I Bet You Are Better at Doing Laundry Than I Am

You would think that after doing laundry for my family for over fourteen years, I would be an expert. That I would have learned ideal ways to maximize my time and our space to make this chore manageable. My mom does it. Mark's mom does it. They have great systems. Mine? It's horrible. I curse laundry duty. I despise it. I don't need to tell you why laundry is frustrating. You know the reasons...all of them.

I was probably pretty good at it when there were just two of us. I don't remember laundry being a chore before we had our kids. It's like it didn't exist, although I know our clothes were cleaned and folded every week. With the arrival of our first child, I actually looked forward to laundry day, as the intoxicating aroma of Dreft wafted through my home each day. Next came a baby girl. Her clothes were so beautiful and sweet. Soft fleece jammies, lacy dresses, perfect purple socks. How could I not want to wash and dry those tiny threads to keep my baby comfy and clean?

Then, we moved to Japan. That is when all the fun of doing baby laundry went down the heated toilet. Our machine was an all-in-one model. Wash and dry in the same machine. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Of course not, because it was worthless. The machine was tiny, and it took eight hours to dry a load of towels. We had no other choice, as our home could not hook up to American appliances, so we invested in typical Japanese laundry equipment (a portable clothesline for our miniature balcony), and I resorted to hanging our clothes outside like everybody else.

It wasn't horrible, as there were only four of us, and two of them were still small. As years passed, you all know that I popped out more kids, who then continued to grow. Now we have more people with bigger clothes, and so even though we have a regular washer and dryer again, we have now reached the new problem of just never being caught up with laundry...ever. 

Every few years, I try to establish a new system that will make doing laundry a little easier...one that will save us from the piles and piles of unfolded clothes, merging into one giant heap on the floor of my laundry room. Thank goodness that room is in the back of the house, where no guest would ever go unless she makes a wrong turn. It's a disaster. Our moms do not dare help with our laundry, as they cannot decipher which piles are clean and which are dirty.

I started enlisting the help of the kids about four years ago.

Here was my old method. You'll see my mistakes, I'm sure.

1. I wash all the laundry in the same temperature water, not sorting by color, fabric, etc. It's faster that way.

2. When I remember, I move the wet clothes to the dryer.

3. When they're dry, I take them out and throw them in a pile on the floor.

4. Repeat steps 1-3 every day or so, for the rest of my life.

5. When kids finally run out of clean undies, pants or whatever in their rooms, or I just can't fit anything else on top of the clean pile, I declare it to be "Laundry Day."

6. Kids scream, kick, fight, whine. I make them drop everything and help with laundry. (Even though I have done the hard part of washing and drying it).

7. We use our misfit collection of laundry baskets to transport clothes to the family room. Clothes are dumped onto the floor-recreating the big pile. The little boys like to have the clothes dumped directly on top of them (for fun, of course).

8. Everyone takes a basket, fighting over who gets to use the biggest/best ones, and then they all dig through the pile to find their own clothes.

9. An hour of clothes flying through the air on a weekend morning is not anyone's idea of fun, especially when Mark is constantly barking at the little kids to stop climbing on the pile, start helping, keep their underwear off their heads...you know the drill. Wait? You probably don't do laundry this way.

10. At the end of this part, we are always left with a huge mound of socks that nobody wants to bother sorting. Sometimes I just put it back into the laundry room till the next weekend.

Over the years, my friends and I would talk about our laundry methods. Mine seemed to be the worst, but I just didn't see another way to make it work. How could I move away from simply creating a big pile of everyone's clothes? How could I create less fighting among the whole family when I need help with this chore that is for everyone's benefit? I just do not have time to fold it all right out of the dryer-obviously the best method.

Eventually, after watching what works for the grandmas and gaining some insight from a very wise friend of mine who taught me I was handling each piece too many times, I decided to make some changes.

I purchased color-coded everything. I bought collapsible hampers for each room, which are lightweight enough for the kids to take downstairs by themselves, and breathable in case I don't get to the clothes for several days. I eliminated our diverse batch of laundry baskets (some which were way too small to be worth keeping), and found large, sturdy ones for each person. We all know which one is ours, so there's no fighting over who gets "the good basket."

Our laundry system has been modified to be the best it's ever been, and probably the best it will be while our kids are here. Yes, I know kids can actually wash clothes, too. Maybe that day will come. For now, I'm home each day, so I can do it.

I still follow my original Steps 1 through 3 in almost the same way, except I've added something new for myself. I make sure to have everyone's empty, color-coded basket in the laundry room when I'm ready to empty the dryer. Instead of dumping the clothes straight on the floor like I did for so many years, I sort them right away, directly into each person's basket. I line the baskets up along the wall by age, plus I know whose color is whose, so I don't have to think too much while I toss in their t-shirts and pajamas. It's so much easier to tackle one load at a time! (Like I didn't know that before, I just was too overwhelmed to make it happen). Once in a while, if I'm really organized, an entire load will be designated to a specific hamper. So, if the hamper comes from Reese's room, I know those clothes can go right from the dryer into his black basket. Simple!

My laundry room is so much neater now! There are still a ton of baskets taking up the entire floor, but that's because we have a big, beautiful family to clothe. I'm so thankful for them!

Have you mastered your own laundry system yet? Have you always been a pro? Are you like me and were always looking for tips?

Here are some other brilliant ideas that friends of mine had given to me through the years as I sought laundry advice:

-Keep a small plastic dresser in the laundry room just for kids' socks. Never worry about sorting or taking them to bedrooms, especially if you have kids wearing the same sizes.

-Have your hangers ready when it's time to take the clothes from the dryer. Put your shirts directly onto the hangers instead of in the basket first and then on the hangers later. Handle pieces as few times as possible!

-Install a tension rod in the laundry room for shirts that need to be air dried.

-Play music or watch Netflix while you're sorting/folding laundry.

-Teach your friends what you learn! Although one of them may seem to have it all together, she's probably a closet laundry amateur.

 

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Rediscovering a Lost Love

My relationship with books has not always been constant. For many years, during my young adult life, I chose to read for two reasons. I was either engulfing myself in information about pregnancy and parenting or exposing my children to the thousands of fascinating books that could shape their world. While all of the words I encountered were read with determination and purpose, I had somehow lost the quest for reading that I had developed as a young child. Why had I suddenly given up on one of my first true loves? Something that had completely and utterly fulfilled me during my entire childhood? Why had I shelved my passion for books and all of the excitement, wonder, joy, sorrow and knowledge that they unlocked as I slid my fingers over their pages?

So many of my memories as a girl are entwined with the magic of books. One of my very favorite sounds was the shuffling noises that resulted when our local librarian checked out my stacks full of books each week. Obviously, in the mid 1980's, libraries had no computer systems. There were no self-check counters. Gosh, I miss those days. Each book contained a small paper pocket in the front cover for record cards. The process that took place to give each book its due date was no quick task compared to today's barcode scanners, but it's forever etched in my mind. First, Miss Kathy would open each of my books and remove the cards, creating a stack of them off to the side of her desk.

Open the book, remove the card, close the book, move to the side. Repeat.

The quietness that existed throughout the rest of the library was barely interrupted by the sliding of my many books, often wrapped in plastic, across the desk. The librarians were always peaceful, tranquil women. They demurely smiled, keeping their heads down as they worked, once in a while offering opinions on the books in my selection. After the collection of cards were all removed from their books' pockets, it was time for my favorite part: the stamping of the due dates. Our small public library had a machine which accepted these cards into them, making a strange, cha-chunking sound as it imprinted the book's due date directly onto the card.

Cha-Chunk
Cha-Chunk
Cha-Chunk

One after another, the librarian would stamp the due dates onto each record card of the twenty or thirty books I checked out every week. I patiently waited, intently gazing at the process, listening to the sound that was so familiar to me, so habitual, so hypnotic.

Next, the cards were reinserted into the books, letting me know exactly when I needed to take my books back to the library.

Open the book, reinsert the card, close the book, move to the side. Repeat.

So relaxing!

I could ride my bike to the library when I was old enough, but my mom drove my brothers and me there whenever we wanted to go. Our library was small, but it was another home to me. Our school library was just as important to me, as was our school librarian and school reading teacher.

Somehow, my impressions of reading for hours, days, weeks and years non-stop as a child did eventually come to an abrupt halt. Once I reached high school, I cannot remember a single book that I read for entertainment. I cannot help but think it had to do with being required to read books not of my choosing. I remember all of the books I read for homework and essays and term papers. How had I, such a book fanatic, lost my love of books? I suppose I was too busy with so many other interests, there just wasn't time for more reading. I have always read magazines, but really reading books for leisure did not make a reappearance into my life until the past few years.

Initially, I had to force myself to make the time to read, but now, it is second nature. I have once again become a library addict. Although libraries are in no way the same as they were when I was a child, and I'm often quite guilty of racking up late fees (shhh, don't tell Mark), I find the same peace in them that I once did. I find escape through books. I find opportunity. I find awareness, enlightenment, humor, acceptance.

We all have a love in our life that has to take a back seat for a certain amount of time. For whatever reason, we have to set it aside until the time comes along again when we are able to reacquaint ourselves with it. Perhaps you have a hobby like photography, scrapbooking or quilting, but you're just too busy with babies or school or your job to do it now. Maybe you miss being outdoors in the garden or fishing at the lake. Do you wonder when you'll ever have time to do it again?

We'll know when the time is right to start again. Somehow, we'll know when our life really needs it. My mind needed the stimulation of real books after many, many years at home with four children. I could only read One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish so many times before I began to forget what my own brain could comprehend.

What do wish you had more time to do? Will you start today?

What Does Christmas Vacation Mean for Mamas?

It's our first weekend of Christmas vacation. How does that make you feel?  I'll begin by stating how excited I am that our family has survived the first half of the school year! If you're reading this post, it means you have, too! Let's pat ourselves on the back, jump for joy or celebrate with a spiked coffee for breakfast. We deserve it. In my house, we have four kids attending three different schools, with four separate start times. Mornings are a little nutty, especially now that mitten/boots/snowpants season is here. We are managing, some days with more stress/tantrums/lost items than others, but managing nonetheless.

What is your crazy school routine? What sets you or your kids over the edge that you are so thrilled to be done with for the next two weeks? Let's rejoice in the notion that we are done with it for a while. Aside from heading out the door in a mad dash every morning, I am pumped that I won't have to pack lunches catered to everybody's specific needs. I know I'm not alone in this one. One kid doesn't eat sandwiches. He likes crackers instead of bread. One likes grape jelly sandwiches or peanut butter sandwiches, but never both together. One likes no crust. Some like salami. One likes ham. Some like hot food in a Thermos. One likes green grapes. One likes red. One likes clementines, already peeled. One can peel her own. One loves strawberries, which I cannot find anywhere now. One likes applesauce squeezers. One likes canned pears. One likes juice boxes. One wants water. One will buy milk at school. Everyone likes Goldfish, but one wants Extra Cheddar, one wants Pizza Flavor, and one is fine with anything. Of course, the fourth kid eats lunch at home, and that throws in a whole other list of demands. At least I don't have to have his ready by 7 a.m. How is it possible that we moms can keep all of this straight? I guess it's just innate, and our kids are so lucky to have moms who care so much about their darling taste buds.

The other obvious positive of the kids being on vacation from school for two weeks is the relaxed vibes that I am going to insist flow throughout our home this year. I can't tell you how much more at ease I have been this month by removing my Christmas card obligation. We also are not traveling out of town...at all. We will be at home, all together, every day...and I'm actually excited about it. Does that make me sound crazy? Do I sound like one of those moms who makes you want to puke when she says she can't wait to spend every waking second with her kids? Believe me, I know we are going to be on each others' nerves. That's why I'm thankful we have more than one floor to our house and doors (that close) for everybody's room.

I'm just more aware that with our lives being so busy every week of the year, we need this break. This time-out from it all. We can stay in our jammies all day and not brush our teeth till noon. That's what we did today-are you judging us? We traveled during Thanksgiving, and one of my kids told me that he wished we didn't have to go anywhere. He just wanted to be home. It really shook me up, and even though we had already made the choice not to travel for Christmas, it made me realize exactly why we didn't need to be anywhere but home. When our kids start to tell us that they need to relax, we really need to listen.

I know I've been a little absent from my usually very regimented Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday blog schedule the past few weeks. Our family has experienced some other obligations that have called for this mama's time and dedication. I'm thankful for your understanding, and although I haven't been posting exactly as planned, I have been thinking of my you, my awesome readers, every day.

This holiday season is busy for all of us. Time home with kids cannot always be planned. So, I would like to take this chance, this weekend before Christmas, to wish you all a wonderful time with your family. Spend it however you like. Bake as much or as little as makes you happy! Travel far or stay close to home. Listen to music, go to the movies, read by the fire, play in the snow. Break out the new toys Santa brings you. Cherish the moments. Cherish the memories. Cherish each other.

I do plan to take a Christmas vacation from blogging, too. I know that I cannot be present with my family if I'm sitting in front of the computer. I challenge all of us to be truly present in this season. Have you decided to join me yet?

My Fear of Pencils

Several months ago, when I was very new to blogging, I told you the story of how I broke my foot trying to save my kids from harm...which they were inflicting upon themselves...on the stairs. In that entry, I described how I tend to knock my feet and toes into walls, and that I also broke my pinky toe last year. Something that I see in my home on a daily basis has started me thinking about how accident prone I have always been when it comes to my feet, and because of it, I might have an irrational fear of pencils.

When I was a girl in my elementary school years, I would hurt my feet quite often. Some of my injuries were probably pretty common, others not so much. I used to spend hours outside, running around the backyard with no shoes. It was a daily occurrence in the summer months. I can remember frequently stepping on bees during those carefree, barefoot days. My mom was always coming at me with the tweezers to remove the leftover bee stingers. I was also prone to catching slivers of wood in my feet. (You might call them splinters). I suppose I should have started wearing shoes.

I very clearly remember the time that I was hanging out alone in my dad's garage. I discovered a small, square piece of wood, with a nail sticking out of it, lying on the floor. I should have told my parents what I found, or simply picked it up and placed it on a high shelf. I didn't do either of those things. I believed that I would be able to balance on it...on the nail itself. What was I thinking? I don't know, I was a clueless kid, and as I tried to step on it, that nail went straight through my foot. I needed a tetanus shot and who knows what else to heal that injury.

My dad also stored his free weights in the garage. Of course, I wasn't supposed to mess with them, but somehow, I must have felt invincible. I dropped one of the heavy weights directly onto my big toe. To this day, my toes look different from each other because of the damage that weight caused.

The foot incident that triggers the most amount of trauma in my mind is the time that I went charging down the hallway to my bedroom, only to be stopped short by a pencil being thrust into my right foot. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I believed was so important to send me running down the hall that night. What I do recall is crashing to the ground when that pencil jammed up into my foot. It went straight in and then broke, leaving about 1/4 inch of the pencil lodged deeply in my foot. Another trip to the emergency room resulted, and I returned home with that little piece of pencil neatly wrapped in clear medical tape as a souvenir. Isn't that gross? At this very moment, I can still see the stain left behind in my foot by that fateful pencil. My parents have never moved from my childhood house, and once in a while, when I see one of my kids running down that hallway, I flash back to my encounter with that horrible pencil.

After the pencil vs. foot fiasco, my mom was obsessively diligent about making sure we never again had pencils on the floor. Her words were eternally ingrained in me:

"Never leave pencils on the floor! Pick up that pencil! Somebody will step on it!"

As a result, I have grown up to be the same type of mom. I am always, always, always harping on my kids to pick up their pencils. Yet, I probably find one on the floor every day. With four kids, a lot of pencils are in use, but why won't they just pick them up and put them away? I don't know how to make them understand how dangerous it is to have pencils on the floor. I tell them my story. I show them my graphite-colored scar. Nothing works. I picked up a pencil from the family room just before I sat down to type this post. Does anybody else worry about pencils on the floor, or is it just me? Do I sound obsessive? 

Do you have anything that happened in your childhood that you incessantly worry might reoccur with your own kids, like being burned by the stove or falling into a pond? How do you stress to the kids to be safer than you were, and do they actually listen? Just like I believed I could carry heavy weights and balance on nails, I imagine our kids are oblivious to the dangers that lie in every day objects. I'm sure I'll be nagging about pencils on the floor for-ev-er.

My Very Favorite Christmas Cookie Recipe: Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Sandwiches

It's that time of year when my kitchen is messy from the best kind of debris: cookie making supplies. I wanted to share with you what has come to be my very favorite holiday-time cookie to eat, and there's no actual "baking" involved. If you can spread peanut butter and dip something in chocolate, you can master these treats that taste incredibly similar to the Peanut Butter Patties/Tagalongs that your local Girl Scouts sell every year. They hold up in the freezer like champs, too, which means it's never too early to start your Christmas baking...er, I mean dipping. 

Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Sandwich Cookies

(In my house, we call them "Peanut Butter Ritz").

 

 To make these cookies, you’ll need:

3 sleeves of Ritz Crackers

1 (16 oz.) package of Chocolate Flavored Coating

Creamy Peanut Butter, about 1 cup

1 Tbsp. Shortening

(Yields about 40 cookies)

Directions:

1.Spread a layer of peanut butter on a Ritz cracker, and top it with another cracker; set aside. Continue until all crackers are used.

2. Break chocolate coating into squares and place into a glass, microwave safe bowl. Add shortening as well.

3. Microwave for 90 seconds. Chocolate squares will still hold their shape, but they are actually soft inside.

4. Stir chocolate and shortening together.

5.  Microwave again in 15 second intervals, stirring after each one, until the mixture is completely smooth. Do not overheat, as this will cause scorching.

6.  Dip each sandwich into the melted chocolate.

7.  Use two forks to pick up and coat both sides of the sandwiches. Shake excess chocolate off crackers by lightly tapping your fork on the side of the bowl, and then scraping it gently across the rim of the bowl.

8. Place coated cookies onto a sheet of wax paper, using the other fork to slide them onto the paper.

9. Top with sprinkles while chocolate is still wet (optional).

10. Allow cookies to dry on wax paper until hardened, placing in refrigerator if desired. 

11. Try not to eat them all before you want to share them with friends and family.

Helpful Tip: Did you notice that my Ritz are not round, but a festive shape instead? In the Fall, stores start to sell Snowflake shaped Ritz Crackers. I buy up lots of boxes and tell the kids they aren't allowed to eat them. If I wait till the week or two before Christmas, the shelves will be filled with the regular round crackers again. Of course, the cookies made with regular Ritz taste just as rich and yummy, but if you want that holiday flair, think ahead and grab yourself a stash of Snowflake Ritz.

 

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A Kick in the Yoga Pants

Sometimes, we just need somebody else to be our motivator. Our cheerleader. Our kicker-in-the-pantser. Yes, we're adults. We manage households full of people without any direction from anybody. We should know how to do the same for ourselves, right? Lately, I found myself in this strange limbo. I was still doing all of my mom, wife and school duties, but I had neglected to place "take care of myself" in that never-ending to-do list.

It has been a few months since I took that huge leap of faith and went to yoga for the very first time. It was an incredibly rewarding experience, and I continued to go week after week, loving everything that came with it. The meditation, the relaxation, the sweat, the challenge. I was suddenly like, "yoga...it's my thing now." That is until I had a few rough Mondays. Migraines, stomach flu, neck pain, stress. They were all creeping in, seemingly trying to ruin my new peaceful practice. Didn't my body know how much I needed to be at yoga on Mondays?

For three weeks, I was not well enough to go. I rested at home instead. I sat on the couch next to Mark, eating ice cream and catching up on The Tonight Show. Sounds lame, right? Aside from being next to my husband in the evening, it was pretty lame compared to the really cool stuff I had been doing at yoga.

I had been knocked down for three weeks. Although I knew my body could handle going back to class, I had lost my momentum. I felt all those same jitters that I experienced before my first class coming back. Would I fall? Would I run out of breath? Mark, my sudden cheerleader, encouraged me to go. He kept sneaking in questions about it, asking me "So, what time is class tonight?" even though it has always been the same time. He was my new accountability person. So, I went back to yoga last week.

That night, for the first time after class, I found myself feeling sad. I felt like I didn't really know anybody there, and I was lost. I felt out of place and lonely. I felt that the positives I had received from the exercise and relaxation had been pounced on by the negative emotions I came away with when it was over. I came home and told Mark that I didn't know if I would go back to that class. (Again...lame).

Last night was Monday, aka yoga night. It arrived like clockwork. Funny how the calendar works. I had no reason not to get off my rear and go to class. My body was sound and craved the physical transformation it feels after yoga practice. It was my mind that was not in the best of health. Mark asked me during the day what time my class was, even though I know he knows. I was finishing up dinner in the kitchen, and he came through the door after work. He placed his arm around me and brought it up once more. I started to cry, telling him that I didn't think I could go back again. I didn't feel confident enough to put myself out there, to feel alone in the class of so many people who already seemed to be friends.

I was rationalizing in my head that maybe I would just do yoga at home. (Even though I bought a DVD months ago and haven't opened it yet). My motivator wiped my tears, told me that he knows how hard it is to feel how I was feeling, and he encouraged me to go anyway. I shrugged him off and continued stirring what was in the pan on my stove.

When the whole family finished eating dinner at about 6:02 p.m., my kicker-in-the-pantser made one last ditch effort to move me out the door. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he did, although it was ever-so-subtle. He asked me, "So, is your class at 6:30 or 7?"

Darn. He won't let it go. I guess I should just do it.

Besides my husband's nudges, throughout the day, I had been unable to shake this image from my head. My yoga instructor had posted it early in the morning, with our invitation to class.

 

It's what I tell people all the time, about everything important. We'll likely regret not doing something way more than we'd ever regret doing it.

 

So, upstairs I went to slip into my yoga pants and top-the first work-out clothes I have owned since my high school cheerleading days. Trixie filled my water bottle for me, and I almost walked out without my mat. She reminded me to grab it, all the kids told me to have fun at yoga, and then I left, into the night of freezing rain and drear.

 

I walked into our warm, calm and darkened yoga room with a new attitude. With an attitude that I wasn't there to make new friends. I was there for myself and my health. I was not going to worry about socializing, even though that's such an integral part of who I am. Then, something awesome happened. The room began to fill with the bodies of people who were friendly, smiley and welcoming. Last night's yoga was the best of both worlds. Amazing work-out. Amazing people.

 

I have two people to thank for kicking me in the yoga pants:

 

My husband, who had seen the struggle within me the past few weeks, and my instructor, who shared the most timely piece of encouragement, as if it was meant just for me.

 

Do you have any cheerleaders, motivators, or kicker-in-the-pantsers that seem to know exactly how to keep you moving? Have you ever told them what they've done for you or thanked them for being an inspiration? Maybe try it today.  

 

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"Our Song" Sounds Dated Now

Our song is by Babyface. The ultimate 90's R&B romancer. The king of swoon. The master of love-making melodies. It seemed so perfectly fitting and appropriate for Mark and me, two love-struck-college-kids, to develop a connection with one of his songs. It's called "Every Time I Close my Eyes." Have you heard it? Do you remember it from its chart topping and Grammy nominated rise in 1997?

When Mark and I were dating, it was everywhere. On the radio all the time. Remember the radio? The song became our song because it always seemed to be playing when we were together. Of course the lyrics were powerful and meaningful, too. They were beautiful and sweet and romantic. It resonated everything that's needed to make a great "our song." Naturally, it morphed into being the perfect ballad for our first dance as a married couple.

I'm going to guess that you haven't actually accidentally heard this song in the past decade and a half. At this point, you'd have to own the CD or find it on YouTube to hear it again. Is there a Babyface Pandora station? Now I'm wondering. Some couples' songs are still everywhere. Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, all those country singers who seem to write lyrics just so they'll become wedding songs. Those guys are still relevant. Babyface...not so much. Where did he go? Why didn't his song...our song, become an iconic love song that is played for decades?

I'm sad to say it's because it's a little dated. Okay, a lot dated. The lyrics are still fantastic, but the music itself hasn't managed to stand the test of time.

Just a few weeks ago, Marshall and I were waiting at a booth for my friend to meet us for a coffee date. Obviously, the adults were going to be having coffee. Five-year-old Marshall was having white milk and cinnamon rolls...his favorite out-to-breakfast treat. As we were sitting in the quiet room with sun shining in, those familiar keys rang through my ears.

It was shocking, as I haven't heard it on the radio (or even through Muzak) since any of my kids were born.

Instantly, with that first note, I was transported back in time to all of the trips Mark and I took in his powder blue '84 Cutlass. Fresh in my mind again were the days of  having to wait weeks at a time to see each other, changing my hair color every six months, and seeing Titanic in the theater so many times I lost count. Then the memories of our wedding dance came flooding through me. Dancing as though there weren't six hundred eyes focused directly and solely on us. Slowly gliding through the center of the room, knowing that the day had finally arrived when we could be together, forever.

I listened intently to the music that morning. I explained to Marhsall how special the song that he was hearing was to his dad and me. He's five. He didn't really get it, but I told him anyway. I told him about our wedding dance. I wanted someone to share in the memories with me, because it was such an important piece of music for our early lives together. Then, I did the very 2014 thing of texting my husband to let him know I was thinking of him.

Our song was on the radio! 17 years later, it was coming through speakers in a public place again. I didn't care that it was soooo 90's. It was so "us."

Take a look at the totally cool video for our song. Does it seem dated to you?

"Every Time I Close My Eyes" Video

 

What's your song? When you listen to it now, how does it make you feel?


I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo