Archives for June 2011

Good Morning to You


He crawled up in bed next to me and laid his head on my pillow. I rolled over, caught in that fuzzy state between dreams and reality. His soft cheek pressed up against mine, satiny skin dotted with freckles.

I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him close, breathing in deep the smell of little boy. Summer is in his hair – dirt, sunscreen and sweat. My eyes have yet to open but I feel his eyes on me, his breath smelling of apple juice. I squeeze him close and I hear his mouth stretch into a smile. His tiny little arm wraps around me and he returns the early morning squeeze.

Pure bliss.

“Good morning, buddy,” I say, finally forcing my heavy lids to part. He looks up at me with wide, crystal blue eyes and his tiny little bow tie mouth leans in for a kiss.  It’s delicious and precious.

“I’m glad to see you,” I whisper in his ear. “How are you this morning?”

There is a quiet pause as his warm little body snuggles close to mine. Then he giggles – magic.

“I jus’ fawted.”


So how was your morning?

The one where I can’t move my neck

I never fancied myself much of a worrier.  In general I don’t get too worked up over things.  I may have a brief moment or so, when worry starts to overtake me, but I don’t usually dwell on it and, therefore, haven’t had to suffer many side effects of worrying.

Until recently, when cicadas began falling from the sky in droves and we got a contract on our house.

This process of moving out of our house has proven to be more stressful than I thought.  I didn’t realize I was stressing out about it until the last few days when my stomach tied itself in a knot and my head began to pound.  Yesterday, my neck began tightening up.  I believe it happened sometime during my conversation with a storage facility.  We are beyond blessed to have been able to sell our house for almost what we asked for it.  But…

We don’t have another house to go to as of now.  So we’re storing our stuff and staying at my parents apartment until we figured some things out.  Another huge blessing!  So I don’t know why my body is shutting down on me.  My brain is fried, my neck literally will not turn and despite being wickedly tired I cannot sleep as I think of all the things I need to do during this rather bumpy transition.

What do we do with the dog?

What do I do about the mail?

You mean we need a new furnace?

How much will it cost to move twice?

Where do we store the piano?

You mean we need a new roof?

On top of those questions, I am also beginning to mourn leaving this house.  I am a sap – a sentimental, emotional sap.  Those who know me well know that, while I love a good adventure, change has never been my strong suit.  This house is our first house.  It’s the place we brought all our babies home to.  It’s where first steps, first words and a mountain of other firsts occurred.

It’s home.

This neighborhood is wonderful.  There are kids galore, all of whom are my children’s ages.  I think of the little girl next door who taps on our back door every day to play.  Sometimes (or a lot of times) it annoyed me, but she and Tia are the exact same age and I’m sad that they will no longer have each other as instant playmates.

I’m just kind of sad.  And stressed out.

I know that this too shall pass.  This flux of not knowing what comes next will be short lived.  I’m not worried about the future.  I know we’ll find a new house to make memories in and a new neighborhood with friends to meet.  But it’s the interim that has, apparently, seized the muscles in my neck and chosen not to let go.

So on we go, marching forward to June 30 when we will say goodbye to the place where we became a family of five.  What does God have next?  We simply don’t know.  I hope, for my sake, His plan includes some muscle relaxers and a massage…

And now, random pictures that have nothing to do with this post, but I just got some great shots yesterday and want to post them.




My Montreal Post

What if you and your kids could all enjoy movie night together?

Robin Lively

It’s a scene that is familiar to all moms. You sit down on the couch with your young ones, excited to enjoy a little downtime together. You flip on the TV and begin channel surfing, looking for the perfect program to all enjoy together. Given the night, you can flip through all 562 channels and not find a single appropriate program.

Because, let’s face it, we can only watch America’s Funniest Home Videos so much before our brains start to melt. Am I right?

If, on the off chance, you happen to catch an evening where there are one or two reasonable shows on for your young children, you will likely find yourself scrambling for the remote at some point during the commercial while screeching at your bewildered children to close their eyes. Whether it be an advertisement for a scary movie or a Hardees commercial, little is safe on TV these days.

That’s why I’m happy thrilled to announce a new movie coming out August 6 as part of Walmart and P&G’s series of family friendly movies.

Want to read more and see my interview with Christine Baransky? Head over to 5 Minutes for Mom and check it out!

One more year

I am officially one more year older as of Saturday.  I am 29.

Stop laughing.

I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.

When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior.  One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was.  “23,” he replied.  And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.

One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us.  They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be.  It was my birthday.  “How old are you today?” they asked.

“23,” I replied.  And they laughed.  “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.

“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.

Shortly thereafter I began having children.  And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up.  Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.

Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age.  When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two.  It’s a look of pity and wonderment.  Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.

So I stopped there.  Mentally, anyway.  The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties.  I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.

And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age.  Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”

And h@#^ no I’m not.  I’m nowhere near the 4-number.  I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.

Stop  laughing.

Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative.  Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old.  I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud.  But whatever.  The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?

But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway.  Moving on…

So the number may  not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:


I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.

I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles.  But just a few!

Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist.  Deal?

Stop.  Laughing!


I am going to post some pictures, but before I do, I feel compelled to offer this warning:

The photos you are about to view contain images of extreme cuteness.  View with caution, particularly if you are sensitive to happiness, small children and unabashed joy.  These images should not be viewed by the faint of heart or anyone with an aversion to the following items: babies, puppies, rainbows, sunshine or happiness as they will not be emotionally equipped to handle the cute.  If you suffer from hard heartedness, view with caution and with full awareness that you may be forced to smile.  Proceed carefully and it is advisable to let out a hearty “Aaaawww” while viewing to prevent your heart from exploding.

Phew.  Now that I got that disclaimer out of the way, you’re free to look.  Does anything scream childhood more than this?  Tell me.  Anything at all?












The packing fairies failed me

I am putting out an SOS.  This is my Bat Signal, the rocks in the sand spelling H-E-L-P.  I need you webernets!  I am here on my knees…grovelling.

Our house has a contract on it.  We’re waiting on inspection reports and will likely have a bit of negotiating to do, so it could all fall apart still, but in all likelihood our house is going to sell and we will need to be out June 30.  That’s 30 days from now.  Which means one very important thing:

I need to start packing.

I bought boxes last weekend to do just that.  See?


I brought the boxes home – 11 small boxes, 7 medium boxes and 4 large boxes – and I excitedly set them in the kitchen, prepared to begin filling them with all our life’s treasures.  Then I stepped back and looked around and my throat closed.  I sat down in a kitchen chair and stared at the boxes.

A half hour later, Lee walked by.  “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Are you going to do something?” he asked, ever so gently.

“I don’t know,” I replied, my eyes glassed over.  “Maybe I’ll start with the closets.  I can at least pack up the winter stuff.”

So I carried four boxes to my bedroom and leaned them against the wall…where they still sit.

I don’t know where to start, folks.  I just don’t even know where to start.  I can pack up winter clothes, but that means going through the closets, which look like this:






Clearly, going through the closets is no small task.  They are filled with clothes, many of which should probably be weeded out and donated.  And I’m just not sure where or how to start.  So I asked the packing fairies to come out at night and magically fille my boxes in an organized and efficient manner.

They haven’t responded.

It was suggested that I try packing up things I don’t use, like my fine china.  That’s a much less overwhelming room to pack because there’s not much in it and I won’t be giving anything away.  I just need to pack it.


But I’m nervous, because that stuff is highly breakable and fragile and I don’t know how to pack it in a way that doesn’t destroy it.  I’m scouring the internet for special boxes and I know I should get packing paper and newspaper.  I do have bubble wrap and a nifty tape gun, so I have the tools.

I just don’t know what to do with them.

I have moved before, incidentally.  But that was back when we were first married and we lived in a little apartment and had17 possessions to our name.  Packing a house?

I need a drink.  A stiff one.  And I really need those dang fairies to do their jobs.

So do you have any advice for me, internets?  Where do I begin?  And please, someone tell me how I’m supposed to do any of this with three rug rats under my feet!