Notes to My Loves

     Images, perspectives, preconceived notions, wishful thinking, pride, and public scrutiny. What do all of these things have in common? What do all of these mean for most mothers? These are the undercurrents to how most of us choose to live our lives. These are the tides and torrents that shift the sand beneath our feet, or pull our lives into chaos. They are the images not of what is truly going on within, but what we want others to think is truth. The snapshots of greatness versus the grainy ones of defeat. Those that hang proudly on our walls versus the ones we often quickly delete.      In the last couple of years, I have seen many of my friends struggle. I have struggled. We have struggled silently, publicly, quietly, and often times without the knowledge of those closest to us. Other times we confide in our careful few. The ones that we know won't judge or have words to fix what is going on.     The thing that has kept me thinking is what about those mothers who don'

B irthdays. A celebration of the days we were blessed with those in our lives. A day all about them. Today was one of those days. Today I was able to celebrate my mother's birthday,and we were together to do just that.  It was a beautiful fall day in which she and I were able to take a day just to ourselves without the stresses of kids and time lines. Leaves in shades of vibrant yellows and oranges fell gently on cobbled-stoned streets as we visited cute little shops filled with Polish pottery and the wafting smells of gourmet coffees.  It was a gift to both of us in a life of craziness and responsibilities. A day filled with laughter and conversation, while eating white chicken chili, reminiscing about the past and looking forward to the future that awaits us. Discussing 9,6, and 2 and how blessed and silly our lives are with their antics and personalities.      But the best gift of the day was not one that was wrapped in tissue paper, tucked in a lovely gift bag. It wasn't

     Whisperings. Visions. The yet to be, revealed in dreams of slumber. Inspiration in the most unexpected of places. All of these have bestowed upon me in my life. Sometimes I have brushed them off, for fear of sounding absurd. Other times I have pondered them, tried to analyze them, and discussed them openly with friends and family. I embrace them.  However, sometimes the inspiration seems so dreamlike and distant that we are sure that is all it is. We wait and wait, and NOTHING. We become tired, testy, and let the dream die. A fading memory or wish of what might have been.      This is a story of an inspiration. Of a strong need to complete something that was so foreign to me, yet needed to be done. I had no idea what would become of it, or why I was compelled to do it. But I listened to the whisperings. I was overcome with a need to finish what I started. So I worked diligently. I didn't stop until it was done.       It all started when my mother and I were at a store shoppi

   It is the shadowy, stalking, suffocating foe. The one that bars us from entering, when we know what waits for us on the other side is truly where we belong. It is crippling, crushing, and crucifying. For many, life is often viewed through a metal meshed steel veil that is impossible to lift. Clarity is not an option, and freedom rarely tasted. This is not for lack of trying. It is simply because the foe is so calculating and cunning. So willing to wait until we are the most vulnerable. Fear is an awful co-pilot yet often does all the driving for many of us.     The over thinking, the "what if's" and "what might be" haunt our thoughts. It would be a blessing if it were only at night when the darkness settles in. But for many, the daily steps of getting through a door to a destination are a battle that rivals a mental marathon. Images, thoughts, and sounds overwhelm the senses to a breaking point. A point when things are not just broken, but splintered into a

Dear 962,           There are things I need to tell you. Things that I am afraid if I don't write down, that our lives will just get too busy and chaotic and I won't ever be able to have these conversations with you. I don't know why I feel like this. Maybe it is the week we have had with Open Houses, homework, wanting to play outside and the just plain craziness of the back to school routine. You are growing too fast!             There was a time not so long ago that children sat at the feet of their elders and listened intently to the stories they told. There were no computers, internet, or television. This was how our history was passed down. It was tradition. This was how children learned the lessons that would carry them on when their loved ones weren't there to keep lifting them up. This is how their character was built and the wisdom of guidance transcended time.  Things are not like that now. I wish it were. It seems like such a simpler time. So instead, I wri

      My children did not sleep through the night until they were two. Yes you read that right. This is for all those mothers and fathers out there who hear my pain, share in my blood shot eyes, and ingest caffeine  to such degree that we probably need some sort of group therapy. Now, having said that, for my two oldest children, two was the magic number. Once they hit it we were in a slumber land so divine it reveled images of dancing sugarplums and fairy dust. A book or two, a snuggle, perhaps a sip of milk and they were golden. All was good in our land of dreams. Then came my baby girl and her entrance to the world of 2.       This week has been a transition week with all of us returning to work and daycare. I get that it is hard and out of our normal summer routine.  I get that we are having to get up earlier and leave the house while our eyes are still adjusting to the light much like small creatures that live underground. I get that their little bodies are more tired with all th

       I remember when we had brought 9 home to our little brick ranch that hot day in July. My father quietly looked down at us snuggling on the couch and said, "He is all yours." It is one of those memories that are snapshots in your mind. And I remember hearing from all the seasoned mothers including my own, "Cherish these times because they fly by."  I have tried to keep those words close to the functioning part of my sleep exhausted and often fogged mind.  I remember the night snuggling with him and tucking him in, that he didn't 'fit' in the crook of my body, like he had so many nights before. He was growing, he was changing, and I couldn't stop it.       Then I had 6 and heard the same words echoed by those who love us. He was the tiniest of my babies and I was amazed at how much he loved to snuggle. He was perfect, and tiny, and sweet. Surely he wouldn't get too big too fast, right?  Wrong.      And finally we greeted 2. What a joyous t

    When someone asks me where I grew up, I always say, "Everywhere". Then I explain that I am a brat. A military brat that is. I have moved 14 times in my life and attended 10 different schools. These moves occurred all before I turned 26 years old, and usually occurred every three years with the exception here and there being shorter or a tad longer. Needless to say, I still have the ability to unpack a box of things and reorganize a room in record time. My mom is a pro! I learned from the best.      The thing is, for the longest time my world revolved around change. It wasn't always easy, and there were a lot of tears. On move #6, from Ohio to California, I barely spoke a word  the first couple of days on our cross country road trip. My parents tried their best to make it interesting by stopping by such exciting teen destinations as "The Cowboy Hall of Fame" and we might have seen the world's biggest ball of wax. Okay so maybe that is a bit of an exagger

     I am a self-admitted pen junkie! I could browse for hours in aisles of Office Max ogling and  trying out the newest, sleekest, and most colorful  pens on the market. Honestly, it really is part of my job criteria. As a teacher I try to avoid any 'red' colored pens to grade with, therefore, I MUST stay on top of the state of the art in all things pen! During this time of year, I have no lack of pen paraphernalia in any store I chose to venture. It is of course "Back to School" shopping time.      Before I was a mom, I saw the carts filled with crayons, glue sticks, and new lunch boxes. Usually there was a little love bug who was bouncing from one side of the aisle to the next asking "Do I need this? How about this?" I couldn't help but smile and anticipate when my lovies would be that excited about school. Then it happened, and although part of me was excited when 9 started school, part of me grieved too.      I am sure this is normal and not anyth

  Who doesn't love chocolate chip cookies?  I know 962 do! So in an attempt to give my family healthy recipes that will taste good and be good for them too, I attempted a new recipe to add to our family's "wheat free" arsenal. I found this recipe on Pinterest from , Bethenny Frankel's website. However I made a few changes for our family. Here is the run down. First preheat the oven to 350, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper to prevent the cookies from sticking, and making less clean up mess for you in the end. Then, start with mixing together the following ingredients in a large bowl: -1/4 cup(s) of    butter, softened -1 1/2 cup(s) of   raw sugar -1/3 cup(s) of   mashed  banana -2 tsp. of   vanilla extract  -2 tsp. coconut oil -2 tsp. coconut oil   Then mix the the dry ingredients together in a separate bowl. -2 cup(s) of   oat bran flour -1/2 cup(s) rolled oats -2/3 cup(s) of   cocoa powder -3/4 tsp. of   baking soda -1

   This morning I was able to actually take a walk by myself. At first I was going to just put on my iPod and get moving. But something inside of me said no, just listen and think. So this is what I did. I thought about my day and what I wanted to get accomplished. The 'To-do' list quickly took shape. I thought about school being right around the corner and how it is such a bittersweet time for me as a 'stay at home summer mom'.    As I continued on my normal route, the birds were chirping, there was a slight breeze, although the temperature was starting to climb to its 104 goal.  Then it happened. My senses were alerted to something I surely would have missed had I been stepping along to the Black Eyed Peas . Actually I easily could have been the death of this small creature. There it was, hopping next to my right foot. It was a baby bird. However, this was no ordinary baby bird who was learning to fly for the first time. It was blind.    I stopped and observed this

     I have felt the need lately to purge.  I don't mean the spring cleaning type of purging that happens when the weather is nice and the windows are open. I mean the start in the basement and go through the boxes of wedding bows that have lived there for 12 years in August purge. The kind of cleaning that makes our basement look like we are ready to move, purge. Why is this? What is this phenomenon in me that makes me feel like I need cleanliness?       I feel that for me cleanliness equals clarity. For a mom of three, this is not always an easy task.  And I get that things need to be out. Although quite frankly, I hate having the toaster on the counter. I get that the kids have Matchbox cars, stuffed animals, and "Goo" from a recent birthday party, and they are playing and will clean up when they are done. I don't have a problem with that kind of mess.        But it just seems that more and more, we are bombarded with so much 'stuff' everywhere we go. Lif