Grateful to my kids

"You are the best mom in the world". My daughter, Meaghan, says this to me sometimes. And she says it with such belief and love. I am always humbled because I know she means it...and I fail so often.

I sometimes yell at my children. I lose patience. Driving in the car I will be thinking about work so I don't listen to what they are saying until they scream "mommy, you are not listening to me" for my attention. There have been mornings I have been so exhausted I have fallen back asleep on the couch while they watch cartoons and I let them eat candy for breakfast. I don't do playdates like I should. And my house is a mess.

Yes Beth, lets get our real estate license during the worst economic times since the depression. Am I a masochist or what? Thank goodness I love it or the stress might topple me completely. And unfortunately, that stress can come out at home. Because my children are my safe place.

And yet, the unconditional love of my daughter blankets over  my failings. I feel so undeserving sometimes.

But I do apologize to teach them to say "I am sorry". I ask for forgiveness. I cry in front of my children when I am sad...to teach them that it is ok to cry. I teach them to express their feelings--good and bad. I don't say "you are bad"...I call their actions "bad choices". I constantly tell them how amazing they are, how wonderful, how much I love them. I laugh at myself with them. We laugh at each other. My children know they are loved.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to be a mom. And to be given the chance to be a better mom each day. Before my children, I felt frazzled. I just didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Not everyone needs children to be fulfilled. But for me, my kids are a clear path. Thats my purpose (note to self).

My daughter is this quirky, brilliant, witty, creative, dramatic ancient soul. She wants to either be a veterinarian or President of the United States.

My son is this wild, hilarious, loving, moody, fashion conscious, center of attention. He calls himself Mr. Handsome.

Thank you Meaghan and Joshy for letting me be your mom. If you chose me....I got really lucky.

Smart Quotes from Smart People

You know how certain people in your life say things that just resonate so much that they just stick with you for years? Or you read something that is exactly what you needed to hear at that very moment. Thought I'd share some of these golden nuggets that are stored away in my personal filing cabinet in my head. Feel free to comment and add some of your own.

--never say anything that you wouldn't say into a microphone in a crowded room (dad)

--Just remember "YOU" are the prize (mom)

--what other people say about you isn't any of your business (Becky)

--when you are in Hell....don't lay down--just keep on walking (Sherry)

--Don't do anything you can't do on a bicycle (Polly)

--Don't take anything personally. Be impecable with your word (Ruiz)

--(Paraphrased)  If I allow you to pluck one hair out of my head, I'm sure some morning I'll wake up bald!" (in reference to put-downs--Maya Angelou)

--Mommy, I will always protect you from the monsters (Joshua)

--Class is not about money but how you treat people (mom)

--once you have a baby...you don't get to be the baby (Polly)

--mom, in this life, don't be scared, be curious (Meaghan)

--stop saying you are sorry when you say how you feel (Park)

--you are brilliant (Christian)

--Those who matter don't mind. And those that mind don't matter. (Dr Seuss)

The irony of sunscreen

I can't remember the last time I had a sun tan. I remember going to a wedding when I was about 25 and visiting a tanning bed company that claimed to use UVB rays which were less "cancer causing". I think I went about 5 times to reach the shade of gold I wanted. I look at those pictures of my blonde, tan, svelte self and think "who in the heck is she?"

Fast forward 15 years later....two babies, gallons of sunscreen and hair dye and I definitely lean more toward the curvy goth look than Barbie.  At some point I figured out that I needed to wear sunscreen. That the sun and tanning beds caused cancer. Better pale than sorry. So I opted to embrace the whole dramatic pale with dark hair and bright red lipstick look. And somehow I got a lot more comfortable in my own skin than I ever was a decade before.

So where is the irony? Well, when I think of constant tanning I envision golden leathery skin that wrinkles and hardens with age. I mean, to each his own. But I just decided that I thought I'd age better pale. So I pour on the SPF 50 in an effort to protect my skin.

So here it goes....life would be so much easier with thick skin. And yeah...I know I am speaking about a different kind of skin. But I've learned to embrace the physical...protecting its sensitivity. And yet, I beat myself up over not having a thicker, more protective inner layer.

Recently I had a job that I threw my heart and soul into. And really, I did an amazing job. I know it in my heart. I went above and beyond and made numerous sacrifices for the job. But I did them because I take pride in helping people and doing a good job. In the end, however, there were circumstances beyond my control that left a bad taste in the client's mouth...and who gets the blame?

me. yuck.

Some people are great at holding their heads up high and letting things roll off their sleeves. I fixate on what happened....how I could have made things better....how I could have made them perfectly happy.

Get a thicker skin girl. Its their problem. Not yours. Someone eles's shortsightedness isn't your issue.

But still. And then I become so hard on myself for not being tougher. That I cry too easily. That I care too much.

So today I decided to just embrace the fact that I'll probably never have a real thick skin. I'm just not a "leathery" kind of gal. I will always be fair and sensitive to all sorts of bright lights. I'll always put myself out there because it is who I am.

I don't think its about developing a thicker skin. I think its about being comfortable in mine which just happens to burn easily. But I think it makes me a better person. I just do.

 And I have fewer wrinkles.

My love/hate relationship with my cell phone, Mike

I think I will name my phone Mike. I have dated a lot of Mikes through the years. Some of them I still love as people and friends. Others, not so much, because they are narcissistic sociopaths. My dating history is another blog post. My love compass clearly stopped working every so many months.

But just to clarify, if you happen upong this link because we are friends on facebook and your name is Mike...you are in the "like" category.

But to get back to Mike, my cell phone....

Oh Mike, I love you....but I hate you. I hate you....but I love you.

I was on vacation this past week and I made a concerted effort to not answer the phone. Of course, I did not turn it off. 90% of the time it was within arms reach. I may have picked it up and looked at the number calling....but overall in terms of not answering....I think on a grading scale I probably got a "B". Yayyy ME!

I remember growing up until age 9, there were two phones in the whole house....one in the kitchen and one in my parents room. These were land lines with cords and round dials. And these were not like stretch cords. Like you had 2 feet to move while making a call. 

And then we moved and I became interested in boys. There was still no caller ID, no voice messages, no call waiting. I mean, if a boy was calling, you begged your parents to get off the phone and prayed to the telephone gods that the phone would ring. And when it did, you'd have to stretch that cord as far as it would go and hide on the stairwell to have any measure of privacy. And then there was little brother who could pick up the phone and make weird kissing noises on the line.

At 11, my parents actually put a phone in my room. At 13, I actually got my own phone line for my birthday. AND I even got an answering machine so people could leave messages if I wasn't there. Oh and the fabulous prank messages you could leave without worrying about people knowing who you were. Or the "Love" messages with boys anonymously playing "Hello" by Lionel Ritchie or "Against All Odds" on your answering machine.

*Sigh*....the age of the secret admirer.

So what changed? Well, the conversations became a little less innocent. I got less sleep for staying up until all hours talking to my guy "best friends". Amazing how at 13 you have an array of guy best friends. And by 40, you may have one if you are lucky. But thats another blog post. And THE DRAMA. Three-way phone calls to catch someone saying mean things about you or getting a confession from your boyfriend that he kissed another girl. The long-drawn out breakups. The fighting with mom/dad over losing phone privileges. How that would ruin your life for eternity. Man, these phones brought a lot of new stress to our young lives.

And then came the car phone. I didn't have many friends with these huge mechanical things in their cars but many of our parents did. All of a sudden people were working crazy hours. There was no "leave your work at work" if you were going to a family dinner. Because inevitably, the phone would ring.

And am I crazy but did the divorce rate skyrocket when people could have secret lives in their cars? I think car phones were to the 80s like facebook is to today. I wonder how many marriages might have lasted if it weren't so easy to keep secrets via automobile?

And then came cell phones. I actually didn't break down and get one until I was like 28. And at that point life was still slightly more peaceful because not everyone had a cell phone...so it wasn't ringing off the hook for personal and/or business reasons. It was easy to have lots of left-over minutes.

But it was at that time, that the line between personal time/family time/ business time became blurry. Because, hey, it was kind of fun to be able to call all your friends from everywhere you went whenever they popped into your brain.

And now everyone has a cell. Land lines are becoming extinct. You are never alone. You never have to be alone. We all have a Mike at our side.

The good side...if your child busts his head open...you can reach your partner at the gym. If there is a work emergency...it can be resolved more quickly. If your kids live with your ex-husband half the time, you have a better shot of talking to them everyday. In those moments, I'm like "Thank God for Mike and all his friends".

But a side effect of this, I believe, is that we've all lost patience. There is this constant sense of urgency as well as entitlement. "Well I KNOW you have your phone with you so how dare you not answer it"!!?? And it is hard to leave work behind when you know you could make life a lot easier for colleagues if you just made a phone call. Or 2. Or 10.

And then we have these mini-computers at our fingertips. So we have immediate accesss to our friends, family, the weather, business, celebrity scandals, the definition of arachibutyrophobia, the end of the world. And don't get me started on texting (and I do text....just sayin')

I have gotten to the point where I want to put Mike down but I can't seem to make myself. Sometimes I can feel the anxiety in my stomach as I surf the internet via phone. Weird.

Until this vacation. Where I stopped answering my phone. And I played with my kids in the lake. And kicked butt at laser tag. And took a ghost tour. And looked for sea glass. All without a phone. And much stress dissipated. It was lovely.

So I am on the fence about if the world is a better place with cell phones. As with many of my posts these days....the key is finding the balance.

Darn you Mike.

Camp Piomingo

I am not an outdoorsy gal. I'm sure this comes of no surprise to those who have known me a long time or even a short while. Here is what I appreciate about the outdoors.

The ocean--I like the sound of it while I sit and listen to the waves. I also enjoy grabbing sanddollars with my toes in thigh deep water. Seriously, I have a gift. I always throw them back. Just the thrill of the find.The sound of insects at night. Now don't get me near cicadas or grasshoppers but the sound is incredibly lulling. I like thinking that you could dive into a cloud. I used to think that cloud were heaven. The first time I flew in a plane I remember looking for angels. I also can imagine the life in all living things. Perhaps its my Cherokee indian heritage flowing through my veins but I can kind of relate to Disney's Pocahontas. Wouldn't it be great to have a tree to give you advice?

I am not a fan, however, of dirt or sand in my toes or fingernails. I hate being dirty. I am terrified of caves. Repelling is for people who don't care about living. I don't care for shared showers or mudslides.

And there was my traumatic camp experiences at ages 9, 10, 11 and 12--mud, caves, shower shoes. I will never forget the child who had diarrhea in the river we were crossing. I had fears about swimming in a river for the rest of my life. But when my daughter started begging for camp...I felt a bit thrilled on the inside.

My daughter has been begging for camp for months on end. She doesn't care about bringing a friend. She wants to be outdoors, riding horses, ziplining, camping overnight, cooking things over a fire. This is a girl comfortable in her own skin. She knows what brings her joy and is not afraid to take a chance.

We went to Holiday World the other weekend and she said "mom, I prayed the whole time that I would have the courage to ride every ride and fight my fear". Again, this child is a million years old

When Meaghan was three she looked at me and said "Mom, in this life...don't be afraid, be curious". Somehow we were talking about the Bermuda triangle...but I still tell myself this when I find myself retreating over something in life.

So I am amazed by my little girl. I do not believe I have pushed her to be the things I always wished I could have been. Independent, courageous, finding joy in everything, fearless, confident, and so comfortable in her own skin. I know she is simply herself. But sometimes I look at her and think about how I wish I could have been more like that. As a result, I tell her all the time how much she amazes me.

And she really does.

So while Camp Piomingo was a mix of fun and traumatic experiences...I so look forward to giving my daughter what she begged for for so long. She is nervous and excited. She asked me tonight what to do if the other girls didn't like her. I said "Meag--who doesn't like you? Everyone likes you". With a laugh in her eye she said "robbers and bad people do not like me". I said "well, lets pray you have no mean robbers as cabinmates".

I can't believe I can't speak to her for 5 days. I already mailed her a letter.

So many memories my daughter will be replicating. But better.

I couldn't have asked for a cooler kid. Everything I wish I could have been. And now I get to empower her. Momhood really rocks.

What Earns Me Stripes At 40

So here are the main things tonight thatI think I can say I have learned that I feel worth sharing on my birthday...

1) Be kind to those you care the most about. We seem to take out our frustrations on the ones we are the closest to. Change that. Forget those who do not matter. Love on those who mean something.

2) Drink water. It just works.

3) Red Lipstick can change an entire perspective. Treat her with caution.

4) Life is unfair. Someone will have it worse than you. You will lose people you love starting now and they were not prepared. Practice gratitiude.

5) Be impeccable with your word. This one sort of sucks. It means you have to be honest when you could honestly just make something up and no one would know. Better to be honest. You smell better.

I really thought I would be so empowered and enlightened at 40. I feel scared.  Do I need to live differently? Adjust my priorities? I like how the earth twirls and that the sun and moon change shapes and sizes depending on my perspective.

I guess I will figure it out. Happy Birthday Me. To the 5 year-old Beth, the 16-year old Beth, the 32-year old Beth and now. Happy Happy.

I love life. I really do.

In Joshua's Words

"Mom, we like you.

 You cook us breakfast. You make us do chores. You tuck us in at night. That makes a good mom".


Then carefully pulling my eyeglasses off my face he says..


"here...take off your glasses. You look better without them".

bedtime, toothpaste and candles

I miss bedtime when I could light a candle and pull out a book of poetry to read until I was too tired to focus. I would go to bed inspired and ready to work on my creative side the next day. In that quiet space I would somehow feel like I would be a better person in the morning.

As I write right now, I hear my son opening and shutting his door for attention. I hear him saying "but mommy I want mommy/joshy time". And I just finished tucking my daughter into bed crying because I spent so much time putting josh down (almost tying him to the bed) that I missed out on mother/daughter ghost hunters night. Don't judge please. Whether it be the fact my daughter and I are both intrigued by the idea of ghosthunting or that both my children are vying for my attention.

When my divorce happened I was forced to begin again. I had to recreate myself financially. And the beautiful luck is that I have an array of amazing clients/friends who are entrusting me with some of the biggest financial and life choices they can make...buying and/or selling their homes. And i really love every moment of it. I get to dream about their lives with them and help make it happen. What an honor.

And I also have to pay the mortgage and health insurance and school tuition. And clothes for children that fit for about 10 seconds it seems.

But I am missing out on the dreams of my kids. And I know that is most important. Those women who fought for equality...well, yeah I'm glad they did it. But we can't have it all. That old commercial..."I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan..."...well, I'd like to take that pan to that woman in pearls and knock her fantasy self head-first into the bacon grease. Cold of course.

I can hear my son singing in his room " mommy...my teeth are all shiny...do you want to come see". It is 10:46 pm. "He is saying "mommy I need to tell you something...I want you to see my teeth and smell them, please say yes".

I just told him if he would climb into bed...I would come see him in 5 minutes. Enough time to take a little time to write, to journal, to spill my guts that I am doing the best I can but somehow it is not good enough.

So here is my plan for the summer.

I will not work on Friday afternoons. I am putting an "adventure" into an envelope and thats what I am doing with my kids. I might even turn off my phone as frightening as it might be. But somehow I am hoping that my clients appreciate that and the value of putting children first.

On the Saturdays I have the children I will devote the majority of my time to playing with them. I may have to work some in the mornings but I am dedicating my time to them...even if it costs me some business. Maybe I'll get a partner.

So there I am. Hold me accountable friends. I can't have everything or do everything but I think I can do better.  My children really are my current-day candles and my poetry and I need inspiration in their laughter and happiness. I know I will feel like a better person for the next day.

And now I am off to smell bubblegum fresh teeth.

Just some questions

I am having trouble formulating one coherent thought, essay, inspiration today. And I think it is just because I have so much on my mind. In fact, I am having trouble getting out of my head these days during my "off-time" from work. So I thought if I just posted all the random questions and thoughts spinning around...then I could breathe and get a massage and a margarita. This better work.

1) So what happens after we die? Does everyone have the same experience? Are there really ghosts? Do those free "ghost hunting" apps on the i-phone work? And should I be freaked out that mine said "blood, body, I"?

2) I went to this dinner where a stylist was speaking--offering advice on when your clothes have reached their "expiration date". I have realized that using her guidelines....3/4s of my closet has reached its "expiration date". I was wondering if I were to really purge these clothes...do you think she'd let me borrow her credit card? Because in following her advice I would be walking around nearly naked and that might be bad publicity for a stylist. Just sayin.

3) If I take 15 minutes a day....would I be capable of filing all of my paperwork in a week's time? I think not.

4) Some days I listen to my daughter and I think that I have given birth to a smarter and more dramatic version of myself. I owe my parents a case of Opus One. Actually the whole winery.

5) When will "no" just mean "no"? Will someday the "no" just kick-in as meaningful? Will the "no" command respect? Will consistency make "no" work? Did Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey accept "no" as children? I tell myself "no" and this is the only thing that gives me hope for the future of all of us.

6) Is it time to accept that I won't have another child? To embrace that next stage of my life? That is hard on many days for some reason.

7) Is the world coming to an end? Do I need to rethink my exit strategy?

8) If my coffee pot says I am drinking 6 cups of coffee, but it only fills up 2 1/2 mugs....doesn't that mean I am only drinking 2 full cups of coffee?

9) Who is my authentic self...is she who I think she is, I am....whatever?

I'm going to just rebel and leave the questions at 9. That kind of encapsulates how I'm feeling...like if I could figure out one more thing--neatly reach a #10....the rest of it would be very clear. You'd think reaching answers are hard....reaching the question is sometimes the toughest task of all.

What I'm thinking about today...

So I happened upon this Youtube Video by Alye Pollack

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37_ncv79fLA

This pretty little girl...clearly smart, creative, sensitive....bullied at school. Good for her for having the strength to speak her truth...out loud, in color, and underlined.

I can't say I was ever bullied. Teased...yes. Not sure when the line crosses into bullying. I was an easy target. I struggle to recognize sarcasm. People who have a really dry sense of humor intimidate me. I never know what is supposed to funny. I've learned to recognize certain facial cues...twinkling eyes, half-smiles, but without that....I'm pretty much at a loss. It takes me a few moments to process a joke. I tend to understand it about 30 seconds after the rest of the room. I haven't figured out if I am too literal or too abstract. This pretty much painted a red circle on my forehead from the time kids were old enough to figure this out about me.

I was called stuck up. Told I walked weird. That my breath smelled. That I was ditsy. Tree trunks for calves, cankles, etc. I still struggle to show my ankles in public. I didn't know I looked any different until a boy at church pointed it out.

Sometimes I'm watching tv and I feel disdain for a woman I don't find attractive. Now, where does that come from?  I remember watching "Will and Grace" and the Grace character came back to the show after giving birth and I felt resentful because she had gained weight.

I know I just saw myself in these women. Not pretty enough. Not thin enough. Not enough. They were mirrors. Psych 101. All the voices become echoes that resonate in our heads. And we project those echoes onto our own hall of mirrors. And they just bounce back.

I try really hard to whisper to my children waking and sleeping that they are special and beautiful and smart in hopes that my echo is simply louder.

On a lighter note....I woke up last night having some sort of weird pre-menopausal hot flash. OK--I'm not hot flashing yet but regardless I woke up drenched in sweat. So all morning I kept walking into my room thinking...my God...I can't believe my sweat is still smelling up the room.

And then I found the cat poo. All over the clean laundry. Not sure how this ties into bullying. But somehow it seems relevant.

Spoiler--sad post. Enter with caution.

So I will no longer be depressing friends and colleagues with FB comments on the death of my cat. I strive so hard to maintain a fun or inspired "brand" on FB (cause really that's what most of us do). I am not a big fan of oversharing or emoting. But man, this past week felt like I had the top layer of my skin ripped off. And I just wanted a bunch of people being nice to me.

In the oh-so-perfect words of my precious friend Anne, I snot-cried for 2 days straight. Stunning how grief can just kick you over and over. I hate the moment in the morning when you have forgotten. And then you remember.

I have never watched someone die up close. I was in the room when my ex-husband's grandfather died. I left dissassociative and shaken. I swore I could never do it again. and I was in the back corner of the room.

This time I was kneeling beside her face to face. I rubbed her ears with my hand and told her how much I loved her over and over again. She was looking me straight in the eyes until the moment she died. And really the light just went off. I swear something just left her. That being behind the eyes didn't just stop seeing. She went away.

A couple of times I have walked into my house and yelled "Sweetie" just so I can hear myself say it again. A part of me has hoped a little ghost cat will rub up against me. Too much ghosthunters. My life is not that mystical.

Sweetie was feral when I found her and her kittens. I caught them and fixed them, adopted out the kittens...and over the course of a year, turned my squirrel-lke Sweetie into a shy baby who loved to be petted. On her own terms of course. Kneeling beside me on the couch, not-so subtley ducking her head, pushing it into my thigh. In other words, "pet me you fool". But the minute you made an unexpected movement...she was off.

But once socialized, Sweetie didn't really know the meaning of "playing hard to get"...she just took some time to trust. She never liked being picked up. This is why I didn't recognize her weight loss through her thick fur coat. And she purred so often next to me with her head tucked....I didn't see the progressively heavier breathing. She seemed happy. She always ran to her food bowl. She slept ON me a couple nights before she died. I don't know if anyone would have noticed she was sick. I want to believe I am incredibly intuitive. but for some reason, I missed it. I will always grieve this.

I don't know if I had caught it earlier if I could have saved her. There is a small voice that is trying to make me feel guilty. Honestly--I think it's a sad way of trying to hold onto her subconsciously. But I suppose writing it down means awareness.

So I looked up the lifespan of feral cats. Without a colony, they usually live 2 years. When I brought Sweetie into my home in 2003, the vet believed she was probably about 1. So she lived in my home with company, food, warmth and soft places to sleep for 8 years. I also want to believe she learned what it feels like to be loved.

I have learned at the end of the day to never take a being for granted. To love a bit more actively. And that I am strong enough to watch someone die. And to admit to snot-crying for 2 days straight.

She was worth the whole thing. I love you Sweetie.

In Meaghan's words...

Mom to Meaghan: "Meaghan, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Meaghan: "An artist"

Mom: "Really, that's new. Meag, why do you think art is important?"


Meaghan: "Art is everything. I mean look around you...art is everywhere. I see it everywhere. Everything manmade is art. Nature is art. Without art, there would be nothing. NOTHING."


I think my daughter is 2,000,000,000 years old.

a little comedy

Sometimes I feel like Jim Carrey in that movie where he lived in a bubble world and everything around him was scenery and actors. I can't recall the name but sometimes my life just seems so chock full of comedy that I think "did that really happen"? I mean "really"??? Clearly there is a camera somewhere.

The other night I took my daughter and her two best friends out for a "girls night out". I was informed by my daughter on the way over that I was absolutely not to say anything to embarrass her. I pride myself on being a "cool" mom but I guess what's cool to a seven year old may be lost on a 39 year old. I asked her to explain this and she said to limit my conversation to "hello" and "how are you". I am obviously not as cool as I think I am.

We went to Steak and Shake and ate chicken fingers and fries. And most importantly honey mustard and cheese dip. I admit--i like my dips. I can't imagine a world without dip. My hips can't imagine a world without dip. But I digress.

So afterwards we proceed to the movies--Gnomio and Juliet. Very cute movie though I missed the first 20 minutes navigating through my own personal comedy which is where the story really begins.

So the moviebegins and I put on the 3D glasses. And I kid you not--I feel my right contact pop out of my eye. I mean, how does that happen? Its a soft contact. Nothing came in contact with my eyeballs.

And the worst part of it is that I think it just fell into my popcorn. So I start lightly picking around the popcorn. but to no avail. And I can't find it on my shirt, pants or seat. Bye bye contact.

(I am learning that I need to always carry around a back-up vision plan. Turtles steal my glasses. Popcorn steals my contacts. And I have to reiterate that I am legally blind).

Normally I might have just closed an eye and attempted to adjust to seeing with one eyeball. But I am supposed to drive home three 7-year girls in the pouring rain. Some people have eyepatches so perhaps this would have worked. But I am not used to being a pirate. I do not want to attempt it this particular evening.

So thankfully I have an amazing boyfriend who saved us all from imminent death by bringing me my glasses. It was all very ninja-like--him sneaking into the theater and quickly passing me the glasses. I appreciated this very much since my coolness factor was dwindling even in my own eyes. Or eye since I can't see out of one.

But the worst part is that at the moment I became comfortable knowing I would be able to see again--I continued eating my popcorn which seemed strangely chewy. I had just chewed up my own contact. Awesome.

Anyway--after the movie I ended up just telling the girls. And they sort of looked at me like I was strange.

So I get home from the trip and asked my daughter how I did. She raised her thumb to an almost upright position. She said "mom, you were almost cool".

Somehow I think thats as good as it will ever get. And I am ok with that. We all need the ability to laugh at ourselves. It balances out the stress.

The universe has a fabulous sense of humor. She is almost cool.

Happy Birthday Joshua

I have really hard pregnancies. They are really painful....to the point where I actually look forward to labor.Yeah--I said it.

 So it took a lot of convincing to decide to have a second child.  For many reasons when I found out I was pregnant there were mixed emotions. I had had a very early miscarriage the month before. I was afraid of another. But Joshua was wanted...I was just scared. So when I found out I had a viable pregnancy I went straight out and bought him several  baby outfits. This was my way of honoring that he was real.

But then we went in for a nuchal translucency test at about 11weeks. Part of this includes a very extensive ultrasound. The doctor came in and told us that the bladder was enlarged. At this stage of a pregnancy--you are not even supposed to see a bladder in the fetus. He explained that it could be the baby prepping to go to the bathroom--or that there was a blockage in the bladder. It only happens in boys. I knew i had a son.

This was overwhelmingly frightening for me. If the answer was  B--this was incredibly dangerous and rare. I knew it was very serious when my OB called and said "this is very disconcerting". My OB never said anything like that.

The specialist agreed to allow me to come back in a week to have another ultrasound. If the bladder was still enlarged we knew there was a problem. It was a very rough week. When the day arrived I drove to my brother-in-law's grave. It may sound strange but I loved my brother in law, Joshua, so much and I figured he was my closest connection to God. So I talked to Joshua and said "hey--I'm going to name this kid after you. If you have any sort of "pull" with the big guy...do you mind doing a little asking for me and your nephew?"

And then I went to get the ultrasound. The bladder was a normal size. My son just had to "go". And to this day he always has to go. Some things never change. Writing this actually gives me a new-found patience for those "accidents" when we just don't have the time to run to the bathroom. I mean--spiderman doesn't really have to "go" does he?

So after this relieving and amazing news, I went right out to the most expensive boutique in town and bought a ridiculously expensive outfit for him to wear home from the hospital. Clearly I have shopping therapy issues. He also pretty much peed in it almost immediately. Oh well. That's my boy.

Joshua may be the strongest willed child I know. He has fiery red hair and a temperament to match. He is the family clown and loves to make people laugh.  But he is also my little love. I will never forget when I was tucking him in one night and he said " You are my beautiful princess". Heart. stop. right. there. Forget dating....I have the best man around. Moms and their sons.  I can kind of see how those crazy moms in movies go all nuts when their sons get engaged. I think no male can love you as purely and innocently.

It is my understanding that it is this love that gets you through the potty training (world of difference boys versus girls!), the body odor, the sneaking out, the ultimate separation of when he becomes a man and no longer cuddles with mommy.

Sometimes I look at him and wonder "what will he look like when he grows up"? I try to picture him as a man with flaming red hair and the twinkling in his eyes. And then I think that his strong will will take him to huge places. That I bet he will be fearless. And the biggest personality in the room.

But he will always be "my little love".

A Woman, Her Minivan and a Turtle

There is a moral to this story.

So one lovely Saturday morning, I was driving down Lexington Road toward Grinstead in my cool Minivan with kids buckled and boostered. I am nearing the intersection traffic light when I notice a small turtle in the middle of the road...clearly frightened and facing imminent death.

Being of sound mind and body, I realize that it is up to me to save this turtle from an untimely demise.

So, on this usually very busy road, which just happens to be quiet at the moment, I throw the car into park and bark at my children to remain in their seats (CPS would love this but I at least locked the car). I get out of the car and run toward the helpless animal when I begin to recognize that this turtle is larger than I thought. (Darn minivan making creatures look all innocent from several stories up)

So I quickly approach this creature, prepared for a quick grab and drop at the curb, when all of sudden this thing LUNGES at me. Not just lunges--but its neck stretches out like ugly, mean ET, it opens its mouth and HISSES...loudly. This thing was straight out of The Exorcist.

I was so freaked out that I jumped. My glasses flew right off of my face and landed beneath the turtle. No joke. And seriously people--without my glasses I am legally blind. So there I am. Legally blind. Cars now starting to pass me--slowly of course, staring and thinking (I'm sure), "who is that crazy lady" standing in the middle of the road with that nasty snapping turtle. (yeah...that would be me)

So I run toward the fuzzy outline of my van and open the trunk grabbing my REALTOR Open House sign. And yes, it doubles as a weapon in a time of need. I charge at the turtle, fearlessly yelling, holding my sign like a sword in hopes of scaring this this thing off my damn glasses.

And there begins the fencing match. I thrust forward to the right side. It hisses, pivots and lunges. I repeat on the left side. It pivots, hisses, lunges. And not only has the street become really busy, but I am acutely aware that I have small children wondering what the hell their mother is doing. Can you say..."Safety Violation"?

FINALLY, this thing lunges"off" my glasses. With the metal spike of the sign, I scrape them away from the turtle's underbelly, swipe them up and jump back into the car--the whole time thinking "I hope you die turtle". I didn't realize I was cursing aloud about my newfound hatred of turtles until my daughter starts screaming and sobbing  "you cannot judge all turtles based on the actions of one".

And the worst part of it. My glasses smelled like turtle poo.

The moral. Snapping turtles are evil and do not care if you want to save them. They will eat you given the chance which is why you should focus on the safety of your children and yourself first.

The end.

The Penguin Project

It seems like everyone has a blog these days. I think I need one too. My midlife crisis not only comes with skim milk, but vanity. and coffee. and an occasional Chardonnay.

So I just did my first school project with my daughter. I have a genius for a child. She tells jokes now that go over my head. She is seven. I'm feeling panicky about the next couple of decades. How long can I fake that I know more than her?

Guess its time to throw out the trashy romance, vampire brain candy, self help and buy an encyclopedia. At least a thesaurus.

I was so nervous about her first school project I think I gave myself an ulcer. But she had everything under control.

So how does this relate to a mid-life crisis? I don't know. The penguins were tough...physics will land me in a hospital. Am I old enough to be doing school projects with my child. Clearly yes. It was fun though...playing with cardboard and glitter and clay.

I think I want my own penguin project. Except that I will call it the "create a diorama of what a clean house looks like". But that's a whole other blog post.

Peace.