Bliss

I am startled out of sleep by the loud, merciless beeps. It is chilly this morning, and the tiny warm body in my bed is snuggled up close, stealing my body heat. I smile at her tangled mass of hair and wonder how she makes that perfect rock star hair in her sleep. I sigh and hit the snooze button at least three times before I can force myself out from under the warm covers.

I strip down and stand on the scale. I smile, for today it has been kind to me. I pull on the workout gear and slip into my pink, fuzzy slippers. I plod down the hall to wake the boys. As usual, they are already up. Up, at the crack of dawn.

Just like their father.

I chuckle and shake my head in awe, not comprehending how it is they manage to wake so early every day. And do it so cheerfully, too.

At breakfast, their sleepy faces start to light up as they speculate about the upcoming day. I take the morning poll and find out who is bringing and who is buying. I can almost always predict this, even without asking. Today they all surprise me and want to bring.

I suspect it has something to do with the pan of brownies on the counter.

I do dishes. I pack lunches. I blow dry the now smooth and very un-rock star-like hair. I smile and listen as she chatters on about every boy and girl in her class. I love her endless chatter, and silently wonder if everyone is lucky as I am.

I tie shoes. I zip backpacks. I look over and notice that both boys have a peanut butter smile on their cheeks. I laugh and send them in for a wash. I wipe counters. I sweep floors. I give hugs. I give kisses. I miss them already.

I stand at the door and wave. I watch the big, yellow bus take them from me, as it does each morning. I pray in my heart for their safety and happiness, as I do hundreds of times a day.

I sigh, content.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

My Friend and I

Here is my entry for the I Heart Faces weekly photo contest. This week's theme is "My Friend & I," which I thought totally fit my two boys - polar opposites in personality, but absolutely, without a doubt, best friends.

Head on over there to see some fabulous photos.

A plea, all in the name of serving my fellow man

There are many things that I love in this world. Cookie dough ranks at the top of the list, clearly, as does a crisp diet coke (preferably in a glass cup, with ice, and a straw).

And I love the Husband and our children, of course.

But there is one thing that I absolutely love, and have neglected to pontificate on. Until now.

I love babies. LOVE them.

I love my own babies. I love friends' babies. I love (from afar) strangers' babies. I love to hold them, smell their yummy necks, prop them up on my shoulder, and sit for hours. Content. At one with my chi. In my happy place.

I have even designated myself the church baby holder and make every attempt to steal hold someone's baby during church meetings.

About five months ago, I heard there was a friend in need. A friend who was overwhelmed, tired, and stressed out.

What did she need help with?

These lovely girls:


Not one, but TWO, delicious, yummy, sweet, twin babes. I asked their mama what I could do to help, and she replied with words that were like music to my ears: "Come hold the babies so I can get something done around the house."

And ever since that fateful day, I have spent Tuesday mornings in the company of two angelic girls. One named Aubrey, and one named Chloe.

And I have to say, Tuesday has quickly become my favorite day of the week.

Unfortunately for me, my friend will be moving this summer. Which will leave a great void in my [soon-to-be-empty] service calendar.

It's only because I'm so giving, you see.

And so I must put this matter of unfulfilled service into your hands: My dear friends, please have a baby (or two) so I can come hold it.

Please? It's really not asking that much. You'll get over the morning sickness, the stretch marks, and the cravings. Plus, I'd be there all through the delivery, ready to snatch that baby and do some holding, I mean, service.

Come on. It'd really make me so very happy.

What's that, you say? Why don't I have a few more of my own? Well, because I really don't like being pregnant, that's why. And I honestly don't think I could go back to midnight feedings, diapers, and nap schedules. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm getting too old.

The matter must be left to you, my friends.

Have me a baby, dammit.

Smile for sale

As I have mentioned before, the little people in this house are greedy, capitalist mongrels. They have figured out the system and know just how to make a buck.

Take for instance, this afternoon, when my new reflectors arrived in the mail (thanks for the recommendation, Nicole!) and I wanted to try them out.

Are these little people willing to help me, simply out of the goodness of their hearts, given that I carried them for nine long months and birthed them into this world?

Oh, hell no. Their cheeky mugs do not come for free.

And even when they're on a paying gig, I sometimes get faces like this:

Determined NOT to have a good time, this stubborn, yet adorable, clone of his father refuses to flash me his winning smile.

Instead, he makes faces like this, hoping I will give up and go away:

I do not go away. I am determined to get my money's worth, so I hold out and wait. Lucky for me, I know his weak spots, and start working on them right away.

I tell a few jokes. I make fun of myself. I laugh out loud at him. And still he tries his darndest to hold out.

He is getting weaker. You can see that his strategy is failing him.

He wants so desperately to win this battle of wills.

But, eventually, he gives up, and I get what I came for.

There. Was that so painful, you little stinker?

It's a good thing he's so darn cute. Otherwise, we might have given him away long, long ago.

I may need to get a job to pay for all the therapy these kids are going to need someday

Ever have one of those weeks where you feel like you have totally 'effed up most of it? Like maybe you (and your family) would have been better off if you'd just crawled into a hole and stayed there all week?

Here is a small sample of some of the things I 'effed up on this week:

• Threw out important work papers left on the table by the Husband. They had notes all over them that he needed for an important client meeting. Notes with language and words that were CRITICAL to his work for the client. Oops.
• Totally blanked on helping in a classroom at school, thereby stressing out one of my children.
• Threw something in the oven and completely forgot about it until the smoke alarms went off.
• Forgot to prep my child on a cub scout assignment which left him stammering and embarrassed in front of a room full of people.
• Yelled at my child for being out of bed, then discovered his reason for being out of bed was the throwing up he was doing in the bathroom.
• Spaced on being the tooth fairy and got caught in the act of leaving the money.
• Foolishly assumed that buying bite-sized sugar cookies would enable me to have just a nibble and feel satisfied. Not true, for you see, COOKIES ARE LIKE HEROIN. And I cannot stay away from them, no matter how hard I try. Is there rehab for cookie addicts?
• Ignored one child's seemingly vague request that he needed drumsticks for music at school, then got mad at him for not being more specific. Although, it's hard to be much more specific than, "I need drumsticks for music at school."

Mother of the year, no? Luckily, I can redeem myself today, at least in her eyes.

She's home sick with the strep, and I have just consented to watch all the Barbie movies while cuddling her hot, feverish body on the couch.

I'm pretty sure I deserve it.

I made it through another winter without killing anyone

What do you do when you look out your window mid-March and THIS is the sight you see?


You celebrate, that's what. For it is not snow covering the branches, but lovely, puffy, popcorn-like blossoms.

These lovely blossoms can only mean one thing: Time to put away the winter coat and pull out the flip-flops.


To say that the winter and I don't really get along would be a major understatement. We are mortal enemies, the winter and I. She hates me as much as I hate her.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that she exists merely to spite me. She takes such devilish pleasure in her ice storms and her wind chill. And she flaunts that ugly brown slush for months, like a bad outfit worn over and over until you're so sick of it you could scream.

I have never liked her. My dislike grew to loathing after experiencing the bitter wind and negative temperatures that make up a Minnesota winter.

My loathing turned to manic rage when, every year, Nor'easter after Nor'easter pummeled the city of Boston, and I was left to shovel 1,945,493 tons of snow, on my own, as the husband was always conveniently out of town.

And frequently out of town in better climates.


But finally, FINALLY, I am living in a place where winter doesn't linger until May. Here, the first day of spring actually means something.

Like, you know, that it's actually the first day of spring.

What a concept, eh?


I might need you to remind me of my great love for this state, say, mid-July, when my hair and I are cursing our other mortal enemy: HUMIDITY.

Until then, I will relish my love affair with the spring. I will sit on a blanket in my backyard, the sunshine gently warming my shoulders. I will look up and smile at my children's laughter, as they run and bike in the fresh air. I will take a luxurious sip of the diet coke by my side, and then return eagerly to the book in my lap.

Ah, spring. I wish our torrid love affair could last all year long. Don't you?