angie... unplugged

Future Director

2013-08-07T13:17:00.000-04:00

Monica and Blake spent about an hour making a movie today. It. Was. Horrible. I can't even remember the details other than Monica throwing out some wacky insults to a stuffed whale and laughing in such a way that can only be described as a guffaw.

But they get an A+ for effort and creativity. They went all out, creating a set with throw blanket backdrops and creepy looking stuffed animals. They even wrote a script, which would be the photo for this brief post, except Blake tore it up in frustration.

After a few trial runs and an iPod filming, he declared the following:

Monica, you were a great star for our movie, really great. It's just that, well, you looked at the camera too much and I just wasn't feeling it. Seriously, there's no way we can put this on YouTube.

That's when in a mini-director's fit, he tore up the script and said, "We're just going to have to start all over."

Like any starlet, Monica exclaimed that she was "simply too tired" in a faux British accent that actually sounded more Indian and retired to the sitting room... errr... living room to explore far worse acting in the form of Nickelodeon sitcoms.

And I quote, "You could drive a truck through that hole!"

2013-07-27T11:17:00.000-04:00

The title implies something totally different than what follows, but now that I have your attention...

Wanna know what makes you feel like a bad mom?

A sick kid.

Blake is notorious for having a less-than-perfect immune system, and most recently has ruptured his eardrum for the fourth freaking time.

One would almost hope there'd be some "this'll be funny one day" story here. Like if this had happened by him trying to stick too many peanuts in his ear or something, but no - it's the boring old ear infection variety. So in the last ten days we have been to the pediatrician three times, with yet another visit scheduled.

Our pediatrician deserves a paragraph of his own because, not only is he the absolute best, but he also has a way of talking down to you that kinda makes you feel like curling up in the fetal position and relinquishing custody to the state. Ordinarily I wouldn't stand for this, but he seriously is an outstanding doctor.

Once, at the very mature age of 16, my parents were in Vegas and my grandmother was looking after me. I had gone to him complaining of pretty crippling stomach pains and he felt that my appendix had ruptured and that emergency surgery would be needed. I refused and proudly stated that I would come back the next day because this happened to be the opening night of our school play and I was the the lead female. Nothing would come between me and my earth-shattering performance as Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Nothing but my doctor.

He pointedly pointed his long, antiseptic-smelling finger in my face and declared that if I didn't follow his instructions (and since my parents weren't in town), he would gladly get a court order forcing me to stay.

Okay, looking back, I'm not sure if this is possible. But the thought of being handcuffed to a gurney won over the pain of someone else taking center stage.

He was wrong, subsequent testing revealed it was actually an ovarian cyst that ruptured and surgery was scheduled a couple of days out, but I have always respected the man for strong-arming the situation and taking a vested interest in my well-being.

And maybe I fear him a little.

Now as a parent, each time I walk into his office I silently tell myself that he's not going to get to me. Sadly, my confidence always reaches its peak in the waiting room. As little snotty-nosed kids are running around spreading their little kid-germs everywhere, mine sit quietly and only comment on the art on the walls. I am such a good mom, I think.

Once Blake's name was called to go back on this last visit, I ignored the knots forming in my stomach and silently spewed self-affirmations as we walked down the hall that, after 20 something years, still felt like the tunnel of doom. I'm a grown-ass woman. I can handle this.

The doctor came in smiling and high-fiving the kids as I look on thinking how much cooler he's gotten in mid-life. He asked what was going on and I knew, from my own millions of doctor appointments, that I had exactly 4.3 seconds to get everything out before he stopped listening for keywords.

Blake had no symptoms except a minor cold last week - no fever, no pain - until Friday around 5pm. By eight, his ear was hurting bad enough that he didn't want to do anything, Dad gave him some ibuprofen and he was better. Shortly after that, his ear started leaking fluid and there was no more pain, leading me to believe this was another rupture. I swear we had no idea, and we feel like bad parents for not picking up on it sooner.

One breath. All that was said in one breath. He shimmied his glasses down his nose, raised his eyebrows, drew his lips in with one of those inward sighs, and stared at me. In the three seconds of awkward silence before he said "let's take a look", I melted. My confidence plummeted, my swagger was gone, and I just knew my son was going to end up deaf because of me. Doc is like a southern woman, being able to accomplish all that with one look.

"Wow, you could drive a truck through that hole."

Awesome.

Four shots, three prescriptions and one really severe pouting session after finding out no swimming was allowed, we were out the door. As the kids and I rode the elevators up and down a few times, pushing all the buttons, it was only natural to beat myself up a little. Not for being a bad mom, I'm not - but for allowing someone in a position of authority and expertise to momentarily make me question that.

I realize it sounds like I'm totally bashing the guy... I'm not. I have so much respect for him as a doctor. He doesn't take any symptoms lightly, and while that can be a little overreactive, it has saved many lives. Besides, I'd rather have an overreactive doc for my kids than an underactive one.

At the end of the day, I know he's an expert on children's health. But I'm the expert on my children. Going forward I have to keep that in mind. And I probably shouldn't joke, "I'm trading you in" to one of my kids after their diagnosed. They laugh, but I don't think doc finds this funny.

He may have already called child services.

This isn't a real post...

2013-07-25T23:18:00.000-04:00

Holy cow. I had forgotten how much work goes into putting one's house up for sale. That's why this isn't a real post. My hands have been covered in paint and potting soil for the last week straight, and I don't think that's good for my keyboard. When rinsing off with a garden hose and the sink sprayer didn't work, I finally mustered the energy to take a shower... But I'm not typing this out without some proof of my labors.

Sadly, you can't even see the majestic landscaping I did. Ha. I'm totally kidding. Honestly, I bought hanging plants on clearance and threw them in the ground. I can't be certain that's a good idea. I was trying to Google it at Lowe's but couldn't get signal (thank you, AT&T) and kept bumping into people's carts since multitasking isn't really my thing if one of the tasks happens to be walking. So it's a crapshoot.

One can also assume that we will have a drought since I actually took the time to plant some stuff. After almost two months of rain (I was thinking I'd start a collection to build an ark), it will inevitably stop so my flowers can either before the sign is even put in the yard. Because I'm about as lucky as a two-legged turtle on the interstate. Whatevs.

Anyway, my laugh for the day came from this sign:

Well, not so much the sign as the kids dialogue in reference to the sign.

Monica: Who in the WORLD would pay $150 for a hot dog?!?!?

Blake: Let's get one!

So, her question was answered and I am definitely raising a child who will be in credit card debt up to his eyeballs by the age of nineteen. Gotta love 'em.

My biggest, most crippling fear.

2013-07-24T12:57:00.000-04:00

Thunderstorms.

I mean, I am a big weenie when it comes to lightning. Don't get me wrong, I think it's pretty and fascinating and all kinds of amazing, but I still hate it with a relentless, soul-crushing passion.

It started shortly after September 11, 2001. This was such a horrific time for our country, and while everyone seemed more inclined to reach out and actively bond with others, we were all a little on guard. Being only 18 at the time, I remember my dad extinguishing many of my fears by assuring me that Columbia, South Carolina would not fall under attack. Now, the nuclear plant in Savannah was a cause of concern, but no terrorist would look at Columbia as a major metropolitan target. Fair point.

And then the storm came. I was asleep in my childhood bed that was backed up against the only window in my room. Unfortunately, there was a big pine tree on the other side of that window that God decided needed to come down. Also a fair point, as no one really likes pine trees. When lightning struck the tree and the shock radiated through the one limb that brushed up against my window, all hell broke loose. I woke up with glass in the bed, sheetrock on the floor, and the paralyzingly fear that a bomb had detonated nearby.

Needless to say, it was a long night. I don't know if my nerves were shot because of the surge of electricity or the idea that Al Qaeda was in my little town of Pine Ridge. Either way, it screwed me up for a bit.

The damage was repaired and the tree brought down, but the effect of the whole experience was not unlike that of my brother forcing me to watch IT at the age of six. (I still haven't been to the circus since).

Before kids, I would do the absolute most illogical thing possible during bad storms. I would get in my car and drive through it. The goal was always to get back to clear skies, but this attempt was often futile as I normally just drove with the storm. All of the windows and other crazy drivers never concerned me because I was grounded by my tires and everyone know that rubber is not a conductor. Looking back I realize how stupid that sounds, and can't help but picture a cartoon character from an antidepressant commercial with one little raincloud over them. But I don't care, I still do it when it works out that I'm alone during a bad storm. Don't judge me for my crazies.

Over the years, I've learned how to reign this fear in just a tad, so as not to alarm my little people. I may be panicked, shaky, and cautiously keeping everyone away from the windows - but always with a brave face and the offer of a board game.

Well. Last week severe thunderstorms tore through parts of Columbia. More specifically, a severe thunderstorm tore down the street I work on while I was alone at work... in a building with an entirely glass front. You see how this is shaping up.

It was all fun and games until the lighting and thunder were happening at the same time. Heck, I even took a picture before it got all crazy because from the angle I was sitting at, I saw a heart. (Awwww.). No, seriously, I did. You can see it here because I'm typing this on my phone and I am either way too tired or way too lazy to upload it on an actual computer. I can't be certain which applies more right now.

Anyhoo... Then the power went out. Power's out, lightning's cracking, and thunder's popping. If there was an evil clown coming out of the sewer drain in our parking lot, a lifetime of nightmares would have come to life before my very eyes.

The clown stayed put, so that was a small blessing, but I was still completely frozen with fear. I backed away from the windows slowly (apparently worried that the vibration of my thunderous 115 pound steps would make the glass implode), grabbed my cell phone and stepped into the bathroom.

Which was pitch freaking black.

Naturally, that didn't ease any of the tension in the air that only I was creating, so I went back to my desk and slumped down as far as humanly possible in my non-slumping, ergonomically correct chair. It wasn't comfortable. For fifteen minutes, I sat there without moving in an intense staredown with all of the windows in front of me.

The storm passed relatively quickly and without consequence on my behalf. Driving home I saw a number of downed trees and power lines and silently thanks God and our property owner that we only had a few wiry wannabe trees on our lot. Reports stated there were 3000 lightning strikes within a five minute period (source: Facebook), and I'm confident that 2,999 were within a two block radius of me.

I know my fears are largely irrational and mildly dramatic, but for real - lightning does strike twice, folks. So please, humor me and don't run out in thunderstorms carrying large lightning rods. Or umbrellas (aka- mini lightning rods) for that matter... Mmm-kay? Thanks.

Can I help you pack your bags?

2013-07-19T16:57:00.000-04:00

As I child, I often contemplated running away. My only success was when, at the age of 4, I ran to my elderly neighbor's house and played trains with the old guy until my mom came and got me. There was one other time around 12 when I ran away on a summer day. I was prepared and my bookbag was packed. I got scared once I reached the end of the street because I'd never actually walked out of my neighborhood before, so I went back home. Nobody even noticed I was gone. So I just kinda gave up on the whole idea and decided stuff like food and clothes and showers were important to me after all.

I posted the following on Facebook back in April, and if there was ever a moment that could be a snapshot of my kids' personalities - this would probably be it.

Best overheard conversation ever between Monica and Blake (after Blake got in trouble)

M: What are you doing?
B: Running away from home.
M: Don't you need a bag?
B: Nope. I got extra clothes, underwear and a bottle of water. I can carry it.
M: Where are you gonna go?
B: Well, I'm starting in the back yard.
M: What are you gonna eat?
B: I'm just gonna kill stuff and pick berries and stuff. I might take some applesauce.
M: Aren't you going to tell Mommy?
B: Nope.
M: But she loves you, Blake - you HAVE to tell her!
B: Nah, I'll probably just get in trouble again.

Best Kid Purchase Ever = iPod Touch

2013-07-17T16:40:00.000-04:00

Have you seen this yet? Some parents took a one second video of their kid every day for the first year. Freaking. Awesome.

A Second a Day from Birth. from Sam Christopher Cornwell on Vimeo.

Why didn't I think of doing this? Oh wait. That's right. Smartphones were still a couple of years away when my kids were born. And dragging out the Sony Handycam to make a montage video back then seemed grueling. Besides, I was too busy playing Snake on this bad boy.

I'm sure my high score was higher than yours.

Regardless, technology has been a blessing and a curse when it comes to raising children - specifically our Apple products. I can't imagine a road trip without iPods, but I'd like to make sure the kids end up with at least some social graces and don't have to worry about carpal tunnel until normal-people age. Then I get texts like this in the middle of the day and have to laugh - despite it being slightly disturbing.

And really, an argument via text is so much simpler than the real life variety. Besides, we already have enough of those. Gotta pick your battles. Then just type them to save everyone a little bit of sanity.

No, he wasn't with me during this one.

Okay, so seriously - iPods may have been the greatest invention of all time. Don't get me wrong; we have technology-free dinners and family events, but I don't restrict them much more than that. I mean, I've got kids begging to download educational apps, we have research races, and I have a way to communicate with them that is cool enough to be relevant. I can't possibly say no to that.

They're still gonna kill me once they have FB accounts and see all of the amazingly cute (read: embarrassing) stuff I've posted over the years. And they'll probably lock me out of my own blog.

Totally worth it.

It's a good thing 7 year olds can't vote

2013-07-14T08:18:00.000-04:00

Blake: I don't like the president.

Me: Okay. But if you say that, you have to be able to explain why.

Him: Because his wife got McDonald's to put less fries in the Happy Meals. I mean, I'm glad for the apples, but they didn't have to change it to, like, five fries.

Well.

At least our political priorities are in order.

2013-07-13T10:00:00.000-04:00

My oh my! Though it isn't the Nobel Peace Prize I was hoping for, Carolyn over at Lifelong Health & Wellness was kind enough to present Angie...Unplugged with the Liebster Award.

Do you ever play out your own life movie scenes in your head? I mean, when I saw Carolyn's comment, I pictured myself wearing a crown with Jackie O. pearls and waving to masses of people atop a float at the Rose Parade. I've never even seen the Rose Parade, but I think I'd fit right in.

Anyway, thank you, Carolyn. Everybody needs to go check out her blog here and see why she'll make you wanna run out and buy some kale. :)

So, back to the Liebster (better than a Beibster). The point is to offer a little exposure to new(ish) bloggers and find out a little bit more about them. I'm going to answer the questions that were given to me and create new ones for my Liebster nominees.

Carolyn, this is an awful lot of work for an award.

I'm kidding, of course. I'm honored that anyone besides spambots has even been here, much less liked any of my rantings. So now it's time to answer some questions. Let's get this party started.

1) When and why did you start blogging?

Man, I've been doing this off and on for years in some form or another. I initially thought I wanted to write a book, but couldn't stay focused enough. It's on my bucket list, but for now - blogging fills that void.

2) If you had to have one ringtone to have for the rest of your life, what song would you choose?

Ewww... that would suck. But I'd say Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Unless I could take little snippets and make lots of ringtones from one song, in which I'd choose something classical... but I think I'm taking this question too far.

3) You are trapped in an elevator: other than a cellphone, what three things would you want to have?

My cell phone charger, Ambien, and Orbitz bubblemint gum.

4) If you could meet one famous person for coffee, who would you meet?

Off the top of my head, I'm gonna say Ellen DeGeneres. I have a tiny non-lesbian girl crush on a lesbian.

5) Twitter, Pinterest, or Facebook?

Not even a question - Pinterest all day long, buddy.

6) If you could have a superpower, what would you choose?

Buns of steel, of course. Or to move in super speed

7) What’s your favorite blog post you’ve ever written?

Eek. My favorite has been deleted. So maybe the better question is what's your favorite? ;)

8) Lions, tigers, or bears? (Oh my!)

Bears! Have you heard about grizzlies mating with polar bears? Grolars, I think. Seriously, they're insane - look it up.

9) What’s your favorite time of the day?

Quiet time.

10) What’s the last movie/book that made you cry?

I don't cry at books or movies. It's a known fact. I had tears in my eyes watching "The Heat", but those were from laughter.

Part two of the Liebster rules is that I must share 11 random facts about myself. I have gone above and beyond the call of duty with 30 listed here. You're welcome.

Now it's time for me to nominate folks. The rules dictate that the blogs I'm nominating can't have more than 200 followers. Unless that information is easily determined by glancing at someone's sidebar, I have no idea how to know that. So, if you have more than that or have already done this, I'm sorry - carry on with what you're doing and enjoy the free linkback below. If not, Congratulations! I will say this, I put some thought into this list. These are blogs that I genuinely enjoy and hope to see wildly successful. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to answer these questions (plus 11 random facts about yourself), link back to here, and pass it along. Have fun!

Inspired Passions
Residual Living
Not Your Ordinary Psychic Mom
Reasonably Well (Shout out to my Sjogrens friends!)

My questions for you lucky Liebster Awardees are:
(1) What is your least favorite chore?
(2) If you could be a fictional character, who would you be?
(3) Ocean, lake, river or pool?
(4) What was your favorite toy as a kid?
(5) What song are you obsessed with right now?
(6) What embarrassing story does your best friend/family member love to tell about you?
(7) If a movie was made of your life, who would portray you?
(8) If you could master one skill in 30 days, what would it be?
(9) What's for dinner... seriously, I need some ideas?
(10) What is your favorite quote?

Boobs!

2013-07-12T14:07:00.003-04:00

Dear God,

Why? Why would you give me the power to provide my children with life and nutrition and antibodies and all kinds of amazing stuff... then take my glorious mom-knockers away? Was this punishment for starting them on real food? And why, after seven excruciatingly long bikini seasons, won't you at least put them back the way they were before kids?

Sincerely,

Little boobs shouldn't be able to fall

Image from here. Yes, an article about 'petite boobs'. Awesome.

Okay, so, for real - I'm pretty okay with myself. I've learned to embrace my battle scars instead of obsess over them, but c'mon. My parents always told me that if I borrowed something, I had to return it in the same or better shape than it was when I got it. Ummm... well, I know two little people that borrowed my mammary glands and didn't even say thank you, much less put 'em all back in the proper place. Selfish. :P

About twice a year I think about saving up for some modifications. I'm a small woman, and a pretty reasonable one so I don't want the girls all up under my chin or giving me more back trouble than I already have... I just need a little liftage. I'm not trying to be greedy.

Put it this way, when I was pregnant with Monica, I wore a DD bra. For those of you doing the math, that's 2 letters up and a whole extra letter longer than normal. I wouldn't want all that again. But I did save one of the bras as a souvenir. Blake found it a while back as I was cleaning out my dresser and he folded it up and proudly wore it around the house as a hat. An oversized hat, mind you.

I believe in being true to yourself. I also believe in plastic surgery. Clearly, there's some internal conflict there. But if I ever do it, it will be for me and for me only. I know there are plenty of naysayers who are all, "Yeah right, it's always about the attention". But seriously, if I wanted attention or cleavage or something, I'd just go drop a couple hundred bucks at Victoria's Secret and call it a day. I'm not paying thousands of dollars for a surgery that could go terribly wrong just so people will look at me. Frankly, I get a little nervous and awkward when people are looking at me anyways. No. I just want to step out the shower and make catcalls at myself.

Naturally, while writing this I googled before and after surgery pictures. Which led to before and after horror pictures. Which led to this being the shortest I-want-boobs rant I've ever had. Yep, I'm over it for now. Carry on, folks.

Guess who gets to marry a master hair stylist next year?

2013-07-11T14:15:00.000-04:00

That's right. This chick.

This is me. Bringing sexy back. Via foils.

My guy owns a super-chic salon and does some pretty amazing work. He also deals with me, so he's pretty much perfect. I had the day off yesterday, so I got to spend some quality time in the chair where I talked more than probably any of his other clients while he politely "uh-huh'ed" along and made me fabulous.

So, here's the thing. As a female, it is my duty to know what is best for my physical appearance. I mean, I know what colors I can't wear and the type of waistline that makes me look pregnant. I cautiously watch trends, read fashion blogs.. you get the idea. So I mayyyy
be a little intimidated by the fact that he can do my hair so much better than I can.

Seriously, I've had the same awkward hair for 30 years now and still don't have a freaking ca-lue what to do with it. He, on the other hand, just runs his magic hands through and voi-freakin-la. Perfection.

Believe me, I'm not complaining. But I do feel a teensy-weensy bit of hair guilt when I go slumming with strategically placed bobby pins and whatever hair tie I can find in my daughter's collection. Especially since he'll say it's perfect, regardless of the catastrophe I've created. He's a smart man.

So now, on his behalf, I'm going to offer a piece of advice for all females. Never ever go to a male stylist and say, "I need a change, but I don't really want to lose any length and I don't really want to change the color. I just want something... Different. You know?"

He will inevitably offer you bangs.

Granted, I'm sure this conversation plagues all stylists/colorists, but chicks are more inclined to smile and agree, understanding that our kind are generally an indecisive bunch and some subtle change will solve the problem. Men are naturally logical creatures, so spouting out oxymorons like this confuse them.

I know this... And still do it. Before those foils got put in I said, "I think I want some of those darker strands again for contrast." Then not even 4 seconds later, "but I definitely want it lighter since it's summer."

He sighed, gave me the look and I resigned to the "you're the expert, do what you think is best" response - which makes me smart because now I have perfectly highlighted hair.

That, my friends, is how a team works.

Low self esteem? Not in my house.

2013-07-09T13:42:00.000-04:00

Image from here.

Monica: Mommy, I know what I want for my birthday this year.

Me: Yeah? What's that?

Monica: I would like a big mirror.

Me: Shocking.

Monica: Yeah, I just want to put it by my bed so when I can't sleep at night because I'm scared or whatever, I can just look at me and everything will be better.

How do you even respond to that? It's so incredibly pompous, but beautiful and innocent and I wouldn't change it for a second.

2 More Reasons to Love Pinterest.

2013-07-07T21:30:00.000-04:00

Sigh. I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest since my pinning success rate is about 50%. I mean, I have made some God-awful meals that even made my cat turn up his nose and hide under the bed. Likewise, I have found a few amazing recipes that I will keep forever and ever (and hand stamp on a tea towel for my grandkids so I can one day tell them a fascinating story about how I made them before paper was invented.) I digress.

I quit telling my family if a dish or a project has come from Pinterest because they will, without fail, groan in unison. I find this offensive and then find myself a tad defensive... "Seriously, you guys? Seven of my followers have repinned this. Seven! I can't let them down. We MUST lead by example."

Considering South Carolina is getting enough rainfall this summer to make up for the last decade of droughts, we are having to get a little more creative with indoor kid activities. Well, that or I'm going to have to drink more. Wine, I mean.

We started this weekend by making yarn bowls. Okay, using the word 'bowl' may be a bit of a stretch here. It's more of a yarn bowl-shaped item. Regardless, the kids had a blast doing it, the house was quiet for more than an hour, and clean up consisted of pulling a plastic table cloth up and dumping it.

And seriously y'all, my yarn ball (not bowl) turned out decent. I wanted to play around with this idea to see if I would be able to make yarn lanterns for wedding decor. Bam. Practically free wedding decor (again). Yep. We'll be making giant versions of these to hang everywhere. Or maybe tiny ones to put in the pickle jars.

Anyway, if you somehow have ended up here in hopes of getting instructions for these crafts, you are going to be soooo disappointed. There are so many awesome craftsy blogs with super cool chicks who take a picture of each step and make life look simple. Their hair is probably in place too. I admire those women, but alas - I am not one of them. Besides, I don't tend to actually measure things - preferring the "eyeball it" method for a unique touch. What was my glue to water ratio for the yarn projects, you ask? I have no idea. Something that granted a consistency between runny and thick. Good luck with that.

No excuse for the crappy shot, but glitter makes everything prettier

Then we made glitter jars, or calming jars, whatever you want to call them. This is like, THE toddler Pinterest craft of the year. Instead of time out, they have to watch the glitter settle... you know the idea. I told our kids that these were their personal space jars. That sometimes when we find ourselves getting aggravated by every little thing a person does, we just need some space. They were advised not to hit anyone in the head with their glass jars, but instead to find some quiet space and chill the eff out until all the glitter fell. (No, I didn't say that... but I meant it.)

Seriously, everyone should make one of these. Most grownups I know could benefit from a time-out once or twice a day and GLITTER MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER. I dare you to watch one of these for five minutes. No - make that two minutes, and not feel a little less stressed. It's like watching cats on YouTube. Wasting a little time for the greater good.

Happy 4th

2013-07-05T11:18:00.000-04:00

Sigh, the 4th brought up those All-American-Mom feelings. I wanted to expose the kids to some good ol' wholesome fun. What better way to do that than taking them to the almost local Peach Festival.

Please don't let this fool you. All of the wholesomeness pictured above derived from $10 face paintings and endless requests for $5 carnival rides attended by someone just old enough to be my one of my own. Not captured are the requests for iPods or the endless "are we done yet?" rambles. Nope. They had fun. Because I said so.

This was the first Independence Day for me and the man (and 4 kids, mind you). So naturally, after the festival, we had to find our happy medium on fireworks. Well, my idea of fireworks is watching someone else do them and maybe purchasing a pack of sparklers. He, however, is a man. Which means blowing stuff up is part of his DNA.

And that he did... To the delight of our kids and many neighbors, we put on our very first fireworks show. And it was awesome.

Listening to the cheers of the kids (namely Blake saying "Ravo, Ravo!"), I had to refrain from posting all those SuperMom pics that show just how in awe of my own life I am. But then there were the sparklers and I couldn't resist...

Hope everyone had a happy and safe Fourth of July. God Bless America.

And Moms.

30-40 pickle jars? SOLD.

2013-07-03T15:36:00.000-04:00

My sweet fiancé thought I was kidding a while back when I said I was going to contact the person who posted this on Craigslist:

He chuckled and was like, "Wait - seriously? Who eats that many pickles? And how do you even find this stuff?"

Well, darlin', you are in for a treat. If this kind soul responds to my possibly overzealous email, we will have an abundance of 80oz pickle jars in our possession. For free. You can thank me later. I understand if you don't feel like thanking me when we're lugging these from house to house in upcoming moves - just know that you will thank me later.

These (hopefully unsmelly) jars will be the foundation of our wedding centerpieces. Ah yes, remember when I said they were free? That's what makes it awesome. While we are planning a super-fun, super-cute wedding, the goal is to keep overall cost as low as humanly possible so we can spend that money on more important things - like the bigger vehicle we're gonna need with four kids between us. Or the honeymoon excursions... Priorities.

Photo found here. Cool blog - check it out.

Anyway, I keep seeing all these Mason jar centerpieces with southern weddings and I love the charm, the simplicity, the cutesy factor. (Thanks a lot, Pinterest.)

Our jars are going to take that idea and put it on steroids. I like this picture, but my plan is nothing like it. In fact, the only similarity is the big jar on the far right. Google "pickle jar centerpieces" and the image options are slim pickins'. Just think candles, baby's breath, burlap and chevron. Maybe I'll throw a miniature posable Where's Waldo figurine for giggles. I don't know.

I do know I need all of the jars. You can send me your jars if you'd like. I will be the hoarder of all jars. I may start a new jar board on Pinterest today. Are you following me there? You probably should. I pin cool stuff, even if it isn't jar related.

But seriously, the question remains - who eats that many pickles?

no zen here

2013-07-02T16:20:00.001-04:00

After two weeks with a complete lack of creative thought or ambition to get this thing rolling again, I decided to review a list of influential women bloggers (I'm sexist like that) to get the ball rolling.

It didn't work.

Mainly because nearly half of the list I was looking at featured women who were able to provide amazing wisdom and insight into a very specific niche topic, like life. Women who offer a breath of fresh air for the crazies like me who work full time while trying to start their own business, have a couple kids, will be getting more more kids after the wedding that must be planned, and have dumb chronic diseases (not kids) that make them tired all the time. My life is more zoo than zen, so it's safe to say it's best for me to not try to be like those amazing ladies. Besides, I've always been better at just being me.

Luckily, I can supply the internets with the completely random, slightly OCD, sometimes manic ramblings that make up my brain. And also a few funny little anecdotes featuring my mini-mes.

Like last weekend when I bribed the kids with promises of exploration if they would be cute for a couple pictures with my new camera first. By the time they were too SC-sweaty for any more pictures, they were begging for adventure. Knowing some train tracks were around the corner, I may have told them about a boy I know growing up who lost his arm to a train. It may have actually been a character from "Fried Green Tomatoes", but they haven't seen that yet.

Monica is a bit of a worrier. Okay, she's freaking wrought with worry and was slightly concerned that the tracks weren't safe, so I made it all better by saying they hadn't been used since Buddy lost his arm. So they played, walked, balanced, threw rocks - just about everything you can do on train tracks. When they were just far enough away to feel independent, I yelled, "TRAAAAAAAIIIINNNNNN!" like any good mother would.

It. Was. Awesome.

the worst blogger ever

2013-06-12T11:45:00.002-04:00

Soooo.... This last hiatus lasted a year and a half. I never could keep a diary, so I'm not making any promises on how long this current blogging stint is going to last. I mean, for the four of you that used to care. But, I'm back for now!

I left up a few of my old posts for giggles. I read back through them fondly, until I realized how amateur my writing style was back then. Gosh y'all, I have really grown as a writer in the last year. Not from practicing or anything... but clearly my thought processes have matured.

I'm totally kidding. Please don't expect anything different.

So, let's see here. Quickie catch-up:

My kids are still awesome - but bigger, smarter, and far more menacing.
I fell crazy in love and am now engaged (woohooooo - party coming soon!)
I left corporate America and got a tattoo.
People told me I was good at planning parties and taking pictures, so I figured I'd start a business.
I completely figured out how to live in the present.
I stopped drinking Diet Coke all the time, Crystal Light is my new crack.

I mean, seriously. You gotta admit that was a pretty big year. There was no time for blogging. Alas, things have calmed down and here I am.

Honestly, I just wanted an excuse to buy my domain back. So here we go... Again. :)

XO,
ab

valentine woes - part 2

2012-02-13T11:54:00.001-05:00

Welp - we have the answer to Blake's anxiety about Valentine's Day. He's in love. Monica told me so.

They were already loaded up in the car this morning and when I got in, it all unfolded.

Monica: Guess what, Mommy?!? Blake just said he has a girlfriend! And she's in his class!
Blake: Giggles, hides face with hands.
Me: Buddy, is that true? Clearly. The kid can't stop laughing now.
Blake: Mon-i-caaaaaaa, why'd you say that?
Me: That's awesome, Blake! Is she pretty? Is she smart? Is she funny?
Blake: Hysterical laughter with each question, but nodding yes through them all.
Me: Does she know she's your girlfriend?
Blake: Yes, but she doesn't like me. I'm not her boyfriend.
Me: Oh.
Monica: That's because she's SIX! An older WOMAN!
Me: Oh.

That's all I had. I'm not really sure how this part works. So I tried (unsuccessfully) to guess some of the girls' names that I remember from his class on the way to school. As we were approaching, he got nervous again. "Mommy, can you please stop talking about this now?" he whispered. "Blake, no one can hear me while we're in the car," I whispered back. Nonetheless, I dropped it. God forbid one of the fifth-graders that opens the car door for them to get out at the curb hears the tail-end of our conversation.

On the rest of my commute, it all started coming together. About two weeks ago, Blake started caring what he wore to school. I've been lucky to be able to dress him as long as I have, but now he's getting picky. No collared shirts, nothing with "dinosaurs or bears or anything babyish" on it - he only wants skull and crossbone stuff. Which is leading me to believe he's in love with an emo kindergartener, which is slightly disturbing. But we're going to roll with it. Surely it's just a phase.

Famous last words.

valentine woes

2012-02-10T14:24:00.002-05:00

Check out these fantastic crayon hearts the kids and I made to add to their Valentine cards at school this year! Aren't those super cute? We really had a blast chopping up crayons and (not-so) patiently waiting on them to completely melt in the oven.

Monica was thrilled and has some fantastic ideas about how to make her own cards instead of using store-bought character crap. I would tell you what they are, but got lost in all the details. I remember hearing things like 'special paper, buttons, beads, hot glue...' - it's going to be a pretty big project. Blake... not so much.

Me: Buddy, won't these be cool to give to all your friends in class for Valentine's Day? We can give them a little notebook, maybe some candy...

Blake: No.

Me: Wait, what? But we just made all these hearts!

Blake: Yeah, soooo - I don't really want to go to school on Valentimes Day.

Me: Whyyyyyy? All of your friends are going to be giving you cards and you'll give them one. That's the way it works now, it's completely fair. Monica, back me up here - isn't Valentine's Day fun?

Monica: Oh yes. And this year, the boys that give me the best cards are the ones I'm going to chase for the rest of the school year! It's probably going to be Thomas, and Connor, and...

Me: Okay, baby. That's a whole 'nother problem entirely. Blake, you will go to school on V-day and you're going to love it! Tell you what, I'll pick up some superhero cards for you to give out so you don't have to do heart stuff, is that better?

Blake: Ummm, I guess. But I'm still not going.

This continued for as long as I could stand it, and he still wasn't convinced. I remember overthinking Valentine's as a youngster - Who's going to give me one? Is mine good enough? Please God, I'll use my best handwriting forever if I get the most! In contrast, Blake's anxiety is really stemming from the fact that he doesn't know what to expect, it's not the real fear that we had growing up.

Anyway... There really aren't any surprises here since we know he'll be coming home with exactly 26 Valentines. But I hope he treasures each one of 'em... and that mine is the best. :)

the swagger-wagon is dying.

2012-01-22T20:41:00.002-05:00

Seriously, this breaks my heart a little. And then I remember it's a Pacifica and I'm okay again.

We do have some great (and sometimes slightly horrifying) memories though. The time we hit the recliner... the big cement post... the neighbor. Kid vomit, dog vomit, and an exploding can of Cherry Coke Zero. The list goes on. I can't even explain the alleged blood spatter stains on the driver side floorboard because we've been through so much. So you see? There's a lot of history here.

And then the check engine light came on last week and our friendship ended pretty abruptly. This quickly escalated to pure hatred when the thing started idling at an uncomfortably low rate at stoplights and making sounds under the hood that remind me of dial-up days. In fact, if you ever get to hear this noise you too will find yourself waiting for the old AOL voice saying "you've got mail". But it doesn't do that. I've listened closely. Plus, that would be kinda weird.... and awesome.

So I guess the search is on. I'd like to find something that doesn't cost as much as a small house, but I live in SC so that's narrowing the scope quite a bit. Nah, I'm just kidding. If it's shiny I'll probably like it.

Get well soon, swagger-wagon.

school days are back. sanity preserved.

2011-08-22T16:45:00.008-04:00

Well, I'm not gonna lie. It was a nice break. But I had almost forgotten how relaxing it is to just sit here and write. And while I feel like I should catch all four of you up on everything that has happened in the last two weeks, I think the topic of the day will be the most important from the break... the first day of school.

Ok, well - technically that starts the day before the first day of school. This is when we said our goodbyes to Michelle, our "other mother" who has kept the kids since they were born. This was tough. Granted, she lives only fifteen minutes away so we will still see her regularly I'm sure, but she has been an important part of our family. In those final moments, as we all stood outside, Monica released one of the Mylar balloons that Aunt Chelle was sending home with us.

"Monica, why did you do that?" I questioned, feeling that parental guilt of my child wasting someone else's money.

"I did it for love."

She said this with a peculiar (albeit over-the-top) sweetness and Michelle confessed that it was the little things like that that she would miss the most. I nodded in agreement. Monica, always eager to be part of adult conversations interrupted the moment of silence, "I knowwwww, you're gonna miss the little drama queen!"

So we all stood in the yard until the balloon was completely out of sight (this takes a while, by the way), gave all of our hugs and kisses and left - bound for the next big adventure.

Here was our video tribute for Michelle. I jacked as many pictures as I could from her Facebook albums and scoured my photo boxes for all of those she printed for me over the years. Mixed in with a few of our own memories, I hope this will always be a reminder of how much we love her!! (And ps - in real life it looks so much better than this... I'm so over trying to load videos to Blogger!!)

Well, as it turned out, we were bound for home, but you get the idea. This was a big school start this year since Blake would enter K5 and Monica would start first grade (or "real school" as she's been referring to it all summer). After bath time and a major fashion meltdown that evening, I tucked them in, said their prayers and then headed downstairs to say a few of my own with a cheap bottle of wine. I still can not believe that my babies are both in school.

The next morning I started at 5:30am. I wanted everything to be seamless and easy, nothing like the normal morning routine and this would give me an hour before they had to get up. Before I could finish getting myself ready, Blake strolled downstairs, dressed and ready with his hair already slicked into place and sat at the kitchen island. It was 6:04am.

"Well, hey buddy! Good morning! Are you ready? Are you excited?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered sheepishly, nerves obviously starting to creep up on him.

He told me Monica was still sleeping and just sat there silently, watching me start breakfast. This kid is never quiet. So I asked what he wanted to eat, offering the grits and eggs, waffles, cereal, PopTarts, you name it... Nothing. He shook his head in refusal to everything I said, stating that his tummy "didn't feel too dood" and settled for a handful of grapes. Oh, my poor baby. I wanted to be able to take that nervousness away from him, I wanted to show him that everything was going to be just fine - but I guess it's these moments that shape who we are in the world.

When I went upstairs to get Monica, she awoke with a start. "Finally! Mommy, I kept waking up all night thinking - Is it morning YET? But no, it'd still be dark! Finally!! It's the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!"

Being the super-experienced school-goer, Monica hopped up and got ready fast. Scarfing down breakfast wasn't a problem for her and she was ready to go. I overestimated the time we would need, so we reviewed backpacks and lunch boxes before Brad picked us up.

When we got to the school, I really expected Blake to have a hard time. Then we walk him into his room and there are two kids crying. GREAT. That's really gonna help, I think to myself. But he doesn't feed off of them and sits down with a nervous grin that you wouldn't be able to wipe off that child's face. I tried to introduce myself and Blake to some of his tablemates, but apparently kindergartners don't feel much like talking on their first day.

There was a paper on his desk, and I suggested he write his name at the top. Blake grabbed a red crayon from the box beside him and, hands shaking, started making an "M". Brad leaned down and whispered that he probably should write his own name - and not Monica's - on the paper.

Freakin' precious. (You can click on the picture to see it up close!)

He looked up, still grinning and hurriedly scratched out his mistake. When we left him, I expected a little bit of a fight, but he was such a big boy. So scared but not for a second wanting anyone to see it.

Taking Monica to class was much easier on my emotions. She very naturally sat right down like she owned the place, but was still very shy. I noticed that as full of life as she is, it can take her a while to warm up to new people, and she is reluctant to be the first one to speak. I would have done the introductions like I did in Blake's room, but she had already informed me that I shouldn't do anything that could embarrass her.

So I stood ACROSS the classroom and took my pictures instead of right by her desk. I'm such a cool mom.

She was anxious for Brad and I to leave, but very willingly gave us the hugs and kisses goodbye. Thank God. I mean, she's not too big for that, right?

As we walked out of the school, I had expected to be upset. I watched as some of the other mothers wiped their eyes with the backs of their hands, one even sobbing on her way out the door. Not me. It was emotional, definitely, but I didn't feel like I was losing anything. Sure, I realize the baby days are over. But I am so proud of who Monica and Blake are and am so excited about the new adventures we will tackle together.

Well, after we get a little rest. That was a long day.

As Pete the Cat would say, "It's all good."

blake's big adventure

2011-08-05T22:50:00.001-04:00

At least, you would think he was going on a big adventure from his fifteen pound duffel bag. Blake was so excited about spending the night with our sitter and friend, Aunt 'Chelle, that he started packing two weeks ago. You will never meet a more prepared five year old. Ever.

Each night this week, he checked and rechecked his bag, making sure he had everything he could possibly need. Here's what he thought was most important for his visit... keep in mind he wasn't staying through winter, just overnight...

One complete (and expertly matched) change of clothes
With an extra pair of boxer-briefs
Winter flannel pajamas
A hoodie (surely needed for those cool 89 degree SC summer nights)
His robe
Three books
Two toothbrushes
Six little dental floss sticks (this kid's gonna have the cleanest teeth in town)
An assortment of small toys
The bunny from his Easter basket
A baby blanket
Approximately 6,000 silly bands
And a water bottle - already filled

You know that question, "if you were stuck on a deserted island and could only have three things, what would they be?" Well, you may want to consider taking Blake since he'll already have everything else.

the toilet intercom

2011-07-06T23:07:00.006-04:00

We discovered this morning that Monica has a little ear infection. As much as I hate my babies feeling bad, I think I may hate giving them medicine even more... so we don't do 'sick' well. After years of fighting them, I am now completely okay with bribery to get the job done. Pathetic I know, but nobody likes to fight with a sick kid.

Monica takes instructions from authority figures very seriously and paid close attention as the nurse told her to drink lots of fluids and not lay flat to sleep. When I went upstairs tonight to tuck them in, I found her propped up like Cleopatra with four pillows behind her and one underneath, a bottle of water on the nightstand and she had pulled a fan right beside her, blowing her hair very movie-star-ish-ly across her pillows. The scene would have been perfect if Blake was attentively feeding her grapes, but he was too busy trying to do handstands in his underwear.

Queen Monica: "Mommy, I'm too worried to sleep. What if I roll on the wrong side and my ear starts hurting again? Then I'll start crying and it'll hurt even more, and then I'll cry more cause it hurts worse! I have to stay up all night. Can I go downstairs?"

"Niiiiiice one! That's was a really good try, but no - you're going to bed. But listen, if you wake up because your ear is bothering you just call me and I'll come right up, okay? But right now you have to get rest. That's when your body heals, remember?"

Our pediatrician told Monica and Blake that about two years ago and she never fails to bring it up when someone is sick. I figured his advice would be taken more seriously than my own... This proved to be correct as she reluctantly agreed. I looked over at Blake, who was now laying in her bed and staring at me intently. Then I could almost physically see the light bulb click over his head. His eyes lit up, his mouth curved into a smile and he practically shouted, "Monita! I got it! I'll sleep wit you tonight and if you start hurtin', I'll go to the toilet!"

Ummm....Huh?

Noticing our bewilderment, he continued, "Betause Mommy has a toilet in her baffroom and in the hall, so if I call her through the toilet, she will deffitly hear me better. She'll hear me through the toilets!!! Den you can stay in the bed since your ear hurts and all."

That kid cracks me up. He was working so hard on a solution to help his big sister and what he came up with is a toilet intercom. I love it. And you never know, it just... might... work.

Image from here

from the skinny girl

2011-07-05T00:07:00.009-04:00

Guess what? Skinny girls have troubles too.

Yeah, I said it. Because although I gratefully accept the nice-nasty compliments of strangers that are marked with a tone of contempt, they make me want to scream... loudly.

This all started today when a lady stopped me at CVS after dropping off my prescription and said she wanted to give me something. I figured it was a Jesus brochure (since apparently I have that look, I get those all the time). Anyway, she hands me a small booklet, creepily covers my hand with hers and says "it's okay". Ummm... yeah, it is, I think... I was just picking up my blond-hair-dark-tan-miracle pills.

As she walked away, I glanced down at my gift. It was information about eating disorders. Ugh. I felt guilty for getting so aggravated, she clearly had a cause to promote (why else would she have info packets in her purse?), but she doesn't know me. She probably would have scheduled an in-store intervention with the staff and any customers if she had seen me a month ago. Thankfully, I've gained back about eight of the fifteen pounds that I've lost since this Sjogren's flare-up began, so I was safe.

I do appreciate her concern, it's really the people who feel obligated to make snide remarks that are supposed to sound kind that are the worst. Yes, I have small bones. Yes, I can buy clothes in the little girls' section if so inclined. Yes, I am good at hide-and-seek because I can fit in tight spaces. Awesome benefits, I know, but skinny girls have their share of troubles too, like:

being shaped like a pre-pubescent boy is not cool off the runway
big purses always look awkward
there is always a bobble-head effect to consider when wearing "skinny" clothes
strangers who are career dieters usually hate you for no valid reason
it is incredibly difficult to find nice clothes that fit right off the rack (this is the worst!)

So please, spread the word. The grass may be a little leaner, but it isn't always greener.

Image from here

redbank, sc

2011-06-29T08:35:00.005-04:00

It's taken me five years to be okay with saying that I live in Redbank. And technically I don't. But it's right down the road and when people ask where we live, it is the only thing I can say that is recognizable. When I first relocated to this former chicken farm country I didn't know anything about this community and promptly decided that I wanted to incorporate the town and rename it White Knoll (after the local high school). Honestly, sometimes I still think about making the proposition at a county council meeting.

Shortly after we moved here, I was traveling down highway 6 and saw the 'Deal or No Deal' crew bus pulled over on the side of the road taking pictures of an abandoned trailer that welcomed people to our community. This was kind of a big deal. Not that Howie Mandel was aboard, but I'm pretty sure the closest thing to a celebrity that's ever been out to this part of the country is the county sheriff. I pulled over right behind them and introduced myself.

"Hey guys, welcome to South Carolina! Hey, you aren't gonna post these pictures anywhere, are you? I mean, I know it's pretty funny, but it really doesn't look good for us."

"Nah, we aren't going to that, but is this the Rednexington that we've heard about?"

Geez. Someone had already told them our nickname. Granted, this title covers a pretty large part of Lexington county, but I'm pretty sure most of the locals view Redbank as the capital of Rednexington. We have more mullets per capita than all of 1992. I talked to these guys for a few minutes and they were really quite nice (for the Hollywood type). They told me some about some of the people they had met in their journey across America and that the nicest folks seemed to be from these small towns.

They were right. Like I said before, it's taken five years to get to this point, but I love this little town. Yeah, there are probably a few meth-lab trailer parks tucked away and there's no guarantee people you meet will have all of their teeth, but almost everyone you encounter is kind-hearted. These are the folks that will always offer a hand if they see you pulled over on the side of the road and hold the door for you at the local Citgo. Block parties are a normal summer activity and the local church puts on a thousand activities for families each year, complete with movies projected on a parked white eighteen-wheeler in an open field.

I had my house for sale not long ago and decided to pull it off the market. Initially, it was because I love the schools here and just wanted a solid foundation for the kids, but now I want them to grow up here. It may be a slower pace of life, but that's not a bad thing. At all. Heck, it may not even stay small forever - everyone here will tell you things really started to change when Wal-Mart came to town and the trailer pictured above was demolished. But hey, that's what always happens, isn't it? Welcome to Redbank.

an essay

2011-06-27T01:49:00.008-04:00

This is gonna be the longest post ever... I'm thinking about submitting an article for a contest that poses the questions 'when did you understand the meaning of love?'. What follows is a very rough draft and will be edited no less than a katrillion times. Heck, it may even be completely rewritten, but this realization happened for me very recently so I wanted to get it on paper... Before I forget. :)

Most people find their understanding of love in a very specific special event… marriage, childbirth, and sometimes in a horribly ironic twist, after the loss of a loved one or other tragedy. Me? I found the meaning of love while sweeping the kitchen floor.

Yep. While performing a seemingly meaningless late-night household chore, I unearthed one of the most important discoveries of my life. It may have even started while I was wiping down the counters… though I can’t be sure.

As I cleaned, I was busy thinking about the annual Mid-Year-Resolution list I had just started in preparation for my July 1st fresh start. (I avoid the traditional New Year’s Resolutions opting to reflect on the first half of the year and then decide what needs to change…) There wasn’t much of a list at that point, just Resolution #1: Eliminate toxic people and foster good relationships. This resulted in removing nearly 300 people from Facebook (oh, the horror!) and really thinking about the folks that are pillars in my life.

My mom and dad were the first to come to mind. I am fortunate to have had a happy childhood, and it was the thankless tasks in everyday life that made that possible. They worked hard and taught my brother and me to do the same. They raised us well, even when we tried to give them a run for their money.

Growing up I got used to hearing, “One day when you’re a mother, you’ll understand”. I heard this when I had an earlier curfew than my friends, when all of my boyfriends were practically interrogated, and even when I looked at the tears in my mother’s eyes on the closing night of my last school play. Hearing this often resulted in an unobserved eye-roll and a confident sigh that I would be soooo much cooler if I ever had kids.

And then I did.

Since Monica and Blake are only eighteen months apart, the first couple of years were a whirlwind of late nights, smelly diapers and Little Einstein DVDs. But now that they are becoming a little more independent (and before the rush of extracurricular activities and social events begin) I can fully appreciate that they are my purpose.

It’s funny, people have accused me of being unemotional at times, and well, they can be right. But then there are those moments - when I see one of my kids perform a random act of kindness, excel at a new task, get their feelings hurt, or even tell a knock-knock joke for the millionth time - and I can feel the emotions completely take over my entire body. Pride, joy, empathy, fear, gratitude, optimism and being in complete awe are par for the course as a mom.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved them since the day they were born, but it was this day – as I collected cupcake crumbs and beads of Play-Doh – that I realized I would give my life in a second to protect theirs, that I will do anything I can to make sure they grow up to be good people, and that when they hurt – I hurt a thousand times more.

Earlier that day, I listened as my five-year-old stood up to his big sister, who up until that very moment had been his

unofficial spokesperson.

“Monica, you don’t have to say us when you talk, you can just say you!”

And while my heart almost exploded with pride that my son was finding his voice, there was this little twinge of sadness that they are growing up entirely too fast. Thankfully, Blake eased this sensation as I was putting him to bed later that night and he asked if I would rock him because it had been “too long, like maybe years” since I had.

This was fresh in my mind as I started my evening tidy-up rituals, and opened the floodgates for a thousand other memories from my childhood through the transition into motherhood that played like something from a film festival in my head. And though there was that normal sense of exasperation as I pushed what felt like half of the sandbox into the dustpan, I had to smile. These were the remnants of Monica spending the previous weekend trying to dig a hole to the devil. While this may invoke concern in some parents, I flashed back more than twenty years when my best friend and I tried to do the exact same thing behind the swing set on our kindergarten playground. Of course, we stopped when we thought we were getting too close to fire as we dug through the soil and reached a level of red clay. To see my daughter with the same quest for knowledge and understanding is thrilling… And terrifying. But mostly thrilling.

Since I was a kid, anytime I have done anything worth mentioning, I would run to my parents and say, “Guess what? I am soooo proud of myself!” This would be followed by an endless ramble of my latest accomplishment only ending when they stopped me to validate my feelings and tell me they were even more proud than I was. And while I still call them to voice my most fulfilling moments, many of them revolve around my own kids. I suppose Mom was right, and after having children I did begin to understand. I have always loved my family and friends, but my kids have allowed me to define what that means and understand what a profound impact love has had on my life.

Since a mother’s work is never done, maybe I’ll find the rest of life’s secrets while doing my after-bedtime housework. Who knows? I might be one bottle of 409 away from solving all of the world’s problems. Right now, I’m just grateful that I can tell my kids, “One day, when you’re a mom/dad, you’ll understand.”

Image from here