The Confessional

Today I pulled the mini-van up to the Wendy's drive-thru window. The glass slid open and a women about the same age as I am appeared. "Hi Hon, you're total is $8.27.  Are you off from work today?"  I felt worried about my answer.  I defiantly didn't look like a woman on her lunch break.  My hair was doing some weird Jared Leto pony-bun thing and my sloppy t-shirt under my jacket was a dead give-away that I was not coming from, nor going to a paying job that day.  I am on my second week of classes and briefly thought about saying that I was a "graduate student" or that I am "working on my masters".  But who can take that seriously when Kids Place Live is playing in your mini-van.  No, I was just there because I am out of my tub of Wegman's organic spring mix salad and I really love Wendy's salads.  I was going to have a gem of a moment where two kids are asleep in the car and I was going to sit and eat my salad and listen to the radio.

My mom worked when I was a kid, and her mom before her, and the one before that was from "the old country" and probably racked up some good hours of farm work.  Why I couldn't get the tall beautiful model Eastern European genes instead of the short, strong, babushka wearing Eastern European genes is a crying shame.  But I certainly have a lot of natural energy passed down from those working women, and I am very thankful for that.

My maternal grandmother, Helen, left school after 9th grade to work.  She told me that she was tired of being poor and wanted "nice things".  She was a factory worker - silk mill and donut factory are two places that I know of.  My mother complains of being a chubby teenager because of all the donuts my grandmother would bring home. Helen got married at 18 to my first grandfather and had a toddler and a newborn when she lost him in WWII. She was then a young, single, working mother until she met my second grandfather several years later, got married, and had my two uncles.  Two husbands, four kids, ten grandkids, and fifteen great-grandkids later, Helen is now almost 91 and going quite strong for her nine decades of life.

My mother graduated high school and entered the "white-collar" world as a secretary where she met father when he came to fix her type-writer (I know, how cute is that?).  Mom and Dad married young at 20, and my father finished college with 3 young kids and went on to be a successful electrical engineer.  My mother had me later, at age 36, when my siblings were almost all teenagers.  She worked when I went to school.  I was then a "latch key" kid.  Came home, got my hidden key from the magnetic box my dad put on the water meter, and spent about 1-2 hours alone until my mom got home from work.  In the summers, she would drop me off at the pool for swim practice before 9 am with my cooler packed with lunch and I would stay all day there doing tennis lessons, swimming, and running around with other kids until 4:30 when she would pick me up.  Sound dangerous? No way! It was the 80's! Those were the best summers ever...

Anyway, I don't remember missing my mom.  Not because I didn't want her around, just because I was too busy having an awesome summer full of memories.  That's because I had a mom that left me every morning feeling so loved and cared for that all had to do was think about having fun.  And then she would pick me up and take me home and make sure I was fed and clean and rested for my next day of awesomeness. She loved me so much and I knew that.  It was a blanket of confidence that followed me my entire childhood, when she was home and when she wasn't.

I handed the woman a ten and answered, "No, I stay home with the kids". 
She raised her eyebrows, "Well, then you aren't off at all are you?" 
"No, I guess not" I answered with a meek smile.
"How old are your children?"
"16, 7, almost 3, and 5 months... all boys"
"Wow! I have two daughters 8 and 9.  They look like twins, you should see them! My oldest was in the NICU for a while and her sister caught up fast.  I also have a 4 month old son, I am so thankful for him because I lost twin boys in a still birth..."

She went on to tell me that her new baby was colicky.  He was colicky the minute she couldn't pump anymore and switched him to formula.  I felt like I was lost I time with this woman, telling me about her sweet little son.  She had slid open the doors to a mom to mom confessional with me and the working mom guilt oozed out of every pore of her being. The nervous way she fiddled and just wanted to talk about her kids for a few minutes. The earnest look in her eyes when she told me how thankful she was to have this little man to love.  And love she did. God, I could tell she loved her kids.

 I knew how much she agonized about leaving that baby to go to work.  I wanted to tell her that it would be ok, that if I could feel how much love she has in her heart, her kids could feel it 100 fold. I wanted to tell her that her yearning and second guessing and guilt was real and justified and that's what good moms do.  I wanted to tell her that her kids were going to grow up so loved and secure that they wouldn't ever remember missing her, they would just remember love and fun and mom coming home.  Because that's what kids remember and need and thrive on most, the feeling that their mother loves them.  Their mother loves them while they are the cashier at Wendy's for eight hour shifts or while they are just in the next room folding laundry.  Your kids will remember that you loved them. 

But then a car pulled up to the order point, our moment in time was abruptly broken, and she had to go back to work.  "Enjoy your day" she said, "You too." I replied.  The confessional window closed and I drove away.  I wish I could have said what I wanted to her, but nothing I say will make a good mom like that stop feeling guilty.  I was just glad I was able to let her talk about her kids for 5 minutes. And I know she'll clock out and rush home and squeeze that baby and try to soothe his colic, help her daughters with homework and dinner and put everyone to bed maybe a little bit later than she should just to spend a little extra time with them.  And her kids will wake up the next day cloaked in powerful, unconditional love that will last a lifetime. 

Dear good moms everywhere who are doing whatever with your life, Just remember that loving your kids is the most important thing.  Because when you do everything with love in your heart, you really are doing your best.  And that guilt you feel for whatever reason, that heartache is your love pushing against the boundaries of your heart, because no physical thing can really contain the love of a good mother.

My Village

I'm sitting alone in a movie theater.  Don't judge, it's been a long week.  I'm Ok with it. I'm introverted and there is probably no one better at going to the movies alone than an introvert.  Buy your ticket, sit in the dark theater, pull your snacks and cans of soda out of your big bag (that part's not introverted, just cheap), and relax and be entertained in a room full of people where everyone agrees that talking to each other is annoying.  Introvert paradise!  I did try to do the socially acceptable thing and get a friend to go but she, like my husband, was working.  James had a swim team party and he thought the first Hunger Games movie was boring anyway.  That's what I wanted to see, Catching Fire.  I've wanted to see it since November when in came out, but none of these dudes I live with have taken me. So, alone I went before it's out of theaters. 
 
The movie was entertaining enough that I almost didn't miss my husband... almost.  It's been an interesting week with him and I've poured myself into my little village of friends.  I have always thought that a group of friends like "sex in the city" would be super cool and fun.  But when you think about it, each one of those women are more extroverted and they thrive and do well in a group.  I have friends that I see one at a time, mostly.  Each one is a mirror of something like about myself or fills in something that's missing. So, this week I went around the village and knocked on doors and went in for a bit to decompress in different ways with each one.

 

 

The cans are back.  Earlier this week the dog was barking in the kitchen.  He barks sometimes throughout the day, like a "woof!" here and there, but this was real barking.  I went down to the kitchen and there he was, one eye on the back door and one eye looking down the hallway for me.   I slowed down as I approached and cautiously entered the kitchen and looked towards the back door.  There was a man on our porch.  His back was turned to the door and we was stooped over.  I went over with Pete (the dog) by my side, and opened the door but kept the glass storm door closed.  I rolled down the window a little and knocked to get the man's attention.  "Excuse me Sir?", I said.  He stood straight and turned.  I immediately saw that he was homeless.  He had multiple layers of worn clothing, no teeth, food smeared in his beard, and a filthy, rugged, red face from the -15 wind chill.  He was also holding a big empty dog food bag and had been filling it with the soda cans from our recycling bin. "I'm sorry, Mamn." He said, "Do you mind if I take your cans? I'm doing really bad right now and these will help a little."  "Sure." I said, "But next time could you wait until the cans are out at the curb instead of coming up on the property?  It makes the dog nervous and he doesn't like strangers."  That's a I lie.  I'm the one that doesn't like strangers... or small talk, or Wegman's shoppers... and between my pit bull and me, I'm the one more likely to bite.

 

 

He said that was no problem and I closed up everything and called my husband. "David!  I'm so sorry! A homeless man was on our porch and he took all your cans! I wasn't going to stop him.... Oh no! He's going down the back steps!  What should I do? Wait! Now he has two of your big black garbage bags of empty soda cans from below the porch!"  That homeless man had hit the jackpot at our house.  And then the longer I thought about it all, the angrier I got.  It was scary having a strange man on our porch.  And granted he was nice and polite, but he did help himself to bags of cans that I didn't authorize.  And I had asked him not to come on the property and instead he continued further onto our property to look around.  No, No, I wasn't angry at the homeless man.  I was getting angry at my husband! What if that man hadn't been nice? I mean, I am alone all day and he's attracting homeless people with his stupid can collecting!  And this can hording was supposed to stop.  He promised me he wouldn't bring home (he brings home cans from work!) or keep any more cans that would fit in one garbage bin.  If that bin got full he had to take the cans to the metal recycling place before he continued collecting more cans.  Well that promise went out the window a long time ago and now I'm scared our house has been marked. I mean, homeless people talk! What if that guy tells his friends about the aluminum at the end of the rainbow at 1289 Elm St.? (that's not our real address, don't try to find me)  And what if I have strangers on the property all the time, and what if cans aren't enough? What if they look in the windows!  And this guy, THIS GUY, had yelled at me for leaving an old wooden kitchen broom on the back porch.  He said that someone would steal it, and it would bring someone onto the property.  A BROOM! Gosh I was mad!

 

Later that night I picked up James from swimming.  I told him the story about the homeless man and when we got home he went to investigate.  "Mom, where did those chairs come from?"  "What chairs?"  "The chairs down by the basement door."  Oh no.  I went out and looked. There, by the basement door where 4 ugly kitchen table chairs.  I went back inside and called my husband.  "David, where did the chairs by the basement door come from?"  I could hear the change in his voice, it sounds like someone who knows they got caught. "I brought them home the other night.  Just look at them and give them a fair chance."  "Ok, But if I look at them, and I think they are ugly, can I put them out with the garbage?"  "I will get rid of them, but you can't get rid of them."  Do you see this hoarding logic?  Anyway, I agreed.  I didn't tell him that I already thought they were ugly.  Instead I decided to give them another shot in the morning, in the daylight.  Maybe my fairy godmother would come over night and change them into a magical horse drawn carriage and take me on a night out, and give me fabulous shoes and would baby-sit while I went and danced.  I don't need the prince part.  Despite all of this nonsense, I am happily married, and even the most happily married woman will tell you that one man is more than enough.  Plus, I already found my Prince Charming and he collects cans.

 

The next morning I went and looked again.  Still ugly.  If for some odd reason, I actually needed 4 kitchen chairs, these would never be it.  I knew I had to approach this delicately.  My husband is very protective of the treasure he finds.  "David"  I began calmly. "I did look at those chairs just now and I honestly think they are ugly. It would frustrate me if they stayed." KA-BOOM! My husband quickly threw up his offensive line. "Well, you know what frustrates ME?!? It frustrates me when the you don't pay bills on time! And it frustrates me when the house is a mess! And it frustrates me when..."  You get the point.  It didn't go well.

 

I left the house in a tearful huff and drove to my Catholic Mother's Group.  I was actually supposed to lead the group that morning in prayer and discussion.  I was coming off of that argument with my husband and that's all I could think of, so that was my topic.  I basically unloaded this frustration on them and wanted to know how they balance frustration like this with respect and love for their spouse.  Lillian said, that sometimes she thinks of the saying, "The greatest give of love is to lay down one's life for a friend."  And when she is having a disagreement with her husband she thinks of that and "lays it down", like lays down her own issue for her spouse.  Naomi offered that I could pray to St. Joseph and the Blessed Mother because they are truly experts at marriage and family, and I could ask them for help.  A lot of good advice was offered and I didn't feel so alone.  So, I texted my husband right then and there and told him to not worry about the cans or the chairs, it was all fine.  He txt's back, "What did you do with the bag of cans I brought home from work last night?"  OMG.  Can't he see that Jesus, Mary, Joseph and I are trying to forgive him!  I had a homeless man on our porch and that very night he brings home more cans! I shared the recent txt with the other woman. "Yeah... I'd say it's now time to put your foot down.", Naomi says.

 

Next, I went to visit Tracy.  I picked up Pizza and drove to her house.  It's the first time I'd seen her since before she had her baby on New Years Day.  The last time I saw her was she had been 39 weeks along and I met her at night in the Wegman's parking lot.  I stood there as she rolled up in her big dark SUV and I dealt her some herbal labor tea through her window in a paper bag. Now she met me on her drive-way and gave me a long hug that brought tears to my eyes.  Tracy is my good deed for 2013.  She was pregnant with her fifth baby and found herself with very limited birth options because of her pre-term classical (the King of all Scars, as I call it) C-section from her last pregnancy.  I "counseled" and "advised" her through out her pregnancy and brought her from -  I want a C-section, in a hospital, at full term... to having a water birth vbac with a midwife. I can't claim full credit, we can also thank the OB's and hospital for trying to box her into an undesirable corner instead of working with her wishes.  And It takes a special person to listen to what I did with my birth and go and consider it.  Her 9 lb vbac baby is a healthy little bundle and we sat and enjoyed lunch together.  She shared some intimate moments about her birth that brought tears to my eyes and it felt so good to sit and talk about babies being born.  It really cleared my mind and warmed my soul. 

 

Then, I had to meet my friend Lori at Warren's school for pick-up time.  She is St. Lori to me.  Her son, Charlie, and Warren are in the same the class and it seems like they are becoming best friends.  Lori is such a good baker.  I brought baked goods home from her house once, and my husband told Warren, "You have to always be friends with Charlie." Warren asks why. "Because this is the best icing I've ever tasted."  Lori was babysitting Warren and David for me while I went to James's swim meet.  And let me tell you, anyone who would babysit those two, is a true friend indeed!  We packed them into her car and she waved me goodbye, "Have fun living the life with one child!" Little baby Brody and I went to James's swim meet.  It was so nice.  I watched races I would have never gotten too before.  I mentally critiqued starts and turns (I was a swimmer all the way through college) and even watched the men's and women's 500 free. It was such a treat. Thank God for Lori, it's good to have a friend who is empathetic enough to take your kids so that doing something is just a little more pleasant.

 

The next day, I went to my friend Michele's house for a play date.  It's supposed to be a play date for our 2 and 3 yr olds, but mostly we just drink coffee, bullshit, and referee two year old fights over toys.  It started to snow that morning and Michele doesn't like snow driving.  I said I would come to her and when I got there I told her, "Your 're going to see me today whether you like it or not!" I needed some more friend therapy. Now I can really talk about anything with Michele.  She is also smart as a whip and kind of cutthroat in her discernment of my issues. We talked about our Christmases and family issues.  She's the one, unfortunately for her, that I unload all my extended family agony on.  Michele is a hard-ass with this stuff and gives me a hard-ass perspective, which I do enjoy.  I left feeling more confident and tough.

 

Fast forward to the day after the movie... I met with Sara, Sara from A Special Purpose, she took me out for dinner for my birthday and we laughed about how odd numbers always sound older than even numbers... like 33 sounds so much older than 32, you know what I mean.  I turned 34 this year so it doesn't sound THAT much older than 33, right?  I was happy to have someone to laugh with.  My husband didn't have a lot of time to celebrate with me other than a kiss on the cheek before he left for work.  He went to a game and then worked all weekend.  It left no time to spend with me, hence me alone in a movie theater on a Sunday afternoon. I talked to Sara about my feelings surrounding some recent events.  Sara has such a soft, good heart.  Her perspective towards goodness in people was inspiring.  On the way out Sara noticed that the place was having a DJ contest that Friday and she signed up.  She got in and I was totally stoked to see her compete.

 

During the week, I thought of things Sara had said and reached out to try to make things better with some issues.  It didn't work out and by Friday night I ended up covered in word vomit.  Word vomit is what people spew all over you when they are so angry that they don't even make sense and are literally just out to hurt you.  I got word vomit via text.  Buckets and buckets of nasty, smelly word vomit.  I actually even have an email inbox folder where I send emails that I am fairly sure contain word vomit.  I don't even open them. I mean, I used to open them and then hated spending a week cleaning the vomit off of my clothes out of my hair.  Now I just send them right to the "word vomit" folder. 

 

It was about an hour before I was supposed to leave to see Sara DJ when I got vomited on.  I skimmed the txt's, trying not to take them to heart. A lot of it was about this blog.  People really do not like blogs!  Most of it was so ridiculous, it was easy to joke in my head.  Some of it was purposefully hurtful and most of it was so crazy, it didn't even warrant a response.  It's like a person with anger management problems calling you crazy, and you're like how could I possible spend time proving that I'm not crazy to a angry, crazed person?  They are just going to get angrier and crazier. 

 

I unhooked the baby from my boob and handed him to my husband.  Then I quickly combed my hair and threw on a black shirt and jeans (you can't go wrong with black, right? Especially if you have no time for make-up!) I left to see Sara covered in word vomit.  I didn't burden her with helping me clean it all off.  It was her night and I was there to support her.  Another friend, Carrie, came too and we enjoyed some beers and danced and laughed a lot.  I was still getting a few crazed text messages.  The last one told me that if I even showed up in certain places that the sender would "personally escort me out".  Carrie asked me what my phone was blowing up about and I shared the message with her.  Carrie looked thoughtful for a moment and then grinned, "You know?" she said, "That's actually really nice, that she will personally escort you!" I choked on my beer mid-swallow.  Carrie continued, "I mean instead of calling the police or grabbing a baseball bat, I think that's really nice!"  I barely could set my beer down before my knees got weak from laughing, "That is really nice, isn't it?". The stink of the word vomit started to dissipate into the night.

 

Thank God for all these great friends that I have made.  And thank God the can man always ends up being my Fairy Godmother and watches the kids for me so I can get out.  Sitting alone in a movie theater is great every so often, but sometimes, it's good to let others into your space to give you a new, different energy.  Because when you are alone in a movie theater, this definitely doesn't happen, and you'd be sorry to miss it... 

 

The Snow Day

2013 was quite a year! If you have been following my little stories you know that I was very busy and life was all over the place.  I had two great triumphs.  I navigated the wierd waters of family court with my oldest son and Boo Radley has disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he came.  Maybe he left Judy Scheindlin at home to flat iron her hair and met with a real attorney who told him it was a lost cause, or maybe he's run across my blog and become seriously embarassed.  I don't know.  Either of those situations would be deliciously fun. On the other end of the spectrum, I had my 4th little boy in 2013.  That was quite a journey as I searched for and found the best birth for him and myself. I found a great midwife and was able to have "my painfull vaginal birth" as my wry friend Lynsey calls it.  My husband now transforms into the Incredible Hulk of homebirth/midwifery advocacy at the drop of the word "hospital", "intervention", or "risky".  Watch out!

 

So, 2013 was very busy, and from time to time I felt like I wasn't doing enough with my kids.  I'm with them all day, but I don't feel like I'm filling up an adventure book with them.  And I'm busy with dumb stuff too, boring stuff, day to day stuff.  I mean I just feel busy, but not really.  I tell people I feel like I do everything and nothing. It's like you do stuff all day but really get nowhere.  It's just shit you have to do, busy-work... drive the kids everywhere, laundry, dishes, pick-up toys, cook meals, and when the day is over, you don't really feel like you've accomplished anything, but yet, you were busy all day!

 

And now with this new baby, who is nursing and growing like a champ thank you very much, I sit and nurse.  If you have ever nursed a young baby, you know what I mean.  You are held hostage a lot of the day in cars, restaurants, your house, wherever just sitting and nursing.  It takes me 2 times, 3 times as long to get anything done or go anywhere.  As convenient as whipping your boob out at your baby's whim is, you do have to spend time doing it.

 

So, I've been feeling like a totally un-fun mom alot.  I just feel like I don't have enough adventures and projects and events with my older kids, and it bums me out. It's too much mundane, everyday busy work around here.  And it's cold here where we live so it's a lot of in house play and mess in the winter.  I hear a lot of, "Mommy, play with me!" "Mommy can you help me with this?" "Mommy, can you do this with me?" And I wish I would or could indulge them more. I wish I could take them on fun trips and activities more. Just be fun more and make amazing memories!

 

Then, there's the larger family factor and the fact that I am keenly aware that if I had less kids there would be less mess, less to do, and more time to spend with and amongst less kids. I would probably know more stuff and be on top of them more.  For example, Brody had his four month well visit this month.  The doctor asked me questions...

"Has he rolled over?"

Jeeze, I don't know?

"How often does he nurse and for how long?"

Do normal people really keep track of that?

 "Are you doing tummy time?"

Oh, crap, I totally forgot about that.

"What time does he go down at night?"

Um. After the others go to bed, so anytime between 8-11.

She eyes me up, "And... Are you nursing him to sleep?"

You bet'cha.

 

The doctor smiles at me, amused.  I say, "I know I look like the worst mom you've seen all day."  "No" she replies, "You have four kids.  I'm just impressed you are even coming for well visits." Even the doctor's expectations of me have dropped.

 

After the appointment, I drove another 20 miles on top of the 20 miles I already drive to this doctor.  I of course have to drive to find a doctor who will put up with all my quirky health stuff.  When I showed up a few months ago with my new baby and happily handed over notes from my midwife on his farmhouse birth and proudly wrote "vaginal" on the line where birth type is asked, the doctor came in, grinned at me and said, "Homebirth vbac after two sections? You are a brave one!" You better believe it buddy, and the actual birth was the easy part! But anyway, then I drove another 20 miles south to the only Walmart I could find that carried Zoomer the robot dog in stock.  I breathed a sigh of relief at the "in store pick-up" desk as zoomer made his way into my hands and then darted out of the store and headed the 40 miles home.

 

I ran around doing a lot of Christmas prep all December.  But in doing so, I felt like even more of a schlub of a mother.  I realize that I was preparing for my children to have another amazing Christmas, and amazing memories of that day, but in the mean time I wished we were making more meaningful memories EVERY day.

 

Then it snowed.  We had our first snow of the 2013-2014 winter season and the kids all had off from school. James went out to shovel and along with our house he shovels for our neighbors, Ed and John.  Ed is recovering from cancer.  When James was younger he used to pay James to do it, just so the kid could make a few bucks.  Now Ed really needs the help because he's tired alot and John... well, I'll let Ed say it - "Shoveling's not John's thing.  He's better at staying inside making sandwiches."

 

James finishes shoveling and comes inside.  A few hours later, there is a knock at the kitchen door.  I see that it's Ed and feel immediately embarassed.  It's past noon and my kids are still in pajamas.  The kitchen is a wreck and I mean a real wreck.  Not the kind of wreck when you show up at someone's house and they say, "I'm so sorry my kitchen is so messy!" And you're like, "Really? This is messy?" And you fight the urge to grab a gleaming hanging frying pan and smack them.  No, if you came to my kitchen on any regular day, and I said, "I'm sorry my kitchen is so messy!"  You'd be like, "Are you all ok in here?"

 

So, there's Ed, smiling at me in his familiar way thru the kitchen door window.  I know he's come fresh from his own beautiful kitchen.  I know it's georgous.  Their whole house is beautiful with impeciable furnishings and perfect paint colors. I have often gazed enviously at their kitchen through their window, espcially at night when their perfect orangey-brown paint looks the best and the copper back-splash shines. They do such a good job, Ed and John.  In fact I'm pretty sure their cat, Mickey, is better cared for than any of my four children.

 

I let Ed in and he's immediately stormed by my bad-mannered dog and excited little boys yelling, "Ed! Ed!" Like they haven't had human contact in years.  David immediately tries to show Ed all of his Buzz Lightyear gear and Warren wants too see his huge cancer surgery scar again. Ed patiently humors them and I start the appologizing, "Ed, I'm so sorry this house is such a wreck.  They all have off from school and the kitchen get's crazy from them in here all day."  Ed rises from his knees where he had dropped to be eye level with my busy-body two year old. His eyes survey the room briefly and I see something in his face that I can't quite make out.  Then he looks at me and smiles again, "This place is great.  It reminds me of my kitchen when I was a kid.  You are probablly making lots of memories here."  Ed says good bye to the kids and I, and leaves James's snow shoveling money on the counter.  I close the door behind him and watch his slim figure walk back to his house where John probablly has sandwhiches waiting for him in their beautiful kitchen.

 

Have you seen "Up!"? The movie with Mr. Fredrickson, Russel, and the floating house?  Mr. Fredrickson is so upset with himself because he feels like he didn't give his wife, Ellie, any adventures before she died. Then, while he's trying to float a whole house to South America to make it up to her, Ellie's "Adventure Book" falls out of the closet and hits him on the head and in it he's surprised to see that she filled it with pictures of the two of them doing ordinary, quiet things. At the end she's written him a note that says, "Thanks for the adventure!"  Then there's another scene where Russel talks about missing his dad and that he really liked when the two of them would sit and eat ice-cream and watch cars.  Russell finishes, "I know it sounds boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most!"

 

I'm pretty sure that Ed looked around my kitchen that day and saw all the boring stuff and ordinary things he cherished doing in his childhood home.  And I think that if he hadn't made it through his fight with cancer, and John opened a closet one day and an Adventure Book fell on his head, it would have been full of messy childhood kitchens, and eating really great sandwhiches with John.    

 

One day my kids will laugh about how we spent Brody's first Christmas at a Chinese Buffet and how funny that was. And remember the gingerbread cookies mommy let us "paint" with colored icing every year?  Remember the awesome summers at the pool when Mom would grill hotdogs and Dad would meet us after work. And remember playing lazer tag in the house with dad and our silly dog getting upset? Remember all the milkshakes mommy made?  All our trips to Cold-Stone with Dad? Our 2 for 20 family dinners at Applebees? Remember when we drove to Disney and our weeks at Delaware beaches? Remember when Mom used to let us "clean" the windows and the ugly seasonal window stickers she always let us put up?

 

Gosh there will be a lot to remember. I hope one day these boys will look around someone's messy kitchen, or be so lucky to have one of their own, and remember their frazzled mother making sloppy milkshakes and leaving out a messy blender and ice-cream all over the counter to help them start water color paintings.  No need to fly a house to South America my friends, you could fill up a whole book with ordinary things done in love and when you got to the end, you'd feel like your life had been a real adventure.