Humor, Life, Parenting



The videos from the Listen To Your Mother Baton Rouge show have finally arrived! I couldn’t be prouder of the show and having been a part of it. It was a true honor to share the stage with the other women and I hope to work with the show in some capacity in the future. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience.

I wanted to be sure the link to my closing piece had a permanent home here, on my blog, especially since this is really where it all began. Here, in all its glory is,  I No Want It.




Family, Health, Life

Just Ask.

So, I’m pretty sure you have figured out by now that I didn’t die. Thank the good Lord because that would have sucked so terribly bad. The days leading up to surgery were filled with stress and anxiety. To fix that, I decided to clean my house from top to bottom – steamed bathroom floors, cleaned windows inside and out, and washed basically everything in the house that was made of fabric. I can’t imagine how bad the cleaning tirade would have been had I not had the Xanax to keep my feet on the ground.

While stress and anxiety were completely expected, what was completely unexpected was my willingness to ask for help. How in the hell that happened, I have no idea. Look, I will be brutally honest, I make no effort to hide the fact that I’m a kick-ass working mother of two and wife who has all of her shit together. I mean, aren’t we all? The absolute last thing I need is help. No thank you, I’m fine. F-I-N-E. Right? F-I-N-E.

Well, maybe I don’t need help on a random Thursday around 10am but after a cancer diagnosis and pending surgery, more than likely, I do need help. In a big way, actually. Asking for it wasn’t something I normally did or necessarily liked to do. At all. But in this situation, there really wasn’t an option.

I first asked for help when I called that awesome receptionist at the Baton Rouge Clinic. I so wish I had asked for her name because she needed to be recognized. That woman was a true-to-form rock star. I’m still amazed that I did it but I actually accepted food from total strangers! Friends from church organized dinner for my family for over ten days. Looking back, I don’t know what I would have done without these gracious people feeding my family day after day.

I needed someone to watch my kids. All day. On a Wednesday. Throughout all of this my brother’s wife had said repeatedly to me that she’d help in any way. She offered to watch my kids numerous times so I took her up on her offer. I hated making the request – it felt like so much to ask! She immediately assured me that she would be there, just for me to tell her what time to show up.

The requests for help continued. I need ice chips. Please may I have something for the pain? Mom, can you stay at my house another night? Please can someone help me to the bathroom? What about something solid, like something that I can actually chew. Can someone please make that happen? None of this was within my comfort zone but I focused on my family – our children. If I didn’t ask for help now, I would not be able to help them later. It was for my own physical and spiritual good.

I can only blame it on the pain meds but I took this picture the morning after surgery:


I call it my ‘proof of life’ photo. I survived the surgery and lived to tell about it. I never needed that emergency trach that sat ominously next to my bed, with a label “DO NOT REMOVE FROM ROOM!” I asked for help a million times and I didn’t implode. I showed the world that I couldn’t do this alone and not a single person pointed or laughed. It’s a good thing because I’m fairly certain that my requests for help will continue. I’m still not sure how to process what lies ahead.


What I can process, though is the love that I see and feel around me. I can process how I much I love my kids. I can process how I feel about my husband who has been an absolute steadfast rock-of-life throughout all of this. (The next time any of you see Brian, please be sure to give him a high-five or a hug, or whatever you deem appropriate because the man has been AMAZING.) I can also process the fact that I’m ready and willing to do anything and everything to get well and be healthy, even if it means asking for help.

Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thanks for all of the help. xoxo



Family, Health, Life

Love in Action.

We say it all of the time:

“I love you.”

“I love her.”

“I’m in love.”

Years ago before I was married my mother gave me some powerful advice about love. “Be Missouri. Make sure they show you.” She reminded me that the words are really easy to say, but it’s the actions that count. Love is a verb.

As mothers, it’s easy for us to love our babies and children. We cradle them, gently sing to them, rock them, prepare meals for them, engage them continually reinforcing our actions of love. We hug them, we listen, we pack lunch, we make them laugh. We show them each day how we love them.  I honestly haven’t thought that much about how this is expressed between adults. Romantic love, well that’s easy. What about ordinary, everyday love?

We see the true face of humanity; the wonderous good and dismally bad, within the space of two life changing experiences: 1) winning the powerball, and 2) a cancer diagnosis. I’ve only had the pleasure of experiencing one of these experiences and it is through this that I have witnessed love as an action and it’s beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

Love is stopping me in the hall to ask how I’m doing and standing there long enough to listen to the entire, oddly crafted, winding answer. Love is sending a hand written note with words of support and encouragement. Love is praying with me. Love is sitting with me, crying alongside me while I worry out loud of the possibility of death. Love is laughing while hugging me and exclaiming, “But you’re not going to die!” Love is beautiful hand-made pajamas. Love is offering to watch my children and taking off work to actually do it. Love is calling daily and simply asking how I’m feeling. Love is reminding me that I am never alone. Love is hot food waiting at my door.

I don’t think I have ever witnessed a greater expression of compassion, love, and humanity as I have in the past few weeks. On the eve of my surgery, I don’t think I’ve ever seen love in such full and complete action. I feel it. Brian feels it. Our children feel it.

My deepest and most sincere gratitude to everyone who has reached out and truly loved our family.

Peace out! See you on the flip side…


Health, Humor, Life

I Took a Xanax and Didn’t Die.

I’ve heard someone describe a cancer diagnosis as like being on a roller coaster. Some days you are up, some days you are down, and some days you are stuck hanging upside down dangling at the mercy of a carny and his willingness to hit the release button. There can be no more perfect metaphor; this is exactly what it is like.

After we met with my surgeon, I was up. Like really, really up. Brian and I both felt super confident with him and really liked his bedside manner. He covered every one of my questions and then some. He was willing to talk with me as long as I would have needed. He was very honest; told me that this type of cancer does like to come back. It’s possible that I will face it again down the road but the odds of me dying from it are seriously slim. “It’s likely not going to kill you. You may need more surgery or treatment, but the cancer won’t kill you.”

My mantra after that meeting was simply this: It’s going to totally suck, but it won’t kill me.

Just as I could feel myself climbing to the top of the roller coaster, thinking I was about to enjoy the view from my sky-high perch, I began the descent. The fall was swift and I could barely catch my breath. I call it anxiety because there really isn’t another word that accurately describes it. It’s really much more than that. It’s a total and complete breakdown of your normal physiological and mental capabilities. My fingertips would tingle and go numb. Sleep was elusive. My head felt like it was buzzing. I lost three pounds in as many weeks. When I did sleep it was hard; not hard like a good sound sleep, it was hard as if every muscle was clenched. When I would fall asleep, the pain in my shoulders would jolt me awake. I would wake up with sore muscles and aching joints. I recognized often that I probably had not taken a complete breath within the past hour. My chest burned.

I rode my bike. I weeded the garden. I helped Audrey sew a mermaid tail out of a deconstructed lab coat. Yes, we did this. Nothing helped.

The cancer I have may not kill me but the impending heat attack I’m about to have certainly will.

I called my surgeon and he was out. My primary care physician is out on maternity leave. My GYN is out of Fridays. I called the scheduling desk at Baton Rouge Clinic and all I can say is that those ladies are total rock stars. I tearfully told her what was happening and she kept me on the line while she called every internist in the building until a human answered. She’d been in the game long enough and knew better than to put me through to a voicemail.

I met with a doctor I’d never met before which only ratcheted up my anxiety. What if he tells me to suck it up and be strong? What if he thinks I’m crazy? What if he thinks I’m doctor shopping?

He didn’t think any of that. In fact, when I opened my mouth to talk with him and only tears came out, he assured me that I really didn’t have to tell him anything. He was there with me and for me.

The truth is, I’m not a pill person. I’m not really a medication person. I’d rather not take anything if I can help it. My progesterone cream is all natural and I buy it at Whole Foods. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a nut, I use bleach to clean my toilets. I’m just not a big fan of medication. Honestly, it scares me a bit.

But this is different.

Basically all of my panties are big girl size so I did the right thing and popped that fucker before bed. I silently prayed that I wouldn’t die. I mean, how bad would that suck? I’m happy to report that, in fact, I did not die, instead….I slept. I slept comfortably and relaxed. I didn’t sweat all night. My joints didn’t ache. Praise. The. Lord.

It’s Saturday and we had to get out of the house. I desperately needed to get out of the house. I wanted to go to the zoo but I didn’t want to be a wreck the entire time. I (somewhat) confidently took a tiny dose and we all headed to the zoo. I didn’t die. I had fun. I smiled. I felt normal. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Every time I checked I was actually breathing; full and complete breaths. Despite my fears, I didn’t fall into the Koi pond or end up inside the monkey enclosure, either. I was a normal mother, a normal wife, on a normal trip to the zoo.

I’m still not sure that I’m a pill person or love the idea of medication. But, for what this has done for my quality of life (and not dying from it), all I can say is praise sweet Jesus, Mother Mary, and any and all of the Saints that had a hand in creating this tiny, round, miracle tablet.

Peace out. (Like, literally, I’m at peace.)







Health, Life, Uncategorized

The Other Side.

“I just want to know. I can handle it, whatever the outcome, I just want to know. The waiting is the hardest part.”

Over the past few weeks I must have said this a thousand times to various people. I was sure that no matter what the doctor said, I would be totally fine, knowing I finally had an answer. In truth, the wait was brutal. An epic exercise in peace and patience. From 1:09pm on June 9th – 11:43am on June 20th I was like a walking, talking version of Schrödinger’s cat. Might be, might not be. All I desperately wanted was to be on the other side of the phone call.

The call came and while I certainly didn’t like the answer, at least I had one. I knew. My life was now all encompassed by the 99% certainty of eight, pap-stained direct smears interpreted by a pathologist. So why don’t I feel better?

While technically my wait for results is over, I am now faced with an entirely new wait. Here I sit on the other side of the call and I feel less certain, less secure, and less at peace.

I’m waiting to not feel crazy, however, under the current circumstances I don’t think this will get better. I laid in bed Monday night wrestling with my new reality and it hit me like a thunderbolt.

What if he gave me the wrong results??

That’s it! It made sense and seemed perfectly within the range of possibility. What if he was really trying to call Marilyn Lamont but dialed my number by mistake; and in a state of panic I just went with it? That would mean that Marilyn received my results that the biopsy was benign and I received hers! I feel bad for Marilyn. It’s going to suck so bad when she finds out that this was all a big mistake.

I’m waiting to get off this crazy train.

I’m waiting to meet with the surgeon. What if he’s a total goober? What if he doesn’t think I’m a nice person? What if he accidentally damages the nerves in my voice box and I can no longer speak? How can I live not being able to tell my children that I love them? Sure I can write it and learn sign language but they need to hear the sound of my voice! See what I mean?

I’m waiting to no longer feel afraid.

I’m waiting to know if surgery will be enough. I’m waiting to know if I will need additional treatment. I’m waiting to know if it’s in my lymph nodes. I’m waiting to feel secure. I’m waiting to feel like there is solid ground under my feet and I’m no longer tethered to the clouds trying to function like a normal person while I’m dangling from the sky. I’m waiting for certain people to do the right thing. I’m waiting to no longer feel scared.

I’ve read and often heard it said that of all of the worst that cancer is, this is the one that you want. Well, no one wants it of course, but because it is highly curable this would be the lesser of two evils. I get it, I do. But being on the other side of the phone call, I can tell you it’s not the lesser of anything.

I’m finally sitting right where I had longed to be and truth is, it still sucks. The wait is still there; I’m now just waiting for different things. All of this is currently unchangeable so I have to focus on the things that do make me feel secure; the things that do tether me.

My family is amazing. My mom, dad, brother, and sister-in-law have been steadfast. I know that Brian cries a bit every time he hugs me lately and despite his fear and worry he is rock solid, compassionate, and always ready and willing to help slow the crazy train of my endless mind.

My friends have shown the greatest love and support and I am humbled.

My faith. I couldn’t get by without it. None of this makes a lick of sense but I’ll surely go even crazier trying to figure it out. All I can do is place this in God’s hands and pray that He will give me peace, cover my mistakes, and graciously forgive me when I yell, “Slow the fuck down!” to some lady while shopping at Wal Mart. Only He knows how human I am and eventually we all breakdown during a shit show. He also knows it’s OK because the bitch totally had it coming.


Family, Health, Life, Uncategorized

When Our Pediatrician Treated Me.

My son is four. He is almost always happy and has the most infectious laugh. He loves to laugh, too. He’s affectionate and easily expresses his feelings; especially his love for me. For the past few nights he has not been himself. It’s like a switch right around bedtime – suddenly out of sorts, cranky, downright confrontational. To call bedtime a struggle would be an understatement. He doesn’t want to sleep because, “sleep is boring!” He won’t stay in his bed or room, engages in a standoff with me in the hallway, crying when I walk away. I know behavior, I know best practice and I applied all strategies. I offered hugs and love neither of which he wanted. I tried to ignore the behavior which only led to him attempting hand stands in the dark almost taking down my table lamp. He wanted mommy, then daddy, then mommy, then daddy, ad nauseam….

This afternoon Brian suggested we bring him to the doctor to maybe check his ears. I’m usually not that quick to make an appointment especially when there is really no sign of anything being wrong with him. But, we have had a long history of ear issues and he is known to have ear infections without typical symptoms. So with no hesitation I opened the app on my phone and took the last available appointment. Who in the world makes and appointment for 4:50pm on a rainy Thursday for a reasonably healthy child? Me.

She looks in his ears. Fine. She checks his throat. Fine. Tummy is great, too. She asks him some questions about what’s been going on at night and if he’s possibly sad, angry maybe, scared, or even just really, really tired. Of course his answer to all of her questions is ‘no.’ He’s super! I shift uncomfortably in my chair because I’m starting to feel embarrassed for taking up our doctor’s time.

This makes zero sense for me being here.

My throat tightens.My eyes start to burn.

She looks directly at me and asks, “How are you?”

Tears begin to stream down my face. She casually, yet swiftly ushers my son out the door and has him join the nurses to look through stickers and have a sucker.

The truth is I’m not ok. On May 12th during my annual exam my gynecologist found a lump in my neck. On May 18th I had an ultra sound. On May 20th I found out I have a large, dominant, solid mass in my thyroid. On June 1st I had my first appointment with my endocrinologist. On June 9th I will have a biopsy.

My words and tears fell freely as she listened. She offered me tissues and asked good questions. She gave me advice, both as a doctor and a mother. I felt overwhelming guilt; realizing instantly that William was responding to my current state of stress and anxiety. Of course I try to hide it but either I’m a horrible liar or my kid is highly intuitive. I’m fairly sure it’s both. She reminded me not to take on unnecessary guilt. She reassured me that no matter the outcome, I will be ok. William will be ok. We all will be ok. It was like a good, honest conversation with a friend that I desperately needed, only with a $25 co-pay.

It’s no surprise he’s affected. My current state is fragile. Sometimes tense. Often preoccupied. Worry. Lots and lots of worry. I worry for them, though, not really for me. I am perfectly content with the idea of removing any body part that may be plotting harm. If my thyroid is trying to kill me, take the fucker out. Besides, you haven’t been doing a great job of keeping my hair smooth lately so you can suck it on the way out. But for them, for a million different reasons, my heart aches for them.

I’m working on it. I pray often. I try to keep busy. I adopt huge ass pianos. Which, by the way, turned out to be a terrific decision for our family. I stare obsessively at my kids which freaks them out and that make me laugh.

I’m human and far from perfect and admittedly I see that while my kids don’t know any of the specifics, this is all affecting them in unexpected ways. They are resilient and I pray that this time in our lives will soon be a distant memory that only I remember.

For now, I focus on gratitude. I’m thankful for my family, friends, and faith. I’m thankful for my husband. He is more than I could ever ask for or imagine in a partner. Today especially, I’m thankful for being 41 with a really great pediatrician.



Family, Life, Parenting

It Moved…

This holiday season has been nothing short of eventful. I have made several realizations about the holidays in general that I will probably save for another post since what recently happened to our household deserves a post all to itself. While what I have to report to you may make you feel a bit uncomfortable, I think the lessons that I have learned may come in handy to you, although I truly do hope you are spared…

So let’s see, the Monday before Christmas Audrey came home from school and said that her throat was hurting. She has been battling allergies for a few days so before I rushed her to the after hours clinic I continued with Zyrtec and added Tylenol. By late that evening she was running a fever and complaining that her throat was stinging. I knew we would be at the doctor that morning. Brian was out-of-town so of course I let her sleep with me. We were up just about every two hours with chills, coughing, and just plain discomfort. I held her close and tried my best to comfort her through the night. We made it to the doctor that morning and were diagnosed with strep throat and an upper respiratory infection that required breathing treatments.


You can take one look at her and see just how badly she feels. This contraption had to be administered to her four times a day. She was such a trooper which was a good thing considering what was ahead of us…

Later that afternoon I received a text from William’s teacher indicating that he was unusually fussy when he woke up from his nap. Of course. There is no way I will have only one sick child when Brian is out-of-town. I scooped him up to find his right ear had essentially exploded indicating an ear infection. I would normally just start his ear drops but with Audrey’s respiratory issue I wanted him looked at. There we were, back at the same office the same day. William checked out fine but was put on antibiotics just to be sure. I’m home that afternoon to find my kitchen littered with prescription bags, a brand new nebulizer with about sixteen different parts – masks, tubing, straw-like contraptions that I have no idea their use, Zyrtec, Motrin, and enough pink antibiotic liquid to feed a small family. I can totally do this, just take one task at a time. And don’t forget to breathe…oh, and be very nice and loving to your children. Somehow I managed to get everyone medicated, treated, fed, bathed, and in bed by a reasonable hour. Brian came home and we all crashed for an early night.

The next morning Audrey woke up with a red rash along the back of her neck. She said it itched. I was slightly concerned because she is allergic to Keflex which is a distant cousin to the basic Amoxicillin which she is taking but she’s never had a reaction to it before. For the next two days we watched her rash and I told several people about it. “She’s got this red rash along the back of her neck…along her hairline…behind her ears.” Several family members, two nurses, one doctor, multiple friends and strangely no one made any connection about this red rash along her hairline expect that it could be related to the medication. I interrupted a lunch date with a friend to take a call from the nurse explaining to her about this odd rash that only exists on this one area of her body. How many times did I hear myself say it and still, despite what I consider my relatively keen sense of awareness, made no other consideration expect that my child is inexplicably red and itchy along her hairline?? Finally, Friday morning as my precious, sweet angel of a child sat at the breakfast table scratching her head, Brian made the winning connection. “Melanie, have we checked her for lice?” I was clearly in complete denial at the moment because I answered him without hesitation, “She does not have lice. I just washed her hair (in my tub of course) last night.” To appease him I half heartedly looked at her hair and saw what I wanted to believe was dandruff. “See, those white spots – that’s from the leave-in conditioner. She doesn’t have lice.” Brian pulled her up onto his lap in the sunlight and began to investigate. “It’s moving.” I thought I was going to faint. “What do you mean ‘it’s moving?'” He looked up from her beautiful curly hair. “She has lice, Mel. They are moving.”

Apparently all lice-hell broke loose at that very moment. We had to calmly break the news to her and grasp the idea that we are now under siege. I tried to stay calm but it’s really hard to do when you see these bugs crawling around in your child’s hair. (And falling onto her jammies) You are overwhelmed by disgust and sympathy for your precious innocent child. Keeping my ‘oh my Gods’ to a minimum we broke the news to her and explained what was happening. She did not take it very well at first. What else is there to do while you are waiting for the doctor to call you back? Give her a Christmas present! Of course! To make up for what was going to be a challenging journey, we let her open her aquarium.


After she settled down I literally whirled into action. As a precautionary measure everyone was getting treated. Brian and I did not have it although I swore I did. Confession – I live with an itchy scalp. I have for years. So you can imagine every itch and scratch I had I just knew it was lice. At one point we were in our backyard and Brian was checking my hair (at my fiftieth request) while I was checking Audrey’s hair. “We look like a bunch of monkeys.” I had to agree with him. Of course I used the medication to treat us but I also knew of a home remedy that I was certainly using. Basically you suffocate the lice and the eggs. I coated our hair with a cream cleanser and covered up with a shower cap. One thing you need to know is that lice can live submerged under water for up to six hours! If you don’t leave the cap on for at least that long it will not work. As a family, we stayed in our shower caps for eight hours. We took a walk in them, played outside in them, and Brian even went to pick up dinner in his! God I’m so lucky to have him! Solidarity was our best support for Audrey! Need I say more?


While we spent the day pretending to be getting perms, I began the work of de-lousing my home. Another thing you need to know about lice: they cannot jump or fly. The only way lice can move is from hair to hair. Knowing this is helpful to keep you from totally loosing your shit. I know the fear we all have. You cannot help but imagine yourself in bed trying to sleep and you are convinced that the lice are planning their attack on you. You are certain they are using each of their six tiny legs crawling up your bedskirt, traversing over down, linen, and cotton just to plant themselves and three hundred of their tiny eggs into your helpless, unsuspecting scalp. In reality, that’s just not the case. It simply doesn’t work that way.

As a mother, I find comfort in being able to control things, like schedules and laundry. I didn’t think I could control lice, though. Feeling helpless is how things can quickly turn bad. I kept reminding myself that the lice needs my kid’s scalp to live and as long as I limit access then I think we can make some headway. I stripped all of the beds. I remember quickly how much time Audrey had spent in my bed during the week. I shuttered at the thought but remembered what the salesman told us about the tempurpedic material – it is resistant to bed bugs! I rationalized that lice and bed bugs certainly have to be akin, mostly to make myself feel better. If you encounter lice in your home you will be faced with a dilemma. The pharmacist will want you to purchase a spray for all of your soft surfaces like carpet and pillows. Believe me, I bought the stuff and hesitantly sprayed the rug in the hallway. I was horrified at the smell alone! I stood there in Audrey’s doorway and contemplated spraying her carpet with this toxic substance. It’s a pesticide for crapsake! One more thing you need to know about lice: they can only survive on the scalp. If they are not on the scalp, they will only last about 20 hours, then they die. So that’s an easy decision – either spray my child’s carpet with a toxic pesticide that I have no clue what will do to the air quality in my house OR I leave the lice to die in the carpet. My choice? Let the fuckers starve to death. Besides, I knew I was going to vacuum the entire house anyway. Whatever louse is left behind will surely die. I am bigger and smarter than these pests and I will not let them win.

The ultimate key in winning the battle with lice is the dreaded nit-picking. Once you treat the hair, everything dies immediately. In a perfect world that would be the end of the cycle but unfortunately it’s not. Lice in general are clearly concerned with maintaining their species because they will lay about 300 eggs in your child’s hair. If you don’t get the eggs, they will soon hatch and you will be back at it from the beginning. I tried to warn Audrey before our first nit-picking session but clearly neither one of use knew exactly the enormity of the task ahead of us. I realized that my child has about three million hairs on her head and I have to inspect every single one of them. The first night of nit-picking lasted about three hours. She cried herself asleep on Brian’s lap. I was a total horror but my motivation was to eradicate this pest. My child’s tears were not going to deter me! I used a headlamp which I highly recommend and scissors. Even with the metal comb, pulling each one of those things out can be torturous for a child so I just said the hell with it – I’m cutting those suckers out! I was able to isolate each strand with a nit and snip it off at the base. Once into a rhythm things clipped along. Literally. I fully admit to being a bit frazzled during the next few days. I showered, but wore the same clothes. No time to fix my own hair, really. I may have looked like a mad woman but I was really just a woman on a mission. Don’t mess with this mother.


We soon got the hang of it and after four nights we were basically done. One thing to keep in mind when nit-picking: Start with a different section of hair each session. You will ultimately tire and your vision will dull. You don’t want to slack in the same spot each time. Does that make sense? I am delighted to report that we were under control in less than a week. We went back to the doctor six days later and she basically declared her lice free! My advice to my friends is to stay clam, get a plan, and don’t listen to other people’s horror stories. Everyone wants to tell you about their cousin who had it in their house for six weeks. That does not have to be your reality!

Speaking of reality, when kids are little they often do what they know. Audrey’s experiences the week before Christmas certainly shaped the way she interacted with the white pony that Santa brought her:


Oh what fun…

Happy Mothering!


Family, Life

Happy Birthday…Here’s to Life

So, I recently turned 38. Not a major milestone but every year, well every day I have on this earth is worth celebrating so to have over 13,000 of them I’m actually quite happy! Only now that I have two children do I find my mind wander back to 1974 and count the days after my birth and think, ‘Well, today, my mom had a three year-old and a 9 day-old. I wonder what that was like for her.’ Do you ever do that? For this one instance, yes, it probably is just me. Anyway, so far, this new year seems to be treating me quite well. In honor the gift I have been given of another lovely year of life, I thought I would share my latest, albeit random reflections on life.

  • My body at 38 is not the body it once was at 27. I am no fool to think the contrary. What was once perky and flat in all the right places is now flat and perky in all the wrong places. However, there are some perks. Having carried and delivered two babies gives you a strength that you otherwise would not have. Just the literal running all day after children, toys, and lost socks I could probably run a 5K in better time then I did ten years ago. I can do more on less sleep. Fatigue is for wimps. I can carry a baby, a bag, a purse, and a coffee all at once and not drop, loose,or spill anyone or anything. I can pick up a pacifier with my toes and not touch the important part. I can open and pour a sippy cup of milk, heat up dinner, and administer medication all with one hand. I can heal boo-boos with a kiss and mend the heart of a tired child with a hug. So to those of you lamenting the body you once had, realize the strengths and skills that you have now and gratefully let your 38 year-old body tell your 27 year-old body to suck it.
  • I think working moms and stay-at-home moms are both slightly envious of each other. There are days when I really, really want to volunteer all day at my child’s school – serve lunch, substitute, absentee call, you name it. There are some things about that life that I wish I had. On the other hand, I know there are days in the life of the stay-at-home mother when she would gladly leave the kids with any warm-blooded soul just to get a few minutes away. I’m sure the idea of my life of challenging (non-kid involved) work and lunch with girlfriends is very appealing. However, I do take issue with the apparent uniform requirements of the stay-at-home mom. Ladies, unless you are literally just coming off the tennis court or if you literally ran on your own two feet to the school campus, the running shorts and tank should be left at home. Let me introduce you to the walking short, the Bermuda (a cousin to the walking short), and the flexible and flattering denim shirt. They all go on just as easily as the running short and wash and dry without complication, with the added bonus of making you look like the adorable mother of the child you are walking with and not his or her babysitter. Lastly, your sorority called and they want their 1998 winter formal t-shirt back.
  • My tolerance for meanness is gone. When you intentionally don’t recognize someone’s birthday, sign a gift note ‘from’ instead of ‘love’ after an argument, intentionally fail to recognize someone’s professional success, intentionally exclude, don’t invite, or don’t attend an event that is important to someone you are being hurtful and mean and I have zero tolerance for it.  You see, we (identified from this point on as those of us who do not act this way) are on to you (identified from this point on as those who do act this way). We know who you are and the joke is on you. We forgive you and your ways because, well, we feel sorry for you. I think we need to have t-shirts made. I will be damn sure my kids are always the ones wearing shirts.
  • I’m still not sure that I know what I want to be when I grow up. I’m so restless right now that I’m considering switching political parties just for the fun of it. I wonder what it’s like to be a….
  • I am truly blessed to have the opportunity to mother both genders. I am actually growing more and more appreciative of my husband because of it. My daughter was speaking in full sentences at 18 months old and has not stopped since. Her vocabulary has grown to include the general usage of the words actually, specifically, and scrumptious. She also chooses words like hu-normous and potato grammar. She’s four, making up words is all part of the fun. Her conversations start as soon as she wakes up and ends just before she falls asleep. It’s usually at bedtime that she tells me that if she listens closely and quietly she can hear God talk to her in her heart. Love beyond words… On the other hand, I’m fairly certain my son can say ‘momma.’ I’m pretty sure that is what he is screaming when I pry his feet off of my coffee table. On occasion he may try to bark when he sees a dog, and there is a slight possibility that he is actually saying ‘pup pup’ but it’s hard to hear with all of my Tupperware, plastic bowls, and containers clashing to the ground as he empties my cabinets. In all fairness, it is hard to understand anyone when they have a plastic bowl on their head. Let’s face it. He’s busy. He’s got waaaay too much to do then sit and talk with his mother. I am simply there to make sure he doesn’t fall off the hearth on to the concrete floor. He will talk to me when it’s important. So when Brian tells me it’s really ok for us to just sit and not talk, well I understand him better now. I realize that this is the way he’s always been. I’m sure he didn’t say much to his mother either. And if he did she probably couldn’t understand him either considering the chances are great that he too had his head into something fun.

Happy Mothering! Here’s to another great year! Cheers!


Family, Life, Parenting

This Is My Life…

One afternoon recently Brian was with me while I watched a recorded episode of a housewife reality show. He asked me if the show made me feel bad since we don’t live such a wealthy life. The truth is, I’m not envious of these women at all. Sure, having a housekeeper would be a total score but I’ve lived this long without one, I think I will make it just fine. In some ways, watching this televised train wreck  makes me feel slightly good about myself. I am positively certain that if I did have that kind of wealth I would not dress that way, act that way, or wear my hair that way. I do believe I would leave my lips the way God made them. Anyway, this one episode featured one of the women getting engaged. It was completely built up and you knew for all ratings sake that the guy was going to pop the question but I was still excited for her. Not sure why since this would make her third marriage and she already has four children, but I was committed to the excitement of this life-changing event! (Or maybe I just fell for good editing.)

Later that evening we were on the way to dinner, kids in the back when I looked at Brian and asked, “So this is it, huh?” I admire him for his uncanny ability to read my mind because he knew exactly what I was talking about. “I mean, those exciting things are kind of, over.” He knew exactly what I meant. We are married, committed for the long haul so there won’t be any surprise engagements in our future anytime soon. The days of waking up at 4am to take a pregnancy test, shaking with excitement, well, they are over, too. We won’t have another day when we hear our child’s heartbeat for the first time or the joy and excitement of hearing “That’s a boy alright!” from an ultrasound tech whom we barely know. We have shifted from sex on the beach to sex in the bedroom closet. Literally. Dinner for two usually includes me at the table with my Sweet Pickle while Brian walks the Little Prince (who happens to have really big opinions) anywhere in the restaurant outside of a ten-foot radius of our table. This is our life.

The truth is, this is the time where we simply keep the train moving forward. Milestones still occur, sure but for the vast majority of time life is rather calm, or as others would put it, routine. Some mornings when my mother calls to check in I feel bad that she spent the dime considering there is literally nothing to report. It’s during these days of lackluster life, I feel the whisper of thanks and enjoy the time we are spending as a family as I know this time is short-lived.

In the midst of the mundane, however there are glimmers of excitement and wonder. These small pearls of life pop up in the form of my baby boy’s belly laugh or my daughter’s declaration of her love for me. First steps, first words, first day of preschool… We find happiness and peace in these quiet moments of life and do our best to pay attention. In the hustle and bustle of life it’s so easy to miss the wonderful glimmers of delight and joy found only in the most mundane of lives. Our life.

Happy Mothering,