My Teeth Are Really Not That White

Ever since I uploaded the profile picture I knew I wanted to use for Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too, I noticed that it was instantly photo-shopped. Isn't it funny how that's a verb? It doesn't even have a squiggly red line under it, meaning I made it up. Photo-shopped is actually recognized by Blogger as a real word. Photo-shopped.

Back in July, Blogger decided that my teeth weren't white enough for my blog, and so it just made them whiter. My teeth suddenly were freakishly white in my profile photo. I actually deleted the picture and uploaded it a second and third time, thinking it must have been a mistake. Nope, it happened again, my not-so-white teeth being instantly re-whitened.

When I looked closer, I realized that my cheeks were also photo-shopped. They have been sort of blurred out, in a weird way that I don't quite understand. I really do like my original photo better. You can always see the real me on my Facebook page. Here's my actual photo...Pre-Automatic Photo-Shop. It was taken very early one morning, when Trixie and I were preparing to leave the house for an overnight field trip with her fourth grade class. I loved spending those two days with her, and I love the pictures and memories we have from that trip. This photo shows the real me. I'm a mom. I have wrinkles and glasses, and I was up and ready before dawn to devote my time to children on a long bus trip.

 

I'm not going to whine about how offended I am that the Internet finds my teeth not white enough for publication. I do love coffee and Coke. Those drinks stain teeth, right? I could whiten them on my own if I really wanted whiter teeth. (My teeth are annoyingly sensitive, so I've always been afraid of those treatments, fearing they'll become even worse, and then I really couldn't drink any more coffee or Coke).

So, why am I telling you about this teeth whitening nonsense? Honestly, because I do not know how to Un-Photo-Shop my picture. I really do prefer my first picture. Would I even have noticed if the picture had been photo-shopped in a more realistic manner, say like bumping up the whiteness just one degree instead of twenty?

Sometimes, when I see my profile picture, smiling back at me, I feel like you guys probably think I'm trying to be Ross.

 

 

 

Have you ever considered photo-shopping one of your pictures for posting online? Would you even know how? Try Blogger. They'll do it for you.

 

 

 

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Maybe Every Day Isn't Actually the Same

I have been seeing a twenty-something physical therapist who has this momentous task of treating my migraines. He's caring and kind and helpful, yet every Friday, he likes to ask me about my big plans for the weekend. Every time he asks me, I laugh. We don't have big plans for weekends. Our weekends are more of the same of our week days, with the added bonus that Mark is home with us. I do call it a bonus because I really love having him home during the day. Some wives are glad when the husbands are gone. Not this wife.

So, in my laughter, I still tell my PT of our plans: our exciting family plans. I am sure he doesn't know anyone like me in his real life. I must sound so old and boring. He's busy doing what twenty-somethings do...going to tons of weddings, living a carefree life with his adorable girlfriend, working in a great job!

Then when Monday comes around, I describe how our plans rolled out over the weekend. I tell him about our score of finding Honey Crisp apples for only $1.00 a pound at a road-side stand, saving us a trip to the Farmer's Market. I tell him how my two oldest kids are mastering all their swim strokes after just a few weeks with their new, super hardcore coach. I tell him that, sadly, their dad and I have to split up every Saturday morning because he's coaching number 3 in soccer while I take the others to learn from said swim coach. I tell him about the movie night I had with a girlfriend, the two of us sitting in our jammies, chomping popcorn and blondies, while watching a chick-flick. I tell him about planning for PTA and becoming addicted to The Blacklist and deciding that I really need to start taking yoga classes.

Gosh, all of these little bits of my life seem so random, but they make up who I am. They make up who we are as a family. Depending on what month it is, what season it is, what is going on at school or work, our lives do change. Each day is not actually the same. Although as parents, we often feel like we may never have a break from life droning on and on, I'm here to say that we will.

Last Saturday, I told you about the World Wide Day of Play. We were all set for a family bike ride and cleaning of the yard. Well, then the rain came! Really, like right after I finished my post. So, we played together inside instead, sans electronics.

This week, I started to notice that a change is coming around here. Fall (my very favorite time of year) is creeping into our woods. I've mentioned before that our home is surrounded by trees. I peeked out my bathroom window the other day to see the slightest shift in the colors of the leaves. A few branches at a time are gradually moving from their deep green to a golden yellow. The transformation had me thinking about what is to come for us this weekend...this Fall...this year.


We spent the start to our weekend doing what we would have done last weekend for the World Wide Day of Play. We absorbed the beauty of the nature that surrounds us. I swept up the acorns that cover our back deck. It's usually a job that only Mark does, but I was in the mood for some physical activity that would keep me outside in the unusually warm air. The acorns will keep dropping until who knows when, but at least they'll be clear for one day. I attempted to clear out the spider webs from the front porch, but I did chicken out of that one. They were so huge! Mark can do it later. We took a family bike ride to the park right near our house where the kids ran and jumped and slid and swung. Just awesome!

My favorite part of Friday night was when we all went out to dinner together. After a really busy week, I decided I wasn't up for cooking. We were sitting in one of those giant corner booths (that's what we need with our big brood), and amazingly, everyone behaved! We talked about our day and Halloween plans and who knows what else. I really don't remember; I just know it was relaxing and easy.

For a very long time, our dinners out were not so easy. Taking kids out in public is very unpredictable, and next time, who knows what will happen.

However, what happened this time was just magical and something that every parent dreams will happen to them. After dinner, as we were scooting out of our big booth, four adults were coming around the corner, too. We instructed our kids to stop to wait and let them pass, because one of the couples was pretty elderly. The oldest lady of the group stopped in her path, rested her hand on Mark's shoulder, and said, "You have such a nice family there."

I thanked her with a kind smile and made sure to tell the kids how proud of them we were to have a nice grandma compliment them in a restaurant. I'm here to encourage all of you moms and dads with little ones:

Please do not give up on taking them out in public!

No matter how many fits they throw at Target or the library or Red Robin or the doctor's office or church, there will come a day when you can eat in peace, and some incredible person will praise you for your lovely family! (My kids have thrown fits at all of those places...and more).

Honestly, this wasn't the first time someone has mentioned our nice family to us, but I'm sorry to say that I had forgotten about the other times until now. I really needed to hear it again this weekend. I needed to see that my family is my reason for where I am in life right now. I've also had plenty of crabby people make out-of-line comments to me about my kids' behavior in public. Ironically, those negative people are the ones who tended to stick in my mind, making me doubt my abilities as a mother. Screw them!

I'm imagining that the woman who talked to us yesterday also had a hectic journey through motherhood. She'd been in our place and could appreciate that we seem to be coming through it pretty well. For all of you out there who have given helpful hands to struggling moms and dads, or complimented the ones who seemed to be having one of those "good days," Thank You!

Next week, I know my PT will ask me how my big weekend was. Here is what I will tell him:

We had the best weekend ever! We exercised, cleaned the yard, watched The Blacklist, and a stranger complimented my family at Applebee's. How was yours?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Where Did My Daughter Learn to Judge Herself?

Yesterday, the kids came home with their packages of school photos. I had been anxiously awaiting their arrival since we dropped a pretty penny on those bad boys two weeks ago. Nobody even really mentioned their presence in the backpacks hanging in the hallway. It just sort of slipped out of someone's mouth, and then they knew they had to bring them to me. In the past, our kids were excited to show their pictures to us, proud even. Not this year.

I actually learned that Reese's have been sitting on the top shelf of his locker since the first week of school, so technically, I still do not have his packet. The only glimpse I had of his 7th grade school picture was the 1x1 inch photo on his school ID, which he accidentally left sitting on the kitchen table. I never thought to ask if his actual prints were ready. I just assumed they weren't done yet. I forgot that pictures do not need to be developed anymore. They are just printed! His were taken weeks before school even started, so of course his should have been ready way before the other kids' were. Why didn't I think to ask about them? I guess because I have a million other things on my mind, and I figured I'd eventually see them.

Like when I started to hear other local friends talking about them or when one of these loud kids let the cat out of the bag. Which brings me back to last night, when Trixie and Chip begrudgingly showed their school pictures to me. Chip took his out of his bag, dropped them in front of me, and ran back downstairs to play more Legos with Marshall. He had not a second thought about it. He didn't care what I had to say about how handsome he was or how much older he looks this year. Let's face it: he's a seven-year-old boy. He had agreed to wear a collared shirt for the one and only day of the school year, and therefore as far as he was concerned, school pictures were old news.

On the other hand, Trixie slowly walked to her backpack, her head slumping down, and before she unzipped her bag, she issued this warning:

"Chip's pictures are better than mine."

It was one of the only times I have heard her tell me that she didn't like something about herself...ever. Then, she told me the reasons why she didn't like her picture. She listed things like, "My face looks funny; my glasses seem crooked even though I know they were straight; I just don't like them!"

I didn't want to make a big deal about her sudden dip in self-confidence. I told her how much I loved her picture and her smile, saying all the stuff a mom would say in that situation. I tried to build up her confidence, but she didn't want to hear it. She didn't believe me. After a couple of minutes, I dropped it and let her go up to her room to her happy place. My happy place is baking, and hers is looming. Not sure what looming is? It's making anything and everything out of those tiny colored rubber bands.

I was so empathetic to my newly vulnerable ten-year-old daughter. I started to wonder what had made her feel badly about her picture this year, when for every year until now, she has never made a negative comment about any picture she's ever taken.

I have always been aware that mothers set the tone for how their daughters will eventually perceive themselves. Every good mom knows that rule, right? I have always been extra conscious of it, so I'm not willing to take the blame for this one. Around here, we do not discuss anybody's size or hair or skin color or any of it. We do not point out our own flaws, or those of other people, in front of our children. I'm not saying I'm a perfect mom (we know that's not true), I'm just saying that it's something I have really striven to make a priority in our home.

So, where had these feelings come from for my Trixie?

I remember being her age and we girls comparing our school pictures. We would all look at them and pick ourselves apart, complaining that our hair was too flat; our nose was too big; our skin was too pimply; our face was too fat. I did it every year since I was about ten. Where did I learn it? My mom didn't talk about herself in a negative way, and neither did my dad or the other adults I was around when I was young. I just learned it.

Mark and I were talking about how sad we felt that Trixie was dissing her school picture this year. We called her back downstairs to chat with us for a few more minutes before bedtime. We hoped to gently peel back some layers of what happened during the day that led her to come home with a defeated sense of herself. We asked her if other girls at school were talking badly about their pictures, too. We asked if her friends were saying things they didn't like about themselves. I was sure that was going to be the reason she started to feel insecure. She said the other girls weren't doing it.

Darn it.

What happened to my little girl who until very recently did not have a care in the world about her appearance?

I still don't know what it is, and I should probably give up trying. It's in her now. That feeling is there no matter how hard I tried to keep it from coming into her life. What makes all of us girls suddenly come to a point when we start to worry about our looks? Maybe it's the Disney shows I let her watch. Or Miley Cyrus. Or some books she's read that I didn't read first. (I don't pre-read the kids' books, by the way). Maybe I should have asked her if the boys in class were talking about the girls' pictures. Maybe it's all of it.

One day, we see something in the news that says, "Never tell your girls they're pretty! You want them to value their brains." Then, the next year, we hear, "Stop calling girls smart if you want them to succeed."

What do we tell them? How do we know? I don't know if there will ever be one right answer. (I tell her she's pretty and smart and a lot more). I guess we should try to figure out what works best for each individual girl. My daughter likely responds to praise differently than other girls do. It must be my job as her mom to figure her out.

It's just hard.

Right?

Anybody else have the answer?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook.

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

What A Difference a Year Makes

The sweet, little preschool where we send our children does something I had never heard of until we moved to this city. It's called a "Cooperative Preschool," and it's actually quite common where we live. It's something unique that I used to think was kind of crazy, but I've actually grown to love it.

We parents are required to spend one day each month working in the classroom, alongside the teacher. When Chip and Trixie were preschoolers, I always had other babies at home, so I couldn't be a Co-op parent. I was the only loser "Independent" mom in the class. We had to pay extra tuition not to help in the classroom. Trixie and Chip didn't have the benefit of their mama ever being there for circle time or field trips or Show and Tell. Sad, I know.

Many other children also had little sibs at home, but they tended to have grandparents or close friends nearby to baby-sit, so their parents could work in the classroom. We were new to this town when we found our little school, and so we just went the Independent route. The kids were used to it, and I didn't really have the option to feel too guilty about it.

By the time Number 4 was ready for school, there was no reason I couldn't be a Co-op parent. I would finally have my turn to be a parent helper! I could finally see every detail of my little boy's day, from drop-off to pick-up, and everything in-between. I would be there for it all! Yay for us!!!

My first year as a Co-op parent was definitely a wake-up call. Spending a full morning with thirteen three-year-olds had its share of adorable moments and those I'd rather forget. Until I was in the trenches, I never could have imagined all that nose picking.

What I loved about being a Co-op parent was spending time guiding all of the children, not just my own. It's actually not possible to walk into the building expecting to dote on our own kids. We go in as an assistant to the teacher with very specific goals in place for the day. While I carried out my parent helper duties, I found myself growing attached to all of the other little tots: the boys and girls who were sharing their first school experiences with my Marshall. My school teaching days were long behind me, but once a month, I could experience a little snippet of them through my parent helper turns, with the added twist of my maternal instincts.

Marshall and I just finished up our first Co-op day together for his second year of preschool. It was really fun to see all the familiar faces from last year, and some new ones who started school for the first time this Fall. I was astonished at how much has changed since the beginning of school just one year ago.

Last September, those teeny little three-year-olds never had been away from their parents.

They didn't have a clue how to find their cubbies or nametags.

Some had probably just learned to use the potties at home, and suddenly they were going all alone in the big school toilet.

Sitting down on the carpet for circle time? Forget it!

Washing hands, lining up, having snack and drink...all required lots of guidance.

This September, the children are obviously so much older and wiser. I'm so proud of my own son and the strides he has made, but I'm also proud of all the little ones I have watched blossom during the past year.

Not seeing them over the summer, and then working with them all morning was kind of surreal. They were still the same munchkins, but they suddenly exhibited a big kid confidence. I noticed the growth spurts in these four-year-olds right away. I noticed their increased independence and progressions in speech. The kids I worked with last year were comfortable at school and talked with me quite a bit. I observed that they had already made friends with the new students and adjusted to their new teacher with ease.

When the day was finished, and the kids' had exercised their fine-motor skills to the fullest, I set down my broom for a brief moment. I smiled proudly as they walked down the stairs, in a straight line and out the door to the playground.

The veterans and the newbies.

They'll all be masters of Four-school before I know it.

I am thankful that I will have this one last year to be a Co-op parent, watching Marshall and all his classmates grow together before they enter that big and very real world of Kindergarten.

I found myself feeling a little sad for never having the opportunity to experience these moments with my other children. They went to preschool without their mama ever in the building with them. They were Independent right from the start. I wasn't able see the drastic transformation in them like I did in the preschool kids today, but I know it did happen.

Wow, did it ever. 

 

 

How do the preschools work where you live? 

It's The World Wide Day of Play-I'm Going Outside

Trixie reminded today me that she loves where we live because we have a six-month-long-winter! She likes it because it means more snow days, of course. Hearing her bring it up this morning on the way to swimming made me realize that our number of warm, sunny days may be numbered. It's noon already, and I'm just now having a chance to sit to write. Instead of spending the normal amount of time I would to come up with something insightful or sweet or funny, I am going to take a lesson from Nickelodeon.

Today is their World Wide Day of Play. Have you heard of it? For three hours, they are turning their TV stations to black so kids will be inspired to go outside to play. They've been advertising it for weeks. It's a fantastic idea, so I'm stealing it.

I'm jumping offline for the afternoon. I'll be back soon, and I'll have something better to post on Tuesday. By then, I'm sure something will have happened worth documenting for you guys. For now, I'm going to enjoy this gorgeous fall day with the kids and Mark. Hopefully we'll go for a bike ride and then clean up some acorns and all the giant webs the spiders are making on our front porch. I really don't need them to decorate our house early for Halloween.

Will you join me? Maybe have some apple cider and chili? Tell me what you did with your family for the World Wide Day of Play.

Learn more about Nick's World Wide Day of Play.

Would You Please Pass the Bon-Bons?

So, we are wrapping up our third week of school, and I have yet to have one single bon-bon! What is going on here? Three of the kids are gone all day, and one of them is gone part of the time, and still, there has been no bon-bon indulgence for this stay-at-home-mom. That's my job, right? Is it happening at your house? I'll come over there if it is, because this place has been kind of a mess.

I don't remember it ever being this hard to readjust to the kids being back at school. I don't actually mean for the kids. They are doing very well with waking up on time, finishing their homework, taking showers when I tell them to, and squeezing in their extras. It's their mother who just can't get in gear this year.

Usually, I'm so organized at the beginning of school. I look forward to the newness that Autumn brings and all that we are going to accomplish in the new school year. So far, I just keep dropping the ball. Read on if you want to feel better about yourself!

I try to make menus for the week's dinner plans and have all the ingredients ready. The dinners I have made this Fall wouldn't impress anyone, and I'm usually thinking about them just as the first kid is walking in the door, asking, "Mom, what's for dinner?" In three weeks, we have run out of milk in the house twice...twice! That never happens here. I always buy three gallons of milk at a time, yet somehow, on two separate occasions, my poor babies had nothing for their morning Cocoa Puffs. (Yes, my kids eat Cocoa Puffs. There was something about having that fourth kid that brought my guard down).

I usually have a variety of homemade treats in the freezer for the kids to take in their lunch boxes, but I haven't had a chance to do any big baking yet. Last night, I thought I would bake a few kinds of homemade cookies to stock the freezer, but now I'm out of flour. I usually have two or three bags of flour waiting in my pantry for when one of my baking frenzies hits. There's nothing. What is my problem?

I really don't deserve any bon-bons when I'm doing such a shoddy job of keeping up with my basics of feeding the family. I shouldn't even mention the cleaning I haven't been doing. Sometimes I'm not doing the dishes every day. Laundry is piling up more than my usual six foot high mound that lurks in the back of the house. Vacuuming, uh, I cleaned up the kitchen crumbs over the weekend, does that count? When the kids head back to school, it is usually my time to make the house shine again. Maybe next week...

In my defense, we've had our fair share of germ-sharing going on around here. Everybody missed at least one day of school already! Having a whole house of sickie-sickersons didn't go well for my bon-bon parties. I did finally muster enough energy to Clorox-wipe down the banisters and door knobs.

Weeks ago, I was supposed to complete a whole stack of papers for the elementary school that I received on the first day of school. It's called a welcome packet. I started filling in answers right away, like the dedicated mom that I am, but set them aside in all the excitement of hearing first day stories from the kids. I have yet to pick them up again. Trixie asks me about every other day if I finished the packet yet. I have to shamefully tell her, "no." I have resorted to asking her if the teachers are bugging her about it. They are not, so I instructed her to stop worrying about that stinkin' packet. It's my homework assignment, not hers, and I promise her I will finish it.

If this family scenario were coming from anyone other than me, I would be dishing out all kinds of advice. Why am I being so hard on myself when I would never have such high expectations of any other mom? If you happen to be feeling the way I am feeling, like it's the last month of school, when it's really only the first, this is what I would tell you:

There is only one you. Just write down what you know you need to do, and that will help you remember. What is forgotten, is forgotten, and it will be okay.

So what if the kids have pancakes for dinner? You know they LOVE when you make Brinner.

A perfectly stocked pantry or freezer isn't necessary for a happy home. Your husband can run out to buy milk when you need it. Stores are open 24 hours for a reason!

Kids are likely trading away what you give them for lunch and are just itching to go outside for recess. They aren't going to remember if they had a homemade cookie or Oreos. Although, some kids might remind you if you do forget a dessert entirely or try to pass fruit off for dessert (Chip).

The dishes will eventually be clean, and so will the floors and clothes. All of that takes time, and one person cannot do it all. You only have so much time, and taking care of the needs of so many other people on top of your own doesn't leave big chunks of time for all that cleaning! Kids can learn chores. Even young ones. Enlist their help. They'll feel valued and important.

Being sick gives everyone a pass, period.

Um, filling out those school papers really does need to be done. If you haven't heard from the school about it yet, you're probably fine. Just get it done when you can. Write it down so you remember to do it. Did you forget my earlier tip? Write everything down.

Lastly, give yourself a freakin' break and go buy some bon-bons! How are you ever going to have a bon-bon party if you don't have any in the house?

 

Last night, I was craving chocolate and really did want the kids to have something sweet in their lunchboxes. With no flour in the house, I resorted to making a box of brownies. I jazzed it up my favorite way. Here's how to do it that will wow kids and guests galore, all for about $2.00.

 

Marshmallow and Chocolate Chip Brownies

 

1. Preheat your oven according to your favorite brand of boxed brownies. Collect all of the ingredients needed according to the box. (mine needed eggs, oil, and water).

 

2. In a bowl, combine all of the original ingredients, plus about 1 cup of chocolate chips and 1-2 cups of mini-marshmallows. Stir until combined, based on the box directions. 

 

3. Spread the batter into a 9x13 inch pan sprayed with baking spray.

 

4. For extra festivity, I like to add a thick layer of sprinkles, although it's totally optional.

 

5. Bake according to the box directions.

 

6. Let them cool a while before slicing. They'll be ooey and gooey and just deliciously chocolately. Enjoy as a late-night snack while the kids are in bed or with your morning coffee (until you have a chance to buy some bon-bons).

 

Helpful Tip: Boxed brownies can be jazzed up however your family likes them.  Other additions I love are M & M's, Andes Mints, Heath Chips, or Chopped Reese's Cups. The possibilities are endless. No measurements are really required!

 

 

 

 

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo



Why I Love Those Ratty Hand-Me-Downs

Chip walked past me this weekend wearing a pair of pajama bottoms that once belonged to his older brother. I actually did a double take to look at who was wearing them. It seemed to me that just yesterday, Reese was seen romping around the house in those black and brown plaid flannel pants. Is it really possible that it has been already been four years since they belonged to him?

That does not seem right. I remember those things being wrapped around Reese's legs and rear just last winter. Only it wasn't last winter, or even the winter before. It was many, many years ago.

It has been many years since I had seen Reese and Mark laying around on Saturdays, cracking up at SpongeBob and Patrick, wearing those pants.

Many years since I'd find Reese sitting at our breakfast table, chomping on multi-grain cheerios with bananas, wearing those cozy bottoms.

Many years since he would run through our house, trying to slide down the hall in his socks, wearing those black and brown pajamas.

Now, Reese needs to wear men's pajama bottoms! No more shopping in the kids' department for him, and long gone are the days of character jammies. One more year, and I'll be confusing his pants with Mark's.

Many moms with a lot of kids grow tired of looking at the same old clothes year after year...after year. You would think that because I have three boys, I would, too.

Obviously, I don't love everything that is involved in handing clothes down from one brother to the next. I'm not immune to the annoyances involved in digging through closets and drawers and bins. Once in a while, something goes straight to the donate pile before I can force my last kid to wear it. I have just found that while I'm going about this necessary chore, I blast my Jimmy Buffett music and find some happy moments.

I love reminiscing about the times my growing boys were younger. I love remembering when they were smaller, still fitting into those cute little sizes. Even though their once-favorite characters lose popularity, (what do you mean the Wiggles retired?) and styles change, when I pull out something I haven't seen for a while, I smile.

I smile when I remember that when Chip was three, he wore a striped shirt every single day for a year.

I smile when I find the bright red shirt with two eyes and a nose that Reese wore during his Elmo-themed birthday party.

I smile when I come across the old favorites that have become soft and comfortable, the "nice" clothes that were hardly ever worn, and their annual 4th of July shirts.

I love all of it.

This year, Marshall, who's way over four, has been wearing a bright yellow hoodie that Reese received as a gift when he was about two.  (The size difference in all three boys is a whole different story). When I see Marshall running around outside, I remember all of the adventures our boys have had while wearing that sweatshirt. There are stains on the sleeves that will never come out, but, really, I just don't care.

 

 

They have always been on the move, having a blast, and easy to spot at a moment's notice in that sweatshirt. Now, my older boys want black and grey jackets because they don't want to stand out anymore. I'm fine with that, because I know they're growing up. I still love to remember the days when they were tiny and carefree and weren't worried that they looked like a banana from the waist up. I'm also thankful that I have one more year when my youngest son will still fit in that really awesome yellow sweatshirt. He'll be wanting to wear neutrals soon enough, I'm sure of it.

As another season draws to a close, I'll begin to prepare bags of clothes to pass on to my little niece and nephew. I'm happy to pass on our clothes so other children can breathe life into the pieces of fabric that clothed our kids through life's moments: through first days of school and missing teeth and riding bikes and just being kids.

Sometimes when I unload the blessings our family has of this warm, clean clothing, I hold on to just a few pieces that are especially sentimental to me.

Mark thinks I'm a hoarder.

I think I'm just a mom.





 

Many years ago, a friend of mine told me that having your kids wear bright clothes at busy places will make it easy for you to find them. It's one of the best pieces of parenting advice I've ever heard. 


How do you feel about hand-me-downs? Do your kids' clothes have any special memories for you, or are you just ready to be rid of them by the time the kids are done with them?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

A Loyal Family Pet Is Never Forgotten

Every single year, I plant scores of impatiens along our front side sidewalk. They're the only flowers that bloom really well, all summer long, in our yard. Our home is surrounded by dozens of towering trees, which create a blanket of shade, so we simply cannot have flowers that require any amount of sunshine. I'm actually completely fine with it, because impatiens are quite lovely and have a special meaning to me.

Impatiens are the flowers that lined my parents' sidewalk on my wedding day, and they are the flowers that lined our sidewalk in the home we owned when our first three babies were born. I'm glad we have a shaded yard where they flourish. They bring a smile to my face every time I look out my window or pull into my driveway. Plus, I have what people call a black thumb, and these hardy beauties practically take care of themselves.

The impatiens I choose each year are always varying shades of pinks and purples. Our four kids often help me plant them, but this year, since my foot was broken, Mark did all the work. They linger into September for us, and that means they are always providing a beautiful background for our first day of school photos.

For almost twelve years, we had a dear golden retriever named Abby. I loved posing her in front of our impatiens, with her light yellow fur popping against the vibrant hues of our favorite flowers. Abby was such a special part of our family for so long, as I know anyone with a pet understands. She was in our lives before any of our babies were born, and Mark trained her on his own before we were married. She lovingly welcomed each new addition into our home and guarded over our babies them like a mama. She laid next to my rocker while I nursed them, slept at the feet of their beds, and nuzzled against them while they played on the floor. She was a world traveler, living with us in Japan for our two year expatriate stay. She guarded our home during Mark's many business trips and welcomed him home like the loyal girl that she was. She was silky soft and therapeutic and just a blessing to everyone who knew her. She lived a great, long life. Abby was a happy dog with a fun family who really, really loved her.

This week, it will have been three years since our Abby-girl passed away. We all still talk often about Abby and her antics. Just the other day, we were laughing at the time she caught her paw in a glue trap...while a live mouse was still attached to it.

On the day that we lost her, we posed her in front of our impatiens one final time.

 

 

This September, every time I look at my still-blossoming impatiens, I find myself thinking of our sweet Abby. I long for the days when she was lying on our sidewalk, her fluffy, golden hair blowing in the wind, waiting for her babies to come home to play.   

 

I'm seeing a lot of friends who are losing their pets this year. We seem to be at that age now when we've been married for as long as a first dog or cat will live. Our children are suffering the loss of their beloved furry family members. I wish anyone peace who has to come through this sad time with your children.

 

Will you tell me about your family pets and what they mean to you?

Home

As I sat down to write tonight, I realized it is the eve of the 13th anniversary of September 11th, 2001, yet until five minutes ago, I had only planned to write about zucchini bread. I know that in the morning, when I publish this post, everyone's feeds will be lined with memories and American flags and quotes like, "We will never forget." My post will feature a recipe for my mom's zucchini bread. How can my words be relevant on such a momentous and somber day? A day that is meant for remembrance and reflection?

My mom's zucchini bread is meaningful. It is a part of me. It is part of my family, my history, and making it tonight has helped me to remember and reflect.

Today was a long, rainy, and just overall dark day. It was chilly and somehow felt especially lonely. It was one of the rare days when I had those 2.5 hours to myself, and while I was able to spend a bit of it with a beautiful friend of mine, I also felt a little lost while all of my children were at school.

The nagging rain was wearing me down. I needed something to pick me up, more than the hugs and smiles the kids brought with them as they bounded through the doors at the end of their day. People were talking about rainy day baking today, and suddenly, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to bake.

It's my therapy. It's my happy place.

Trixie was playing on the computer with her brothers, but I asked her if she wanted to help me make some of Grandma's zucchini bread. I was expecting her to say no, but she enthusiastically said yes. She rushed right into the kitchen with me then started opening cabinet doors and drawers, finding all of the ingredients, measuring cups, and bowls that we needed to make this quintessential fall treat. I shredded the zucchini, and away we went with making warm memories together. We set to work on baking the drear away.

We chatted about her day at school and how much she likes her new music teacher. She told me that she couldn't wait until October when we could start baking pumpkin muffins. Standing at the counter with my ten-year-old daughter, making this recipe that I had learned from my own mom when I was a little girl, was an incredible way to spend what had just been a pretty depressing day. This had been an icky, gloomy night before one of the worst dates in our nation's history.

I didn't expect the rush of emotions that ran through me when I bit into that freshly sliced, still-warm-from-the-oven zucchini bread that Trixie and I baked together. I felt just like a little girl, standing in my parents' kitchen in a flannel nightgown. I remembered baking those loaves many times for my dad to share with his friends at the mill. I remembered taking them to school to pass around my sixth grade social studies class. I remembered coming home from college to find my mom had some waiting for me on the kitchen table. The smell of the cinnamon, the taste and the texture of that sweet bread: all of it took me right back to being a kid again, being home with my mom, my dad, and my brothers.

Zucchini bread. It's so simple, yet so heartwarming. So what if the recipe is at least 40 years old and calls for two cups of sugar? We only eat it a few times a year. It's worth it for the special treat and the memories we're making. Our whole family enjoyed the moist, delicious bread with glasses of ice cold milk, while the rain kept falling through the trees outside our window. 

As you read this post on September 11th, our children will have woken up to carry on with the life that they know as American kids in 2014. Their world is nothing like the world I knew when I was baking zucchini bread at ages eleven or ten or seven or four. I'm sad for the changes that have come through the years, but I'm also thankful for what has stayed the same.

Dads going to work; moms baking in the kitchen; kids drinking milk. 

 

Home.  

 

May we always remember.

 

 

Grandma's Zucchini Bread
3 eggs
1 c. vegetable oil
2 c. grated zucchini
2 c. sugar
2 tsp. vanilla

3 c. flour
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
3 tsp. cinnamon

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  In a large bowl, combine the first five ingredients.  In another bowl, whisk together the last five dry ingredients.  Gently fold them together, not overbeating. Pour into 2 greased and floured loaf pans. Bake for 10 minutes at 400, then lower the temperature to 350 and bake for 30 more minutes, or until golden brown and toothpick inserted comes out clean.  Immediately remove from pans and cool on a wire rack. 

*You may also add 1/2 c. chopped nuts to the dry ingredients.  I like it with pecans.

What constants from your childhood have you passed on to your children? What is "Home" to you?

I'd love for you to find me on facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo



5 Things I Learned About Myself When I Tried to Grow My Hair Out

I heard this saying once that after a certain age, women shouldn't keep their hair too long. I don't know where it came from, or if it was just made up by the woman who said it. I don't even know what the "certain age" is, but for myself, I started worrying that I was approaching it. If I wanted to have long hair ever again, I thought I needed to do it soon. So, last year, I decided to grow my hair long. That is, until today, when I quit. Here is what I learned about myself along the way:

1.  I am not a very patient person.

When I was young, my hair was often long and sleek, and I loved it. I didn't have to wait for it to grow, it was just there. Then, during the times I had shorter styles, it seemed to grow really fast. This past year, as I was waiting for my mom haircut to grow out, it did not seem to budge…ever. Going in for trims would be pretty disheartening. My stylist, who has the most beautiful long, blonde, flowing locks, would quietly snip off all the hard work I...er, I mean, my hair...had done the previous months. She would encourage me to be patient, because it takes a while to make it past the shoulders. Once that happened, she said my hair would stop flipping up, and it would all be worth it. I would leave her chair feeling defeated. My mom always says, "Patience is a virtue." I don't think I have enough of it. 

2.  I tend to want what I can't have.

When my hair was short, I would look at women with long hair and wish for what they had. I would dream about pony tails and braids and curls and all the styles I could have if my hair was long again. Somehow, my new longer hair seemed like a straight, boring mess. The only time I liked it was if I had time to really dry it, but that took forever, and we all know moms never have forever to do anything. Obviously, pony tails were great for cleaning the house or sitting at the kids' swimming lessons, but even I grew tired of looking at myself with ponies. I shocked myself by shamelessly leaving the house with my hair still wet from the shower! I had never done that in my life, and suddenly, I was doing it all the time for the sake of convenience. Eventually, after I was feeling really discouraged, it seemed everywhere I looked were women sporting my previous hairstyle. They looked cute and fresh, while I just felt frumpy and old. My hair was wet, limp, flat, still barely past my shoulders, and still flipping up in the back. 

3.  I have to be practical.

As summer was coming to a close, I realized I was not going to make it through fall and winter with wet hair and pony tails. I just didn't have what it takes to let this hair grow another year. Let's face it:  even if I did grow it long enough for cute styles and curls, I would never have time to do it! Ever.  Okay, maybe once a month on a weekend. Maybe. Is that worth it? If I chopped it into a cute inverted bob, I'd have a ready-made style every day! With a super quick drying time. Done! 

4.  It's okay to be a quitter. It's only hair.

I love short hair...on everyone. If a high school senior contemplates letting go of her lifetime of long locks before freshman year of college, I call it a rite of passage in becoming a young woman, and I cheer her on! "Go for it, it's only hair!" When a newly independent twenty-something tells her friends she wants to cut her gorgeous, long hair into a trendy style and everyone shrieks, "Noooo," I shout, "Just do it! It's only hair!" When little girls, as small as six or seven, want to try short hair, but moms, dads, and grandparents tell them it's just too pretty to cut, I always say, "Let her cut it!  It's only hair!" 

So, why was I, an independent woman, trying to raise other independent humans, so worried about my own hair and its freakin' length? Was I so afraid of being a quitter that I was going to keep up with this style that made me feel so badly about myself? Did I feel that because I declared I was going to grow out my hair, I needed to keep growing it?    

I was actually much more confident in myself when I did have short hair. This long hair is just too much for me to deal with on top of everything else in our lives. I tried to grow it, and then I realized long hair isn't me anymore. It was me once, but that was a long, long time ago. For me, that "certain age" to stop having long hair is now. I don't see myself becoming more patient or less practical any time soon. I quit my long hair, and it's okay. It's only hair.  

5.  I really stink at selfies.

Once I did finally give up the idea of having long hair, I let the world, or that is, my Facebook friends, know my plan. Mr. G. (remember my favorite orchestra teacher?) suggested a before and after shot. Ha! I told him that's just for teeny boppers and hipsters. I'm too old for selfies. Of course, he shot back with, "I still think of you as a teeny bopper." What a charmer. 

That's when I devised my brilliant plan to blog about all this, in turn laughing at myself. It really has been an ordeal, this whole grow my hair, cut my hair, fiasco. Just ask Trixie and Mark. They've been through it with me the whole time. It merits its own reflection blog. 

In the morning, after the kids were at school, I tried to take some selfies of my freshly dried, longest it's been in many years, hair. You know, for the "before" shot. I went out to the back deck for some pleasing scenery, actually feeling like a total idiot. I do not take selfies. You can totally tell. I was worried the neighbors would see me, posing on the deck like a thirteen-year-old girl, except I was awkwardly holding a giant tablet in front of my face instead of a sleek phone. Thirty shots later, this is what you get. 

Notice, I finally gave up on the wooded backdrop and went inside. 

Also, my hair isn't even that long.  I had at least another year to go to reach the length I really wanted.

 

Sitting down in my stylist's chair tonight was invigorating, not defeating, as it had been so many times the past year. When she asked me if I was ready to keep on growing, I took a deep breath and told her to chop it off! I was ready to be me again. Of course, she still remembered exactly how to cut it into my short style. She asked me if it was alright to take off a full five inches to reach my usual short length, and I enthusiastically told her to take it. She asked if Mark knew I was chopping my hair tonight. I told her that I believed he would want me to have the hair that makes me feel best about myself, and this short style is who I am. She brought me back to life with her scissors. She knew it and I knew it. When I stood up from her chair, we looked at all the pieces of me left on the salon's floor. I sighed for a second, and said, "There it goes. Ah well, it's only hair."

 

After spending too much time reflecting on my hair, I am proudly coming away with some lessons to teach my children. 

• It's okay to be impatient.
• It's okay to long for new things and dream about them, but being practical is also important. 
• Nobody ever told me I wasn't allowed to be a quitter, it was just something I had instilled in myself. It's actually okay to quit!   

Would you tell me about some life lessons you learned while doing something trivial? 

I'd love for you to find me on facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Our Kid is Suddenly Afraid of Rain!

Last night, I came home to one of the saddest sights, one that I've never encountered in all of my years as a mom.  Walking into my bedroom, I spotted Mark lying in our bed, while Chip, our seven-year-old son, was curled up and sleeping next to him.  Usually, I would find it sweet to see one of my babies sleeping, but it was only 5:30 in the afternoon, and something just felt...wrong.

I asked Mark what was wrong with Chip, because at first I thought it must have been because he was exhausted from finishing his first week of school.  His brain had grown so much that he was worn out and just needed to crash.

That wasn't it. 

Next, I asked Mark if Chip had thrown up or was sick.  That's usually the only other reason that my usually rambunctious youngster would be in bed before dinner.

That wasn't it either.

Mark looked at me blankly and said, "I sent you a text." 

Gosh, would he just tell me what happened?  I had been out driving in a very raucous thunderstorm with Trixie for the past twenty minutes, so of course I didn't know I had a text.

"Seriously, what happened?"

Mark just whispered to me, "He's scared."

Chip was under the blankets, sinking in the middle of our huge bed, looking like the meekest I'd ever seen him, clinging for dear life to a flashlight.  He was scooted up so close to Mark, there wasn't an inch of mattress space between them.

I quietly crept to my side of the bed and crawled under the covers, too.  Chip immediately felt my presence, and he turned to face me. He nuzzled under my arms and squeezed me as tightly as he could.  I'm talking about my child who will only give me hugs when they're on his terms and usually wipes off my kisses.  It was one of the longest, strongest hugs he has ever given to me.  He laid in my arms, warm, breathing, and waiting for some reassurance from his mom.  I could feel his fear, and I heard the tremble in his voice as he tried to describe what he was feeling.

He was afraid of the thunder.  He was afraid of the rain.  To us it was irrational, but to him, it was real.  I knew he was serious, because I had been noticing a growing fear of rain from him over the past several weeks, as we have had quite a few storms.  I even described it to a friend of mine earlier that morning as "debilitating" to him.  After his practice was canceled because of a thunderstorm, he declared that he planned to give up soccer, the sport he loves, because it will probably rain too much again. 

Suddenly, he had been scared to be in the car when it rained.  He was terribly nervous to see the ominous clouds roll through, bright skies turning dark before so many summer storms. 

The boom of thunder, the bright flash of lightning, the pounding drops of water.  All of it...left him panicked.

No matter how many times we tell him that it's just water, or we're covered by walls and roofs, or the thunder is just sound, he still worries.  I cannot remember the last time our power has been out from a storm, but it must have made an impression on him.  That was why he was cradling a flashlight in bed like it was a teddy bear.  Why is my seven year old suffering from this abrupt fear of rainstorms? 

I don't have an answer now.  I know we cannot feed into his fear.  I know we have work to do in order to help him through this sudden phobia.

For last night, though, we didn't tackle the fear, we just used as much comfort and love as we could to pull through the storm.  The three of us laid in my bed for a little while...just the three of us.  That never happens.  Chip snuggled in my arms in a way he hasn't done since he was a sneaky four-year-old, stopping in my room for extra cuddles on his way down before breakfast.

Reluctantly, I peeled myself from under the toasty nest we had created in the bed.   Trixie helped me find some headphones, and we brought them to Chip, attached to a device all set up for him to play some games in bed. We couldn't make the rain or thunder stop, but we did our best to muffle the sound.  We did what we could to comfort him through the fear.  I walked downstairs to make dinner, leaving those two guys in our big bed together, under the covers...tuning out the thunder, yet tuned in to each other. 

Father and son. 

One scared and one strong. 

Thank goodness for dads and Minecraft.

 

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

He Just Walked Right in without Me

After all the talks we have had during the summer months about our four-year-old starting preschool again this fall, I was fully prepared to have a tearful runner aiming for the door. When Wednesday morning rolled around, you can bet that the first words to come out of his mouth were, "I'm not going to school today!"

He did manage to ready himself for the day, thanks to finally being allowed to wear his new Minecraft superhero t-shirt. Buckled into his car seat, he was still determined to ditch school. As we were finally traveling the familiar road to his charming little school, he began to give me a final excuse of why he didn't want to go.

"Mom, school's boring! We never do anything fun there!"

I know that his preschool is not boring, so I made one last ditch effort to pump him up with how great it was going to be this year.

I explained to Marshall how much fun preschool would be this year because he was much older and bigger than he was last year. He and the other kids would be able to play more games, learn new songs, hear other stories, make cooler crafts, and most importantly, pour their own snacks and drinks. Only big kids are allowed to fix their own snacks and drinks! 

Last year, he was with three-year-olds, but this year, he's in the big kid class, and he'll really see how fun it is to be a big kid. We talked all the way to school about what makes four-school different from three-school...now known as, "when he was little." He sounded most interested in the snack and drink.

We arrived at school about five minutes after the doors opened, which happened to work out just perfectly for us. It was such a great idea to come in the building after the hustle and bustle was done, when all the parents and little sibs were long gone. (I'll pretend like I planned it that way, when in all honesty, I was just running a little late). 

Marshall had ample space to find his cubby and nametag. He took his time looking around the coatroom before peeking his head into the class, where all the little buddies he hadn't seen since June were already in the zone. I stopped for just a second to say hi to another mom who was filling out some paperwork, and the next thing I knew, Marshall was gone.

Not gone out the front door, as he had done when he was little, but gone, all by himself, into the classroom. He was sitting quietly at a table, playing toys with his friend, acting as though it had only been three days since they had last seen each other; not three months.

My little, anxious boy didn't even say good-bye to me. He felt so right at home in his cozy school, where thankfully, his teachers truly do make it feel like home. I wasn't worried anymore that he would cry when I left. I wasn't worried about anything. I did manage to snap one picture while he was playing at the table. I didn't have any other first day of school pictures of him; none of him standing and smiling, raring to go. It wasn't important to have that pose. By the fourth child, I've learned what matters and what doesn't. What was important was for him to feel safe for me to leave him. He felt safe, and I knew it.

As he played, I talked with the moms for a few more minutes, and then strangely, I found myself not wanting to leave. I had been looking forward to my child-free coffee date with my best friend for the past three months, but I just couldn't quite walk out the door.  Marshall didn't need me there. In crept those familiar mothering feelings of happy for him, sad for myself. 

Obviously, I shook myself out of that temporary haze, and I did leave. K and I chatted peacefully over coffee and bagels, and when I ran into a neighbor of mine, she was surprised to see that all of my kids were in school. I sort of was, too. I had to think about it for a second. 

"Wait, where are my kids? Oh yeah, I do have exactly 2.5 hours to myself today!"

After the long-awaited alone time was over, I was really excited to find Marshall, give him a hug and take him back home with me. He told me that he wasn't ready to go yet. What a relief and total change from the morning. As his mom, I knew he was going to have a wonderful time, but he was just having nervous feelings about the unknown. I feel that way, too, as most anyone does in a new situation. 

Eventually, after I pried him away from his friends and the excitement of having sand in the playhouse, guess what he told me was the best part of his day? 

Pouring his own snack and drink. 

I've learned so much as a mom of preschoolers. This year will be my final experience taking a child to preschool. As I reflect on what we have been through over the years, this is what I know:

Each child has handled preschool differently, and I have learned that we have had to adapt our parenting of them during these years. 

Some of our kids started younger than others; some went in the mornings, and some in the afternoons. Until this last one, I always had other kids or babies in tow, which made the experience that much more stressful for everyone.

I won't pretend like my kids all eased into preschool. I would watch some young children just walk right in and never look back, while mine were paralyzed by anxiety. One of ours threw up every single day the first time he started preschool, so eventually, we pulled him out and waited a lot longer before starting school again. One of them waited outside of the morning circle, unable to bring herself to join the group for at least the first semester. One of them refused to wear his nametag or let his hands touch paint for the whole first year. Then, there's the one who I thought was handling the adjustment really well until about Christmas, when he started crying  and bolting for the door every time I tried to leave.

Now I'm the mom at preschool with just one kid who walked right in on his own. Maybe other moms will look at us and wonder how it's so easy for us. How lucky I am not to have a toddler in one hand and a baby carrier in the other. I have been there. I do know. I feel the pain for any parent going through school anxiety, at any stage. Marshall may cry on Friday, who knows! I can only smile and offer encouragement to those in this truly trying stage of parenting.

If you're a parent considering preschool options and feeling pressure to choose what your friends are doing or what you did for your other children, please know that we have all felt those pressures. I would encourage you to just take time to think it over, talk it over, and let it play out. Don't be afraid to change your mind. No two children have the same needs, even in the same family. Family changes, like adding a new baby or moving, always make waves, so we as parents have to learn to ride them together. Some children never attend preschool or kindergarten, and being at home is best or easiest for them. Playgroups, story time, and parent outings to farms, music classes, and the grocery store provide plenty of learning and social experiences for many kids.

Best of luck to all of our little ones in school this year.  May we all handle the changes with courage and grace. (Tears and snacks are optional).





 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

The End of Summer Rollercoaster

I'm sitting at my computer on a Sunday night, wrapped in the fuzzy new blanket the kids gave me for my birthday, with a Lindor truffle slowly melting in my mouth while I type.  The dishes are clean, the kids are downstairs playing together, and Mark is in the other room wrapped up in his own happy place:  playing Clash of Clans.  It really couldn't be a more peaceful evening, so I figured I better write my post for Tuesday.  I won't have time to write that day because Tuesday is the kids' first day of school.  I'm actually a little sad about it this year.  Usually our summers are so hectic and loud that I'm more than ready for school to begin.  For some reason, I'm just not ready to let this summer go yet.

Maybe it's because the weather hasn't been its usual self this year.  We had a few hot days, but barely enough to equal a whole month.  I'm not complaining, because I love the weather we have had, but somehow, it just didn't really feel like summer.

Maybe it's because the children aren't babies anymore, so they spent many weeks away from home this summer.  They each took at least one turn going to their grandparents' houses for a week or more.  Some were gone more than once.  Breaking up and changing the dynamics of the family every once in awhile worked really well to give them new experiences.  Of course, it also made their usual arguing less frequent and more manageable. 

Maybe it's because I just realized that we are 2/3 of the way through with Reese's life at home with us.  He only has six more years of school before college.  Mark tried to convince me that six years is a long time, but I know it's not.  We have lived in this city for six years, and it has flown by so fast!  We moved here when Reese was only five, just starting first grade.  Six more years, and we'll be
taking him off to live on his own.  With another summer ending, it means we're that much closer to our first child leaving.

Maybe it's because this will be Marshall's last year as a preschooler, meaning his last year with time at home with me.  Next year, he'll be in school all day, every day.  My life as a stay-at-home mom as I've known it for the past many, many years will be over.

The end of this summer brings up feelings I'm just not up to facing yet.

Last night, Mark and I went out alone for a few hours, just to recharge one last time before school starts.  We were relaxing outdoors on the rooftop of one of our favorite restaurants, with nothing to do but enjoy each other's company.  Do you know what I did after we were finished with our meal and were finally able to sit peacefully, with no one there to need us?

I cried.

I was out on a much needed date with my husband of fourteen years, the man I love who parents these four incredible children with me, and I cried.

Not a lot or loudly, but I did cry.

I cried because even though I knew the kids were home having a blast with one of the greatest babysitters ever born, I couldn't stop thinking about them.  I cried because I wanted to be in the moment of our dinner out on the rooftop, but my brain wouldn't let me be there.  I was still thinking about Marshall's first day jitters and that leftover vacation laundry and remembering to put money in the kids' lunch accounts.  Soccer and swimming are starting soon, and Mark might travel for work, and gosh, why couldn't I just forget about it for an hour and enjoy my Cherry Coke? 

I realized I was crying because I hardly ever have a second to myself to breathe.  We moms are always thinking about everyone else, right?  No matter how many lists we make or reminders we set for ourselves, there is always something else coming up, overlapping, or even being forgotten.  Just having those few minutes to let myself breathe, with Mark there with me, was a relief. 

I didn't cry for long, because of course he cracked some joke to make me laugh.

I said it, I let it out, and I was done. 

I'm not saying that I won't cry again the next time we have a few moments of peace.  Honestly, if you ask Mark, he'll tell you that I do tend to cry on our dates.  I cry on our dates, and I cry in my doctors' offices.  I guess it's just something about finally having those few minutes to focus on myself that lets it all come to the surface.

Now that I have had time to contemplate everything, I'm feeling more ready for the new school year to begin.  I know we can't stop time.  Kids will grow.  That's my job and has always been my job...to help them grow.

On the up side, when the kids are away at school for so many hours during the week, finally I will have some of that alone time I've been craving. 

So, do I want them to grow up or do I want to have time for myself? 

Motherhood: what a roller coaster!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo