Gut Check Time

Without going into the unattractive details, suffice it to say that last week I had a stomach bug.  Like Alexander might say: A  terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad stomach bug.  Laid low in my bed for days I was.  I had no appetite and no energy even after the bug packed its suitcase for greener pastures.  In short, I was literally wiped out by the illness.

But on my horizon this past weekend was an 18 mile run.  An 18 mile run to get me ready to handle 26.2 miles in only 9 weeks.  You’d think that I would forgo the 18 miles until I was sane or at least had some meat back on my body.  You’d think.  But I’d already postponed the 18 miles for 3 weeks, due to Thanksgiving and a pulled groin muscle.  And I am the kind of person that feels I can only accomplish something of this magnitude if I’ve practiced it fully before.  I won’t just stop training at 14 miles and expect that, come marathon day, I’ll be able to easily handle the remaining 12 miles.  No.  I want to run the full length ahead of time so I know that when I “hit the wall” on the race course, I’ll be able to manage it.  And that means I have to practice long distances in increments; I can’t magically go from running 14 to running the next  scheduled long run of 22.  To prevent injury, I needed to get something in between.  Hence, the 18 miles.

So I laced my shoes, grabbed my Gatorade and  Powergel packets, and headed out the door.  Oh, and in subfreezing weather too!  Sometimes, I am just not smart.  My own head gets in the way of real logic, you know?  And I ran.

But by mile 7 – only 7! – my leg and hip muscles started cramping.  I was faithfully drinking my Gatorade (I think I’d probably been through a keg of the stuff since the bug hit) but in all honesty, my body was in such a weakened state, I had no reserves to pull me through.  After all, I’d lost over 5 pounds the week before.  Yet… I continued to run.  I ran when I didn’t want to, and I ran when I probably shouldn’t have.  I managed to run the full 18.  I found the (stubborn) will within myself to fight against better judgement and discomfort to continue on.  I did it.  I shouldn’t have done it – I recognize that now – but I did it anyway.

And I learned a few things this past Saturday:

1.  Really, there’s a reason people say to listen to your body.

2. Sometimes we delude ourselves by looking at the big picture and not paying attention to the smaller one at hand.  Losing sight of details often gets us in trouble in the whole scheme of things.  I really could have injured myself by pushing when I had nothing to give.

3.  On the flip side, sometimes it’s easy to get so wrapped up in minutiae that you lose sight of the goal.

3.  For every goal there is an end in sight.

4.   I’m a fighter.

5.  I always have the ability to make choices.

During my run, I doubted I could finish, let alone manage 26.2 in 2 months.  I’m still not sure.  I did manage to fight my way through those 18 miles, so I’m hopeful I can do it.  Matter of fact, I do like a good fight…

The Good, The Bad, The Company

My husband would be the first to tell you – no, shout to you – that I become highly stressed when company is coming. I make my physical and mental lists of “things to do” and then try as efficiently and ably as I can to complete them. Somehow in my mind though, my “to do” list becomes a list of things to do or else my life will fall apart completely and I will be seen as someone who is less than perfect because my baseboards aren’t scrubbed and there is still gunk seeping from the lowest shelf of the refrigerator and my laundry room looks like a war zone.

Do you do this to yourself too?

I mean, I enjoy company. Really, I do.  Really.  But I just get so caught up in trying to take care of all those little things I should just take care of in my everydays.  Cleaning the fridge.  Throwing away towels that have seen better days.  Organizing the silverware drawer.  Washing the windows.  Scrubbing the handprints from the drawers.  You know, stuff.  Stuff you mean to do when you’re not busy living your life.  Stuff you mean to do when you’re not washing dishes, or folding laundry, or teaching your children how to do those things themselves.  Stuff you’d like to accomplish when instead you’re trying to carve out lasting relationships with your family by watching a movie, playing a game, or going on a hike with them.  So I try to do those important “life” things, and then all that other stuff, well, I try to get it all done in the last few days – or even hours – before company arrives.

So when I ran into an acquaintance last week,  I told her that a sizable portion my husband’s quite large family would be bunking with us for a couple of days this Thanksgiving.  Without even mentioning to her that I was already in a dither over it, she sighed, “Oh, I get so stressed ahead of time when company’s coming.  Once the company is here, I’m completely fine, but before then….  Well,  I’ll be praying for you!”

Until then, I’d never been able to put that together:  I love the company when they’re here; beforehand though, I’m a complete raving lunatic!  I behave as if PMS is my fully functional mode.  I snap.  I bark.  I bite!  And I hate it that I do that to my poor, loving, innocent family.  Yet I do.

Until the company gets here.  And then… miraculously, I’m a different person.  A normal person.  Kind, jovial, forgiving, even-keeled.  And it’s even better then after the company’s left.  Because then, the refrigerator’s clean, the baseboards are scrubbed, there are new towels in the cupboard, and I have time to play games and watch movies with my kids, read the books I’ve let pile up, or go to dinner with my beloved.  All the “stuff” is finally done, and I can live my life peacefully for a while.  Well… at least until company comes again.

The Difference between Boys & Girls

I’m so glad that I had children of both sexes. Not to offend anyone that had children of just one gender or anything, but boy, what a perfect setting for all sorts of psychological observations!

How many times have I marveled at the differences between boys and girls? Too numerous to count, I can tell you. Starting in the crib,  my boys wanted to roll over, arch their back, and gleefully grin as they peed on me during a diaper change. My daughter, however, was just content to maintain eye contact.

Then, as they got older, I could see how their hormonal differences played out in several ways. Relationally, the boys always wanted (still do!) to tell everyone around them how, what, and when to do something. My girl? Wants it done a certain way, no doubt, but is more likely to go along with the boys and then get upset after the fact. Physically, too, boys like to challenge those around them. Be it sprinting to the end of the running trail against me, or showing off their new height to an advantage, it’s all about proving physical superiority. My girl?  She could care less.  Her idea of physical is to be able to throw her arms around something (mom, dad, dog, pillow) and happily hug it.  Mentally, my daughter is able to wrap her head around intangible concepts a little better than her brothers could at her age. I’m not saying they’re doofuses, because they’re both very bright, but just that they seem to only be able to handle one thought or thought process at a time. In my daughter, though, I see the ability to juggle many things at once.

You know, I could go on all day about the differences between boys and girls, but this picture says it better than I ever could.  Forgive me; I’m a little late posting this because I’ve been re-doing my daughter’s room and I punctured my fingers too many times with sewing needles that I almost lost the ability to type.  But alas, that’s another story…

Anyway, guess who carved the cute bunny/cat pumpkin?  And guess who carved the vomiting pumpkin bisected by the machete?

THAT, in a nutshell, is the difference between boys and girls!

My 1st Marathon

Okay.  I’m looking in the mirror, and wondering if I’m nuts.  I just signed up to run my first – and maybe only – marathon.  I have several friends who signed up to run the half marathon. Then I got to talking with a different friend, who convinced me (maybe flattered is a better word) that I could run the full marathon.  As of Monday, I will start on a very strict training regimen.  And try to stop eating so much ice cream!  With all the stuff that’s going on in my life, do I really have time for that?  I hope so.  I’ve spent the money, made the reservations, and will be on my way in late February.

Now, I guess I should say that I have run consistently for about 10 years.  It’s just a habit now.  Still… I don’t normally run 12 miles, or 18 miles, or 26 miles on an everyday run.  Normal for me is 4, 5, or 6 miles.  On occasion I’ll run 10 or 11.  So when my friends told me I should run the half with them, I thought, “Shoot, I could do that, no problem!  I’m a little sore after 11, but an extra couple won’t kill me….”

Then I was talking to the other friend about running the race – which happens to be in her hometown – and she told me that I could definitely do the full one.  Having done several marathons over the years, she said that last year, her time was about 5 1/2 hours.  I thought to myself, “I could run a marathon if I had 5 1/2 hours.  I don’t have to do it in 3 1/2 or 4.  If I have the time, I can do it.”

Now that I’ve signed up though, I’m wondering, “Can I do this?”

I think I can.  Because, I just have to ask myself why I’m doing this, and then I know I can.  This particular race is a breast cancer event.  In fact,  this race is billed as The National Marathon to Finish Breast Cancer.

A woman in my Sunday school class had a double mastectomy last year.  A homeschooling mom I became friendly with after we moved to TN passed away from breast cancer in 2002, leaving 4 children under 10 without a mother.  And one of the sweetest, dearest, kindest, funniest, smartest women I’ve been honored to call friend lost her life to the disease 3 years ago this week.

So when I think about running the marathon and let the fears and doubts take hold, or let thoughts of stress and the disruptions to my life overwhelm me, I’ll think instead about how all these women faced these same things.  Only for them, it mattered a whole lot more.  And when I run, I’ll run for them.

Porky Pig and Bambi

My family has been through a bout of sickness lately – the swine flu.  We’ve been sharing and passing the symptoms around: fevers, aches, chills, headaches, and a gut-busting cough. It’s been abnormally quiet and sedate around here as we all nap, read books, and watch “Ace of Cakes” or “Man vs. Food” without any desire to eat anything we’re watching on the TV.  On top of that, a deer ran into my car just before the flu caught up with us (people say I hit it, but as I become a basket case when any animal except a cockroach is injured, I maintain that it hit me!).   We’ve sort of just hunkered down and done… nothing.  We haven’t gone anywhere unless out of necessity. We’ve made a couple of runs to the store for Jello, Gatorade, Tylenol, Robitussin, toilet paper, and eggs.  But for the bulk of the last few weeks, we’ve actually been under budget as far as our groceries and gas go. Hallelujah! A silver lining…

Really though, while I wouldn’t wish swine flu on anyone, save maybe Hugo Chavez, there have been a lot of silver linings through this period of illness and lack of transportation.  We are resting.  Really resting.  So much of our lives feel as if we are running futilely and endlessly on gerbil wheels.  Even though we homeschool, it seems like we still wake up each morning, run through our day as fast and as hard as we can, and then fall exhausted into our beds.  Where’s the time to sit and enjoy each other?  Where’s the time to think?  To imagine?  To love as if there is no tomorrow?  Certainly not in paying the bills or doing the laundry.  Definitely not in the chapters of chemistry or algebra books.  Absolutely not in the grocery shopping or trips to the post office.  Unquestionably not in video games, Facebook pages, or always present emails.

Since we’ve been recuperating, however, we’ve taken the time to play Life, to lay out on the cool grass, under blue skies, and do nothing.  Our animals have had plenty of laps to lie in or rest their head upon.  Because of headaches, our minds have been quieted by time spent reading  rather than abused by the blaring of loud television commercials.  Our beds have become sanctuaries, and we’ve spent lots of time cuddling, hugging, and using each other as pillows.

I don’t particularly like being sick.  In fact, I hate it.  I dislike how disruptive it is to our lives.  I loathe how I have to cede control of my life and let my body dictate the schedule of each day.  No exercise, no food, no comfort in my own body.  And yet… without being forced to “give up” so much of what I think makes my life full of purpose, I would miss what really is my purpose.  I would miss the rest.  I would miss the quiet.  I would miss the time loving my family and being loved by them.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

Maybe the deer and the swine flu were a way for God to get my attention.  Maybe I needed to get off that gerbil wheel, even if only to take time to count my blessings….

Salty? Sweet? Why Not Both? My Mixed-Up Chex Mix

Living in Orlando, one of those uber market research cities, I was often invited to sit on a product testing panel. The kids were little, money was usually in short supply, and I would be paid up to $75 – really! – to spend a couple hours eating food and dissecting its market potential.  What could be a better way to spend a little time away from the wee bairn than getting paid to eat???  Talk about a win/win situation!  Mostly, the products were forgettable, but one I do remember eating is the prototype for what would eventually become Nestle’s Pretzel Flipz.

Interesting little non-related factoid here: my grandfather worked for Proctor & Gamble and I remember him bringing home Pringle’s potato chips before they were put onto grocery store shelves.  To this day, I can’t open a container of Pringle’s without getting all misty-eyed for my grandpa…

ANYWAY, the person directing discussion of the nifty chocolate covered pretzels asked why we thought these might sell well, and many offered the usual mundane comments.  Everyone loves chocolate.  You can’t go wrong with chocolate.  Crunchy and sweet.  Crunchy chocolate – hooray!  Yada yada yada.

Being one of those rare humans who neither favors salty or sweet, I  mentioned that its selling point would be that it blended salty and sweet.  Like Snickers.  Like Peanut M & M’s.  Like that.  Now, I like salty.  And I like sweet.  But what really makes me happy is when they are combined together.  Like Snickers, or Peanut M & M’s.  Understand?  Personally, I think the Flipz are just okay.  But hey,  I made $50 to give my opinion, not buy them off the grocery shelf.  I can live with that.

Which brings me to what I’m really writing about today – my Chex Mix.  So, you say, everybody eats Chex Mix.  The General Mills version, or some other one of their own making.  Mine is of my own making.  What makes it different, you ask?  Well, just guess…   Bingo.  You’re correct.  I make it sweet.  And salty.  It all started when our family went camping for the first time, ever.  Ever ever.  I wanted to make some snack that wouldn’t be gone in, oh, say, 10 minutes.  I wanted something that would last.  So I thought of Chex Mix.  But I don’t particularly like pretzels in mine.  I’m not a fan of those little breadsticks that come in the pre-packaged version either.  So I thought I would make it out of what our family likes.  Instead of pretzels – goldfish.  Instead of salty peanuts – honey roasted ones.  Instead of breadsticks – M & M’s!

Now if we’re camping, my family won’t even let me out of the house unless this Chex Mix is made.  My son besieges me from school to send it in care packages.  It’s got salty.  It’s got sweet.  A little bit of both for everyone, especially me, who likes salty and sweet, particularly together.  Strange human that I am.

My Mixed-Up Chex Mix

1 Box Corn Chex

1 Box Wheat Chex

1 package Pepperidge Farm Goldfish

1  12 oz. container Honey Roasted peanuts

1/2 Box golden raisins

1  8 oz. package chopped dates

1 medium package chocolate M & M’s

1 medium package Reese’s pieces

1 1/2 stick butter

1/2 C Worcestershire sauce

1 T  + 1 t season salt

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.  Mix Chex cereals and goldfish together in a large roasting pan.  In microwave container, melt butter.  Add Worchestershire sauce and season salt.  Mix thoroughly together.  Pour a little of the butter over cereal mixture a bit at a time, stirring to coat.  Place in oven for 1 hour, stirring every 15 minutes.  Cool completely.   Pour cooled cereal mix in a VERY large bowl  (you may need two!).   Add in nuts, dates, golden raisins, M & M’s, and Reese’s Pieces, mixing well.  Eat away – it makes TONS!!!

*Side note, here….  We love dates in our family, but we’ve had guests that picked them out.  Also, this works fine with regular raisins, but the golden ones tend to be a little plumper and not so dry.  We’ve added Jelly Bellies before, and many other odds and ends, but we always come back to this recipe.

Chicken & Onions

One spring break in college I went home with my roommate. I come from a fairly normal, bland, wasp-ish family with a Presbyterian background. I’m an only child. Life at home was quiet. Fresh veggies, grilled meats, and the occasional casserole dominated our dinners. My old roommate’s family on the other hand, is Greek.  In contrast to my placid household, she had a brother and a sister, and all sorts of relatives in and out the front door, at all times of the day. Her family was, hmmm… how shall I phrase this? Animated. Animated and vocal. The food? Oh my word! It was divine. Dinners at her home were like a mini cultural exchange program for me.  I still salivate thinking about those meals….  Orzo. Ouzo. Olives. Oregano. O-O-O-Oh!!!

Her grandmother made the most delectable paisley-shaped pepper crackers that were made with freshly cracked pepper. At some point, my roommate started just handing them to me when she received a care package from her grandmother, simply because she knew how much I loved them. I think her grandmother took the recipe to her grave, but nonetheless, I ask my old roomie for it every time I see her. One can always hope, you know?

And while in our apartment, we didn’t cook an awful lot, there were a few meals that each of us cooked.  Me?  Homemade pizza.  Which I still make, and my kids would probably rather have than Pizza Hut or Papa John’s any day.  But that’s way beside the point. She made this wonderful pasta dish with a sauce of caramelized onions, chicken, and… butter.  Pure, artery-clogging butter.  But it’s the butter that makes the onions sweet, the chicken tender and velvety, and bathes the pasta in a sweet, cheesy, delectable sauce.  Oh.  LOVE it.  Tres magnifique!

We don’t eat it that often; maybe once or twice a year.  Because, honestly, it probably has about 6700 calories a serving.  And we all know that a recommended serving size is only about 1/2 cup.  Who, in heaven’s name eats a half a cup, though?  But sometimes, just every once in a blue moon, you just have to throw caution to the wind and live dangerously.  So, here’s to living on the edge:

Chicken & Onions

1 C butter

4 or 5 lg. sweet onions, preferably Vidalia, thinly sliced

½ t salt

1 t pepper

1 T chopped basil

1 T chopped oregano

2 lg. chicken breasts, cubed before cooking

1/2 C freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese

Approximately ½ to ¾ box linguine, buccatelli , etc…

Melt 1/2 C butter in a large skillet over medium high heat.  Add in onions a little bit at a time as they begin to lose their juices and cook down.  Continue to saute until onions are browned and translucent.  Add in remaining butter and seasonings.  Push aside as many onions as possible to one side of the pan and cook chicken until browned on all sides.  While chicken is browning, begin boiling water for pasta.  Cook pasta according to package directions.  Once chicken is cooked, mix onions and chicken together.  Serve over warm pasta, top with Parmesan or Romano cheese.

PS.  Picture delayed.  I’ll have to make it again because it was gone before I got out the camera! 

My Quirky Travel Habit

I love to travel. I love seeing new things, new places, meeting new people, and trying new foods.  I like experiencing different climates, landscapes, and cultures. Even in the good old U.S. of A, a couple hours worth of driving time can give you a whole different feel.  Case in point:  when we dropped off our son at college a week or so ago, we had to drive across Alabama, Mississippi, and most of Louisiana.  I learned that Alabama has highways that threaten to eviscerate one’s tires, Mississippi has a Subway restaurant at almost every exit, and Louisiana is practically barren, except for the occasional armadillo on side of the road.  Topographically, there’s almost a natural border between Alabama and Mississippi and then Louisiana.  Western Alabama is, for the most part, pretty flat.  Once you cross over into Mississippi, however, the landscape changes to picturesque rolling green hills.  Then again, once you cross over the mighty Mississippi River into Louisiana, the terrain is once again flat, dry, and lacking forestation, with the exception of some bayous here and there.

Mississippi River at Sunset

Just like the topography, the restaurants are different, people’s accents are different, their terminology is different, not to mention architectural styles, habits, crops grown, commercial ventures, etc… It’s strikingly at odds sometimes even within 30 miles.  And, just having come from Cajun country, even the gumbo recipes are vastly dissimilar!  It always fascinates me that life can be so varied within such a little bit of space.  From the hot, sweaty humidity of Louisiana being “God’s Country” to someone, to someone else in Tennessee thinking the same of the lush, rounded Smoky Mountains, to the fog-shrouded splendor of Seattle being paradise to a native there, completely intrigues me.

To me, growing up in the tourism capital of the world of Orlando, I’ve adopted the never-look-like-a-tourist-if-you-can-help-it attitude.   I always strive to look like I belong wherever I visit.  Of course, I’m sure I do look like a tourist (especially with my handy Garmin directing my every move), but if there is some way I can sort of blend in, I will.

“Just” a house!  What fun to run by in the morning!

My main strategy for looking like I belong is to sneak in an early morning run wherever I am.  I have run for about 10 years now, and the thought of going days without getting in a run is so contrary to my lifestyle, I just couldn’t do it.   Beyond that, however, I can get a feel for each  new locality I visit.  In Natchez, MS last weekend,  running along the Mississippi river,

Same view of the Mississippi in the morning…

I saw the night and day crews swap at a riverboat casino, two seasoned gentlemen stoke the fire for a day of cooking and smoking at an outdoor barbecue joint,  gardeners pruning everything just-so at one of the many large mansions in town, and several sweet southern matrons taking their morning constitutionals looking and smelling every bit of the belles they are.

Downtown Natchez

Several people wished me good morning, dogs stopped to smell me, ladies in curlers and face cream waved at me from their driveways as they picked up the morning papers, and I felt, if only for the briefest of moments, as if I were part of their world.  Whether I’ve been in Natchez, Victoria, BC, Seattle, NYC, Atlanta, or Butte, MT, I feel I’ve absorbed a little bit of that city’s essence during my run.

Rosalie Hall… not my usual scenery during a run!

And since I tend to be an early morning runner, I’ve been able to get the lay of the land, so to speak, and figure out where to visit that day.  I learn the names and directions of the streets, which restaurants seem to be getting ready to be busiest, and which shops look like ones I’d want to visit.  So it’s almost easy later in the day to pretend to look like I belong.    Yeah, I don’t have the dripping-with-honey accent, or an easy command of direction of  “the” places to be, but I can get from point A to point B without too much sweat.

And if I can do that, I can pat myself on the back because I don’t really look like a tourist, even though, I’m sure I probably do…

Happy Birthday to My Wonderful Daughter!

As of 6:25 a.m. this morning, my home is now filled with all teenagers. My daughter was born 13 years ago today. I love this girl! She’s always had one of those naturally happy temperaments; I’ve often said that she’s “sunshine in human form!” For 13 years, she’s brightened my life each and every day.

I love all my kids – two boys, and my girl, but it’s wonderful to have a girl in the house. The male sector of our home leaves toilet seats up, but they kill big spiders. They don’t necessarily wash their dishes, but are tall enough to reach to the highest cabinets. They have exceptionally smelly clothing after they’ve been working outside on a hot day, but they give the most comforting, big hugs.

Girls on the other hand, while being much more hormonally-challenged than boys, just get girl stuff. Like the need to have chocolate during stressful times. Or the need to have chocolate for the sake of having chocolate. They get that you can have one outfit become 4 by changing accessories, jewelry, and most importantly, by changing shoes. Girls understand that, even though you have one shirt in a certain color, another one in a shade just a tad different, with a varied cut, certainly won’t be a “waste.” And most especially, girls value talk. We talk to work out our problems, we talk to connect, and we talk to learn.

My girl knows all these things, and I’m so glad she’s mine.

I Can See the End of Mommy-hood, and It’s Not Exactly Pretty…

We dropped off our oldest at college this past weekend. Ten hours away.  Essentially, a lifetime apart for a mother who worries.  I know I shouldn’t, but I do.  I will.  I’m a mother, so I just know I’ll worry.

For instance, I worry about this:  See all this concrete on the ground?  He’s on the 3rd floor.  The railings aren’t exactly what I’d deem strong, and I’m thinking “Boys – always wrestling, fighting, or something…  It only takes one move to fall to doom!”  Honest.  The bad thoughts are just running in circles around my brain! And I can’t stop them, try as I might.

I am in a netherworld that I genuinely didn’t foresee on the horizon.  This despite the fact that my son has been away at boarding school for the past three years.  So I really shouldn’t be this mopey, but I am.  I shouldn’t be this fearful, but I am.  I shouldn’t be so many things, but I am.

Why?  I guess  it’s because this time it’s more real because he’s so far away.  Before, if he needed something I could get it to him quickly.  I could drive down to watch his sporting events, take him out to dinner for his birthday, bring him home when he was sick, and see him for every break.  Now, I won’t see him for his birthday, my birthday, Mother’s Day, or just any old day.  I certainly won’t be driving to have dinner with him anytime soon, unless magically, gas starts costing less than $1 or time travel becomes possible.  If he’s sick, I can only offer sympathy long distance.  For now I’ll just have to imagine him in his dorm room…

And in only – only! – 5 years, my other two will both be  away at college as well.  In some respects, I’m looking forward to having no interruptions while I’m in the bathroom (even at 17 they’ll stand on the other side of the door and ask if a shirt is still in the wash), conversations with my husband where I can actually complete a thought in my head because no one is asking me if a shirt is still in the wash, and time to read what I want to read when I want to read it.

Yeah, that all sounds wonderful, but truly, so much of my life and my identity, and let’s face it, a great deal of my pleasure has been derived by looking after my family.  To spend time focusing on me just seems so, so, well… I just don’t know what it seems like.  At least, not yet.  I mean, we’ve all heard the old adage that “to take care of others, you have to take care of yourself first.”  It makes complete sense, and I try to do that in many ways.  I’m trying to read for the sheer joy of it again.  I exercise to be healthy, but I still eat Peanut M & M’s and ice cream if I want.  I consciously make time to spend with my husband when I can.  I kick everyone out of the room on occasion so I can indulge in a weepy chick flick.  And I’m letting my kids shoulder more and more of the household “to do” list.  See?  I am working on it!

Still…  I can’t imagine – truly – what life will be like without kids in the house.  What will I do with myself?  Take classes at the local community college?  Spend time baking sinfully decadent desserts?  Paint?  Write?  Take sky-diving lessons?  Or will I just putter around the house decluttering the freezer and weeding my flower beds?  All things considered, I’d rather take the sky-diving lessons than weed, but honestly, the closer I get to that day, the more I discover how much I enjoy my children.  I love being with them.  I have fun with them.  I laugh with them.  I love to cuddle with them, play games with them, and watch Wipeout with them.  In short, I love them!

And the closer I get to the “end” of Mommy-hood, the more I discover that I have loved absolutely every single minute of it!