The days are long, but the years…

For those of you playing along, we are down to 7 days of high school classes, 13 days until graduation and 32 days until beach week. I am seriously struggling to believe it is happening.

These are the pics we submitted for Brett’s portion of the Senior Sunday video for church last Sunday:

Six Months old – Myrtle Beach.

I miss that curly head of hair.

First day of Senior Year.

Senior Night with his two adoring fans.
No toothy smile due to still being a brace-face.

Funny thing is, I am loving this season of life. Our children will always be our children. But they are now also adults. Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I don’t give them enough credit. Until one of them says something like, “mom, I don’t think you are very happy with yourself right now.” *mind blown* and also, *duh.*

I can hold intelligent conversations with them. At least my side of the conversation is intelligent. Their part, depending on which child I am attempting to communicate with often consists of, *blank stare,* *snarky smirky attitude* or “mom, I don’t think you are very happy with yourself right now.” I will leave it to you to figure out which child goes with which response.

I do have to share that, just between you and me, God did not intend for five related adults to reside under the same roof together. At least not of the Wheeler/Smith variety. Our house has never been smaller. Or louder. Or messier. The toddler stage? Oh how I miss it. At least back then I could toss them into their beds and go have a mommy-time-out.

Yes, I realize I stated I am loving this season of life. And truly, I am. Sometimes I forget that, just like when they were little, the days are long and the years are fleeting. So it remains in this season. And just like when they were toddlers, I will hug them tight, when they will allow me to. I will watch them when they don’t know I am watching, soaking in their faces. And I will thank God for them every night before I (hopefully) fall asleep. And just like when they were younger, sometimes my thanks to God includes, “thank You for stopping me from beating some sense into them today.”

I know y’all can relate to that last one.


The One Where My Baby Turns 18.

My first words to him were, “There are two before you. But you are the Prince. For one year. Then you are on your own.”
He interpreted that as, “I rule. All bow down to my wishes.”
He was right


He didn’t sleep for the first three years he was on this Earth. Just as we were ready to turn him back in for a new model, My Man headed off to the War College, The Wild Boy and I came to an understanding. Sleep returned to our household and he was content to sleep back in his own bed when dad came home for visits.
He wanted to play football and bugged me until I relented because I was convinced that he would get hit once and never want to play football again.
Hitting was his favorite part of the game and he complained until the last day of his Senior year of football that he should have been a defensive player so he could block instead of a wide receiver.
He is a true Wheeler/Smith in that he loves animals; has a wicked, sarcastic streak; when he loves, he loves big. And when he is hurt, he is hurt big.
He was putting words into sentences at age 1.
He was running around the house at age 1.
His mother was one exhausted 30-something.
He was the funniest kid. I hear rumors that he he still is, but for the last 4 years or so, his interaction with his father and I has been pretty much grunts and stares from his side.
He was born on January 30. 
His mother was born on January 31.
He was the best birthday present I have ever had.