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December 01

My Favorite Place

I was thinking today about my favorite place (within my house anyway)..... and as insignifigant as it seems I think it must be our shower. For some reason the shower has always been the only place I feel truly alone with my thoughts. Growing up as the oldest of three kids, with a large age gap between myself and my brother and sister (I am 8 years older than Bethany, and 10 years older than Jonathan) there was always chaos and lots of noise in the house. Even my bedroom wasn't safe from the ruckus lol, they would pound on my door and yell for me until I let them in. (Dad- was it any wonder I took 45 minute showers?)Anyway even now, in my own house with much less noise and much more peace (sorry Jon & Beth) I still love long, hot showers. I love to get in there, crank up the heat, and let the water wash away the stress (not to mention the aches & pains) of the day. Sometimes caring for a 2 year old 24/7, with a husband that works long hours, the shower is my only escape & I thank God for it. I know my fellow moms agree that shower therapy is often just what the doctor ordered- granted a week long getaway to a different locale and some time alone with our husbands in a cushy hotel suite would be really nice, but we'll take what we can get! Hope you all have a great day!

July 27

Something I found and wanted to pass along, let me know if you relate. . . . .

This One's For the Mothers

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers
at football games Friday night instead of watching from cars,
so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say,
"Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick
toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf with Oscar Mayer wieners and
cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here.

This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night
and can't find their children.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.

And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

For all the mothers of the victims of the Colorado shooting,
and the mothers of the murderers.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front
of their TV's in horror, hugging their child who just came home
from school, safely.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew
Halloween costumes.

And all the mothers who DON'T.

What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience?
Compassion?
Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt,
all at the same time?
Or is it heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear
down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M.
to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear
news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?

So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained
all about making babies.

And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then
reading it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the
grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired
2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces
before they started school.

And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

For all the mothers who bite their lips - sometimes until they bleed -
when their 14-year old dyes their hair green.

Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and
milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters
to sink a jump shot.

This is for all the mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice
calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the word
to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomach aches,
assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from
the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away!

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation.

And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. So hang in there.

June 30

Happy Birthday Sweet Girl

Happy Birthday Gracie

I can't believe my baby is two years old today. Two years ago at exactly this time I was in the operating room of the maternity unit, being put back together after a c-section. What a day that was. Exciting, Scary, Overwhelmingly happy.

The time has gone by so very quickly, I suppose one day I will look up and she will be grown. I love her so much, she is so precious in every way, there are no words to express the depth of love I feel for her.

Happy Birthday my sweet sweet girl- I love you so much. You may be a big girl now, but you will always be my baby.

June 23

My Precious Girl

I love this song- what amazing lyrics!

In My Daughter's Eyes

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the
world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me gives me
strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes

And when she wraps her hand
around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about

It's hangin' on when your heart
has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daugter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope you see how happy
she made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes

June 20

The Trouble With Dippity

Dippity. . . . . I admit it, this word strikes fear in my heart. Dippity- I bet you've never even heard that word before. No, don't whip out the dictionary (unless it has a toddler to english section), bc my toddler created this word when she was about 18 months old. "Dippity" she would say, very patiently at first. However, after about the fifth time she would begin to grow slightly irritated that I would not honor this apparently simple request. At least, I thought it was a request. . . . . so finally I asked her to show me what she wanted which led us to the kitchen, at which point she began jumping up and down yelling (quite persistently I might add) "dippity, dippity, dippity!" I offered her yogurt, I offered her fruit, I tried peanut butter, and juice, and milk, and a sandwich, and granola, and graham crackers, and macaroni & cheese, and even scrambled eggs at two in the afternoon., I tried all of her favorites. None of these things meant "dippity" and now she was starting to cry. I thought maybe she was just tired and cranky so I changed her diaper and tried to give her a snack- which she refused, and laid her down for a much needed nap. She went to sleep in a huff (the first of many I'm sure) and soon peace was restored to this apparently dippitiless home. Until she awoke from her nap, looked at me expressionless and said frimly, almost gravely, "Dippity". Oy with the dippity already! One thing was crystal clear: I would have no rest until I gave this child Dippity. They really should consider letting toddlers handle the peace talks, any mother would agree with me. Yep, a few hours with a group of toddlers that knew their mission, and those mean old Palestinians would completely leave Israel alone. Anyway, after literally pulling everything out of the kitchen cabinets I finally discovered that dippity meant cheerios, not the plain ones mind you, but the honey-nut kind. Naievely, I thought this little communication problem was over. The next day when I heard "dippity" I confidently marched to the cabinet and pulled out the honey-nut cheerios, feeling proud of myself I went to get her favorite bowl, piece of cake. I got her all strapped in her high chair and put the bowl on her tray, at which point she looked down at the bowl shook her head, as if to say "what is wrong with this lady?", and again said "dippity". Oh great, apparently the definition of "dippity" could change at random, with absolutley no warning whatsoever. Currently, dippity is a request for chips. She is almost two and her speech is changing rapidly- and I know one day "dippity" will be a word I will long to hear.

June 08

Where do all the socks go?

There is a serious problem in my household. I am sorry to say that my toddler's sock supply is in constant danger. I put the socks into the washing machine, and mysteriously between the wash cycle and the folding process. . . . . they disappear, poof! I'm telling you the FBI couldn't even keep a handle on this, and after almost 2 years of trying to figure it out, I have admitted defeat, I give up (wave white flag here). I do have a theory though. I think the sock manufacturing companies must be behind it, afterall who else could benefit from it? That's right, the more socks that disappear, the more I have to buy- but I have news for all you sock companies out there. Summer is here and that means sockless children, lots & lots of sockless children: sandals, flip-flops, water shoes, & even no shoes, so ha ha ha ha HA. Whose laughing now?

P.S. See you next fall

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