Right-Wing conservative and outspoken Evangelical who, I trust, has a direct line to the office of God himself. When it comes to habits of organization, patience with children, and our general approaches to home-management, she and I are probably polar opposites.
Yet. I love her.
So I suppose it is time for the Internet revelation that I spent the last nine months growing my fourth (and final) baby. Though Isaiah is only twenty-months old, this was a fully planned event, all the way down to attempting gender specificity (didn’t work) and giving birth in the month of the Leo (nailed it). To all my conservative Christian friends, forgive me. I’ve not gone off the deep end of astrological worship, but in the last seven years, I’ve been taking notes of the alignment of the stars and the personalities of each of my children. Continue reading
So you might remember almost a year ago when I was going through this:
I Am An Obamacare Statistic
Well. The story ended with pretty good and pretty reasonably priced insurance for John and me, and an erroneous Medicaid flag on each of my children. I can’t remember the exact number, but I believe John and I pay $250 a month for a plan that has a $1000 deductible, an 80/20 split after deductible, and max out of pocket is $4000. A new benefit I’ve taken advantage of this year is covered chiropractor visits, where I only pay a $30 co-pay. So far, I’m not unhappy with this.
Forgive me (if you follow me on any other social media) for the picture overload. I’m not usually one to snap daily selfies of me doing the same things everyone else with kids is probably doing. But this weekend was different.
Eliott’s rock on fist about sums it up.
I had high hopes this summer for my newly-literate 7 year old, and all the summer reading rewards programs she’d be accomplishing.
It isn’t that she’s not reading.
I’m just not keeping track with all of it. And I’ve sort of stopped caring. The truth is, for everything I complain about when it comes to Eliott, I should probably consider myself pretty lucky that she enjoys school, works independently, and with the exception of handwriting, is probably above average on the relative intelligence scale. I hope she hasn’t spoiled me so much that when it comes to her siblings and homework, I have no will to fight. (Oh please oh please oh please, let me have given birth to only dorky little teacher’s pets like myself.)
You know. The kind that come out as barely a mental whisper as my head hits the pillow and my body sighs into the kind of numbness brought on by exhaustion and emotional fullness…
- Health and wholeness. Hormone balance.
- Kids who get to know You personally one day and still like You.
- All the mommies. Sanity. Grace. Creativity.
- John. Work. Less stress. More hair. No heart attacks.
- Oh yeah, and thanks. For everything. I love You.
This August, John and I will hit the decade milestone for how long we’ve known each other. We will also celebrate our 9th marriage anniversary. (Wedding anniversary? How do you say that?)
It is a weird and wonderful comfort that exists in living with the same person for so long. I obviously haven’t had it since childhood. And I didn’t get to choose those people.