Our dancing bees

The front of our house is bordered by these bushes that attract an unseemly amount of bees each year when spring comes along. Coming in and out of the house is a mad dash to try to bypass the buzzing creatures. I cannot stand them. I know they do good work. I appreciate the hard work. I love honey. But I do not like bees one bit. This is where my 3 year old and I differ. He informed me today that he loves bees. He will stand at the storm door and watch them buzz about for long stretches of time. He will mosey past the bee laden bushes with a huge smile on his face, totally unafraid.

Today, I was busy doing some things around the house and I heard Charlie playing his keyboard. He had put it on the "demo" setting and had turned the volume all the way up. I wondered what in the world he was doing. I heard the storm door creak open and I walked to the front door. He was standing in the doorway, on the front stoop (where the bees like to congregate), just letting his keyboard play as loud as it could. I said, "Charlie, what are you doing?" He looked at me and said, "The bees are dancing. They like this song." It was like he knew a secret that I didn't. He was totally serious. Ah, I love that kid. I swear he says something so sweet it makes my soul smile every single day.

I am so blessed. And my bees are the happiest, danciest bees on the block.

Ah, Spring...

Yesterday I looked outside my kitchen window and noticed that the two trees in my back yard were almost in full bloom. I'm not too sure what they are, some breed of cherry tree, but regardless of their name, they are beautiful! They are a welcomed reminder that spring is on its way.

The days are starting to stretch out longer... The kids are playing outside until dinnertime... The trees and flowers are blooming. Ah, spring. :-)

Hard questions and lessons learned

I've been MIA lately, and I'm so sorry. It's been an odd winter here. Life has seemed scattered and unorganized, and so many questions have popped up for which I don't have answers. And, as a mom, aren't you always supposed to have answers?

I thought it hard enough that my fourth grader's math lessons had exceeded my knowledge, and I had reverted to the age-old saying, "Go ask your father." (Hey, I'm a word girl, not a number girl.) But this winter the questions became so much more profound than math. Too profound for this mom. So I just had to admit that no one, not even Daddy, had answers.

This past December, my oldest boys lost a school mate who died suddenly in an accident. The questions that followed were all too predictable, but I was unprepared. "Why?" There are no answers or explanations for that question. It's beyond me. So, my children were faced with the reality this winter that they were mortal. A little bit of their innocence was taken away when that poor child died. They barely knew her, but they were so strongly impacted by her passing. My oldest son still talks about her. He worries for her family. He knows now that we all have expiration dates ... some much much too short. It's a lesson I had hoped we could avoid. And so I struggle with the "Why?" just as much as he does. It's so unfair.

Two days ago I read about the passing of Britain's Sunday Times reporter Marie Colvin. The journalist in me mourned the loss of a fearless reporter. She had just been interviewed on CNN a day earlier, and I was eager to see her last report. The report warned that it had disturbing images, but the journalist in me didn't care. War is disturbing. But I was unprepared for what I saw. Colvin reported on a toddler who had been injured in an attack. She was in the make-shift hospital when the child was brought in. The cameras captured the 2-year-old's last few breaths. And I wept as I watched. Oliver's question "Why?" still haunts me. Why in the world?

That same day a dear friend of mine mourned the loss of a family friend's young child who had died as the result of a brain tumor. Those parents grapple with the same questions.

I don't know why such horrible things happen. I know as a mother I mourn for these children because my heart breaks for their mothers who will never fill that void, no matter how many prayers or kind words are sent their way. My heart breaks for my children whom I can no longer shield from bad things. It makes me almost feel helpless.

But, as a mother, helpless is not an option. So I hug my children a little tighter every day, about a dozen times more than I used to. I don't let them walk out of that door without telling them I love them. I find the extraordinary in the ordinary moments.

Just yesterday, Charlie (who's 3) and I went outside to play. It was an unseasonably warm 75-degree February day. But the wind was so strong. As Pooh would say, it was a "blustery day." The minute we stepped foot outside, Charlie heard the rustling of our tall trees that have refused to relinquish their withered leaves. He smiled so big and said, "Mommy! The trees are talking to me. They're saying, 'Hello, Charlie!'" Normally I would have just smiled and forgotten such a small, sweet moment. But how can I now? Every time I hear the wind from now on, I will hear it saying hello to Charlie. I will treasure these small moments because the tragedies of this winter have showed me how important these moments are. They define the life of a mom. And I'm so thankful for them.

Hello again!

If anyone out there has been following my blog, I apologize for being MIA lately. Between school, homework, sports, housework and myriad other things, I've been so stinkin' busy! I kind of lost myself in the shuffle. But I'm back!

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you know that I am a children's book author, or at least an aspiring children's book author. (See Operation Publication blog below.) I have sent my manuscripts to dozens of publishers, and I have been rejected dozens of times. Just when I begin to take it personally and start to question my work, God always gives me a nudge to keep me going.

Just today I started feeling a bit discouraged that I haven't heard back from the latest publisher. I started to fear impending rejection again. But when you're a mom, you don't have that much time to worry about yourself and your dreams. There was laundry to do, dishes to clean and beds that still hadn't been made. So I set to work...

I decided to take a break from laundry and sit down for a few minutes while Charlie was napping. I turned the television on and began clicking away, and I landed on Oprah's new Life Class show. Not anticipating sitting for very long, I listened for a few minutes. Oprah's message was to not give up on your dreams. She talked about truly visualizing yourself in the role to which you aspire and work hard to get there. I felt a tiny nudge from God at this point. THEN, Oprah showed a clip from her old show in which she was interviewing J.K. Rowlings. Rowlings said she was rejected many times before finally becoming perhaps the most well-known author of our generation and the generation following us. She said something that will stick with me forever, I hope... She said she never had much self esteem but she never questioned the fact that she had an important story to tell. This was a little more than a nudge from God... It was a bit of a shove.

So I'm taking His hint and I'm going to keep plugging away at it. I have important stories to tell. I am eager to have my work published eventually and I also am eager to write more tales... The best is yet to come. Operation publication continues.

The moral of this storyteller's story: Don't give up or doubt yourself. Know that you are destined for great things. :-)

Mom guilt

When you get pregnant and unsolicited advice givers start spewing advice left and right, they never ever mention "mom guilt." I'd say it's the most prevalent, pesky part of motherhood.

When Oliver was born, I felt guilty for leaving him each day to go to work. I cried every day for the first couple of months, but it got a tiny bit easier every day. I say, to this day, that those years, while I was working, I had the most quality time with Oliver because I didn't take a single moment for granted. I lived for evenings and weekends with my little guy. He had my complete attention.

When Henry was born, I became a stay-at-home mom because having two children in daycare pretty much drains a journalist's income. I wasn't sad about quitting my job. I was so excited to stay home with my little guys and be the perfect mommy, but after having Henry, postpartum depression set in, and I was sad all the time. It wasn't at all as I had expected. I constantly felt guilty for not giving my children the best me that I could. Several months of medication and diet and exercise cured my depression and I was me again. And the guilt vanished.

Fast-forward nearly seven years... I'm still a stay-at-home mom. I now have three little guys to fill up my days. But I find myself oftentimes not giving them the best of myself because I'm too busy doing laundry or doing housework. And, oftentimes mom guilt sets in once again. I constantly remind myself that, when the kids are grown, they won't remember how clean the house was. They will remember their time with their mommy. So I try to live more in the moment. And, when I do, I feel guilty for letting the house go.

It's a vicious cycle, mom guilt.

Now I'm contemplating going back to work, either part-time or full-time. I'm petrified. I'm so scared of missing moments with my kids. I'm scared of the mom guilt that will ensue; in fact, it's already begun... But, as my kids grow, so do their needs, and I know that financially, I should contribute more to lift the load off my handsome breadwinner husband. I know that going back to work will fill a need within myself to practice my craft once again. I know that my boys will respect me for going back to my career. And I know that the whittled-down time with them will be quality time that I won't take for granted. I just wish my head would inform my heart of all of this. Instead ... I just feel mom guilt.

So, I'll let you know who wins out on this, my head or my heart. Stay tuned...

Well said

Children have such clarity. Their little minds can offer up the simplest, purest, most beautiful explanations that the wisest academic could never ever devise. I know I've written about my oldest child's very wise words before, but I have to share what Henry, my middle child said today.

Henry is a man of few words. He is my active child. Like Forrest Gump, he's always running... or climbing trees... or playing ball... or riding his bike. You get the idea. But when he does sit down and talk to me, I could listen to him for hours. He's still got what I refer to as the baby accent. I know he'll soon grow out of it, and so I savor every conversation. In fact, we changed our youngest boy's name from Ben to Charlie just one week before he was born because we heard Henry say the name Charlie one day while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and we fell in love with the name.

Today we were driving to the store, and it started to rain big fat heavy raindrops through the sun. Charlie, who's 2, started crying and panicking. He hates it when it rains while we're traveling. (I blame my husband who took Charlie with him to a drive-through car wash one time and traumatized the poor little guy. To my husband's credit, most kids really love going to drive-through car washes. But I digress...) Charlie was getting increasingly upset, when Henry leaned forward and smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, Charlie. God's just splashing around in His pool and making drips fall down."

I can think of no better explanation for rain on a sunny day. Can you?

Grandparents

Tomorrow my two oldest boys will spend the night with my parents (Mee Mee and Gramps) as they participate in the third-annual mega-adventure, otherwise known as Gramps Camp.

For the past three years, my parents have invited all of the non-baby grandchildren for one weekend in the summer to participate in the highly anticipated Gramps Camp. They will get spoiled and sugared up ... They will have water-balloon fights, make ice cream sundaes, watch silly movies and eat popcorn, play hide & seek and have the traditional Gramps Camp scavenger hunt. And they will enjoy every single minute of it.

But, more importantly, my parents will enjoy it even more. :-)

When God blessed us with three beautiful little boys, I had no idea how blessed we actually would become. When our children were born, we not only became parents, our parents became grandparents. These aren't easy roles to fulfill.

I knew that Dave's parents would be wonderful grandparents because I had seen how they interacted with Dave's brother's children so patiently and lovingly. But Oliver, my oldest, was my parents' first grandchild. So I had the huge honor of watching them become grandparents for the very first time. Since that time, they have welcomed four more grandchildren (two belonging to my sister, Jennifer).

Both Dave's parents and my parents have completely amazed me. I'm convinced they are the best grandparents in the world. (Though I am a bit biased.) Each brings something special to their grandchildren's lives. My mother is extremely imaginative and creative . She is the reason I became a writer. She could spend hours telling the children wild and fantastic stories that she makes up as she goes. My dad is a snuggler. Give him a baby to hold and he's happy for hours. Not a visit goes by that he doesn't tell each grandchild how much he loves them. Dave's mother is kind and gentle. She can diffuse any situation with a kind word and a hug. I'm constantly amazed by this and always thankful. Dave's dad is quiet and dependable. The boys can count on him for anything always.

They say grandparenthood is a sort of second chance at parenting. As I putter along this path of parenthood, I am taking notes from these second-chancers. They have got it down pat.

Summer in the mountains

Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light;
and the landscape lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I love that quote. It so sums up my feelings that come with summer. This week, my Oliver has gone to play in the mountains at his grandparents' house. They live in little boy heaven. Lots of trees and bugs, deer and wild turkeys... and even the occasional bear. It's a beautiful place lifted from the pages of Thoreau or Longfellow. Who wouldn't want their child to go there for a week? Well, last year I really struggled letting him go... You may remember my blog entry at that time. I was a bit of a mess.

Well, this year is totally different. While I am missing him this week... I feel like my left arm is missing, in fact... I'm not sad or even worried this year. I didn't even cry when we dropped him off. I know that he is in the most capable, loving hands of his grandparents, who will spoil him rotten and will love every minute of it. And he will make such amazing memories on these trips. I hope he has a blast! (But I still can't wait to see him Friday!)

'Bug'

My 2-year-old son Charlie and I have a pet bug aptly named Bug. He's invisible.

He has impeccable timing, often appearing on the cusp of a hysterical meltdown and deftly diffusing the situation.

My mother found Bug one day as we were shopping together with Charlie. He was mid-meltdown, screaming, tears flowing, trying vigorously to climb out of the big red shopping cart and attracting all sorts of attention (and not the good kind).

Mom, cool and calm as a cucumber, reached into her pocket and seemed to retrieve something small. She held it tightly in her hand and said, "Charlie, do you want to hold my Bug?" Charlie, completely caught off guard, abandoned his tantrum to see what his grandmother held in her hand. Mom opened her hand and put the invisible insect into Charlie's tiny palm and quickly closed it up. "Now don't lose my Bug," she said.

Charlie opened his hand to look inside and mom shouted, "Oh no! He flew away! Better catch him, quick!" Charlie let out a big belly laugh and quickly grabbed at the air in front of him and caught the invisible Bug. This game continued until we checked out. The whole way home from the store Charlie clutched his fist tight, so as not to lose his new pet Bug.

Now, whenever I need to stop a tantrum in its tracks when we're running errands, I pull Bug out of my pocket and give him to Charlie. And I thank God for blessing me with such a beautifully creative, imaginative and silly mother, who so kindly gave us Bug.

Folding up memories

This past weekend, I cleaned out my toddler's closet to make room for size 3T clothes. I carefully folded the size 2T and 24 month outfits as if I were going to stow them in the attic, as I have been doing for the past nine years with all my children's clothes. But it suddenly hit me that I wouldn't be packing his clothes up for the next child. Instead, they'd be making a trip to Goodwill. Charlie is, as we lovingly refer to him, the caboose. When he outgrows toys and clothes, they no longer move to the attic. They move on to another family.

When Oliver, my oldest, outgrew clothes, I'd happily pack them up into tubs, and Dave would move them to the attic. When Henry came along, we did the same. We always knew we'd have three kids. And, as blessings would have it, we did. And, to top it all off, all three were boys, and so all of those clothes that were so carefully packed away were put to good use. Many many memories were folded away in those tubs. As fun as it is to unpack them for the next child, it's equally as heartbreaking to have to give them up.

Tonight, as I folded my daily two loads of laundry, I had to remind myself not to resent the process. Pretty soon, all of the little pairs of shorts and popsicle-stained tee shirts would be outgrown and not needed.

Tomorrow I'll be taking two more bags of clothes to Goodwill. I sure hope the next little boys who wear them create happy memories in them too.

The best surprise...

Last week, we went to Disney World and Universal Studios Orlando. It was amazing. Amazing...

We planned the trip months ago and decided to keep it a secret. The boys had no idea. We only told them we were going to their grandparents' house, which we did (as a rest stop for our trip). We spent the night at Nani and Papa's and the next morning woke the kids at the crack of dawn and popped the surprise. They literally were speechless. Once it registered that the next six days would be filled with nothing but Disney and Harry Potter magic, they were so fantastically excited.

We arrived back home a few days ago, wearied from from the frantic pace of racing from roller coaster to roller coaster and the excitement of meeting our favorite characters... I may never catch up on the laundry that accumulated during the trip or the sleep that I lost. But my heart is full because for an entire week I got to be a little girl again and enjoy the wonder of a magical place. I got to witness such sweet joy in my little ones.

The laundry will get done... eventually. But that's not important. When my boys become men and think back on their childhood, they won't remember how clean the house was or how many loads of laundry piled up in the laundry room. They'll remember the fun times we spent together, like that morning when they were 9, 6 and 2 when their mommy and daddy woke them up before sunrise and whisked them away to Disney World.

Wisdom from a 9 year old

We grow up believing our parents are the smartest people in the world. That with age comes an immense smattering of knowledge. A couple of weeks ago I turned 37 and have yet to feel smattered. However, I have learned through the wisdom of my years (and the sprouting of several unseemly gray hairs) that the most important things I need to know in life, I have learned from my children.

My oldest child doles out wisdom on a daily basis. Without even trying, he says the wisest, most profound things. It amazes me. When he was just 3 years old, I remember the first truly wise thing he said... His little brother had just been born, and my head was spinning one day. I was so stressed out and just couldn't catch up. I'll never forget it. Oliver came up to me, tugged on my shirt tail and said in the sweetest angel voice, "Just be still mommy... like a statue." The depth of his little words made me do just that. I stopped dead in my tracks. Like a statue. And breathed. Wisdom from a 3 year old.

Just this past week, Oliver was working on a class project. He was preparing a biography on Martin Luther King Jr. Proudly, my husband and Oliver and I worked on his poster. We decorated a picture of Martin Luther King, glued words onto the poster that Oliver had chosen from magazines that best represented King and and his legacy. When it was all said and done, I asked Oliver how his board compared to his classmates. He looked at me strangely and said, "Well mommy, it's not like theirs. It's unique and different. And that makes it better." Indeed. Wisdom from a 9 year old.

I always worried that I would become a dumbed down version of myself when I quit my career to stay home with my children. I worried that I would stop learning and growing intellectually. I've never been more wrong in my life. Each day I learn something new about them. And more importantly, I learn from them every day.

An attainable resolution

Resolution - The state of being resolved, settled or determined; firmness; steadiness; constancy; determination. (Webster's 1913 dictionary)

Each year millions of people around the world make resolutions. I'm sure the vast majority of those resolution-makers are quite resolute. However, as the year creeps along, I'd venture to guess that probably two-thirds of those resolute resolution makers backslide or totally give up on their resolutions. I know this because I am a notorious backslider. I think maybe it's because we set ourselves up for failure by setting such lofty goals for the new year... "I resolve to never say another curse word AND to lose weight AND to work out six days a week AND to be the best mother in the world..." Yeah right. This year, I am resolving to just try harder. That's it. I'm going to try harder to be a kinder, gentler, stronger, happier and healthier person. And just trying harder to be a better person will make me a kinder, gentler, stronger, happier, healthier mother in the process. I'm resolute. :-)

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! And I hope your 2011 is an amazing year filled with lots of hope and happiness!

Wish me luck!

I love working out. But I'm more of a kickboxing/weight lifting gal. I never ever liked running. I used to joke that you'd never catch me running unless someone was chasing me. My husband is an avid runner. He ran his first half marathon (with great time) this past spring. I always have marveled at how gracefully he runs. In the past, when I tried to run, I'd start huffing and puffing pathetically before the first quarter-mile lap was up. But this past year, I decided to really try to learn how to run. A few times each week, I'd hop on the treadmill and give it a go. To my amazement, I learned to really love it. The first half mile is always a b**ch. But once I get past the hard part, I find that endorphins kick in, and I really love the feeling of just going and going.

Running has become an escape for me. These past few months I've had some pretty stressful times as a mom. My 5 year old is going through what I hope is a defiant stage. It seems like every minute of the afternoon and evening, when he gets home from school, I am walking on egg shells trying to avoid invoking a temper tantrum. Usually I am unsuccessful. I seem to remember 5 being a rough year for my oldest child too. It's such a year of change... school begins, scheduling becomes hectic trying to balance school, sports and play. It's no wonder that little ones are stressed and take it out on the one person they feel closest to. However, it stinks for us moms. I can't tell you how happy I am to hand over the kiddos on those rough days to my husband when he comes home so that I can enjoy an hour on my treadmill. Once I begin running, I envision myself running away from all of my problems. And when my run is over, I feel completely renewed.

But I never ever had thought that I'd EVER be in a race. Running has turned into something deeply personal for me. I don't like running around others. I like that time alone on my treadmill, not worrying about anyone else. However, when I heard about this 5-mile run in my hometown, I thought it sounded like a wonderful opportunity. I've been "training" for it, but I still have a long way to go.

The run is on Thanksgiving morning, which makes it even more special. I adore Thanksgiving — not because of the feasting, though I quite enjoy that part — but because it's a time to really thank God for my blessings. I don't do that enough. This run will be my time to spend contemplating those blessings early that morning and really concentrating on the importance of the day. In addition, funds raised by the run benefit the homeless in my hometown. My heart breaks for those who have no family, no home and no table at which to feast. I can't imagine a better way to spend Thanksgiving than to be able to help those who are struggling right now.

So, on Nov. 25 I shall slog (sloooooooow jog) 5 miles praying the entire way. I'll be praying for those who are in need. I'll be saying thanks for my many blessings. And I'll be praying that I can cross that finish line. :-)

Operation publication

I've been a writer my entire life. When I was a little girl, I kept a journal. I wrote in journals throughout college. I poured out my heart in them— half the time, filling them with daydreams and wishes penned in bright pink ink. I became a journalist so that I could write for a living. It's amazing to be rewarded for something you love to do. And I loved writing. Loved it.

When my first son was born, I had an itch to write something for him. A love letter of sorts. Writing was what I did best, and I felt I could give the best part of myself to my child if I wrote stories that he could love. I wrote two books that year. Great books. I just knew that within a few months I'd be a published author, and my stories would become vividly illustrated, tangible books that I could read to my little boy at bedtime. Brightly colored books that he could thumb through and adore. But boy, was I wrong.

About a year after writing my first book, I finally got some positive feedback from a well-known publishing company in New York. A wonderful editor took the time to write notes on my manuscript and correspond with me. This was it! I just knew it! She proposed my book to her editorial board, and then..... rejection.

I felt the sting of rejection for the next seven years... I joked with my husband that I was saving all of the rejection letters to wallpaper our home office. Though I laughed at the thought, the constant rejection became daunting. So I quit writing new manuscripts. I became lazy in sending the old ones out. I became jaded by the entire process.

I quickly discovered that writers who don't have agents aren't as enticing as those who do. Most publishing companies won't even accept a manuscript from a writer who doesn't have an agent. And, sadly, most agents won't take on an unpublished author. It's a frustrating lose-lose scenario.

I write all of this not to garner pity, but to let you know that there is a whole slew of writing — great writing — out there that isn't being read. An amazing bunch of authors are producing valuable work but their voice never will be heard because they aren't famous or don't have agents. As a writer, it's discouraging, and as a mother it's disappointing because if all deserving authors had a voice, my children would reap the benefits of their work.

I decided today that I am not going to give up. My work is relevant. I'm going to teach my children that when they aren't being heard, it's important to speak louder.

I encourage all of you (if you're out there) to pick up your passion again if you've also given up. Don't give up on yourself. Set a good example so that your little ones will have great footsteps to follow. That's exactly what I plan to do.

Operation Publication shall now commence!!

Meat-free me

About six months ago, I made a change. I decided to try on vegetarianism for size. I get on these little bandwagons every now and then... so I fully expected myself to fall off this one in due time. I thought sure I’d succumb to a random chicken nugget or a pepperoni.... But I wanted to try to live a cleaner life, which for me meant giving up eating most animal flesh. I decided to give myself a little leeway, however. I allowed myself to occasionally eat fish. I figured if Jesus was OK with it, I could be too. Plus, going full-on vegetarian was a little intimidating for me. I don’t call myself a pescatarian, because I very very rarely partake in fish these days. But I do allow myself the option. So I suppose you could call me a pescatarian if you like, or a slightly hypocritical vegetarian. But I digress...

I made this lifestyle shift in the spring after reading Alicia Silverstone’s book The Kind Diet and watching part of Michael Pollan’s eye-opening documentary Food Inc. For a long time, my family had been eating a mostly vegetarian diet and didn’t really realize it. We rarely incorporated meat, and hardly ever red meat, into our diet. But we did have our weekend barbecues and as an Italian gal, I loved my sausage and prosciutto. But I never felt quite right after eating a meat-laden dinner. I felt heavy, sluggish, bloated and just generally gross.

My motives for giving up meat were strictly health-related in the beginning. I wanted to feel better and be leaner. But the longer I’ve gone sans meat, the more I appreciate the humanity of it. I can’t imagine eating the flesh of a cow or a pig now. I can’t justify their slaughter for my personal pleasure — especially since I know that pleasure is fleeting but that animal’s demise is permanent.

I’ve noticed since converting to a mostly vegetarian diet, that I feel better, my skin is clearer, and my body functions more efficiently. I even sleep better at night (literally and figuratively).

I’m by no means becoming one of those preachy, strict, paint-wielding vegetarians who shakes fingers at hamburger eaters and disfigures fur coats. I don’t hug trees in my back yard, worship Jerry Garcia or wear Birkenstocks on a regular basis.

I don’t flash the peace sign to everyone who walks by either. But I do feel more at peace and generally happier. If indeed our bodies are temples, I am so glad I’m no longer filling mine with animal flesh. I’ve spruced up this temple.

I encourage everyone to give up meat at least one day a week just to experience something different. Have a Meat-Free Monday so that you can explore all of the wonderful other options there are out there, like a veggie quinoa pilaf or red beans and rice or a hearty vegetarian minestrone. You’ll be surprised how good you feel — literally and figuratively!

Kindergarten!!!

My middle little boy started kindergarten today. And I haven't shed a tear. I remember when my oldest went to kindergarten three years ago — I was a nervous wreck. This year, I wasn't as frazzled. I didn't even take tissues in my pocket to school this morning. I stayed for the welcome festivities, gave my little one a big hug and I left without that sinking feeling I had three years ago.

When my oldest began kindergarten, I was completely unprepared. I didn't know what to expect. My sister, a kindergarten teacher, tried to allay my fears, but I still worried. It turns out, though, kindergarten was pretty amazing. That year was packed with more fun than I ever could have imagined. Field trips, parties, paper maché pigs and other clever crafts, stories and songs and creative learning. Believe me when I say that I loved it just as much, if not more, than my oldest little boy did. Selfishly, I actually was excited for my middle child to turn 5 so that I could experience kindergarten AGAIN!! Sure I'll miss him each day, but I know he is in good, capable, loving hands. And his journey has begun! He's on a non-stop path of learning. Soon he'll learn to read and research and discover so much. How could I be weepy or worried about THAT??

The only thing I'm sad about is that I can't go to kindergarten too! :-)

Avon calling!

In two days my oldest little boy starts the third grade. And my middle child will start kindergarten soon after. Two down, one to go! But all joking aside, I'll miss my little man. I cannot believe he's already in kindergarten! Seems like yesterday that I left my career so that I could stay at home full-time when he was born. Now he's off to kindergarten!

I am looking forward to enjoying some time with my littlest one — just the two of us. But I also miss the excitement of having a job to do. So I've decided to... wait for it... become an Avon lady!! I've always thought it would be fun. It seems so retro and exciting. And, let's face it, I love cosmetics and skincare, so it's right up my alley.

Problem is... I've no customers! So please support me in my venture to not be a desperately bored housewife this fall! I'd love to sell to you!

Check out my Avon Web site and place an order! I'd really appreciate it! And I promise this will be the last time I use my blog to hawk my goods! :-)

www.youravon.com/shasbrouck

Those lucky Calgon moments

Yesterday was one of those days. My oldest boys fought and fought and fought. They called each other stupid. They told each other to shut up. They professed their dislike for each other over and over. They concocted new and unusual insults for one another. They disagreed on everything just to be disagreeable. And as the day wore on, the louder their arguments became. It was one of those days that reminded me of the old Calgon commercials... You know the ones, where the mom screams, "Calgon, take me away!!!" I was ready for a mommy break when my husband got home. I handed over the kids and headed upstairs for my nightly workout. Whew, it was a rotten kid day.

Tonight, after tucking the kids into bed, my husband and I collapsed on the sofa to watch a movie. We had two from Netflix that we hadn't had time to watch. I won the coin toss and got to watch my "chick's flick," as my husband calls anything remotely sentimental. The movie, Extraordinary Measures, was extremely emotional. It was based on the true story of the efforts of John and Aileen Crowley to find a cure for their two children who suffer from Pompe disease, a tragic genetic disorder that kills children usually before their 10th birthday.

In tears throughout the movie, I suddenly felt very stupid and guilty for yesterday's Calgon moment. The movie reminded me of something that I often take for granted: I am so blessed to have three healthy kids. Who cares if they occasionally fight or make messes? They are healthy. They are perfect. And I am blessed beyond words.

I know all mommies have our moments. Stresses mount and some days can really wear us down. But it seems that the really bad days always are followed by better days. And when life becomes crazy hectic from now on, I'll think about how very lucky I am to have such a crazy, messy, insanely loud house with children running and jumping and yelling back and forth.

In fact, I don't think I'd have it any other way.

Summertime

A few things I love about summer...

• Watching my children's eyes light up at the sound of the ice cream truck's jingle

• The twinkle of fire flies at dusk

• Freckles

• Flushed, sweaty, dirty little boy faces at the end of a long day at play

• Afternoon thunderstorms and the smell of rain

• The farmer's market

• My beautifully overgrown, under-manicured, lovely smelling herb garden

• Fresh fruit and honey and popsicles

• Loooooooong days

• Sprinklers

• Sparklers

• No school or schedules

• Sleeping in

• Butterflies

• and Barefeet

Though fall is my favorite season, I appreciate all the whimsy and beauty of summer. Most of all, I enjoy sharing it with my little ones!! Happy summer!! :-)