we need a little christmas … now

Another little organization project that I’ve been working on. Up until last week, our holiday decoration boxes were a pure mess. Stuff was thrown in whichever way it would fit, and I wasn’t completely happy with that arrangement. Sometimes, I am after a particular thing and I don’t want to fish through everything else to realize that it was in that other box. So – during this moving process – I took the opportunity to sort through all this stuff. I reorganized everything – sorting it all by ‘type’ – and rewrapped all my breakables in real packing paper … instead of the tattered scraps of ten-year old tissue paper and paper towel shreds. I made new labels for all of the boxes, too. All of which makes my heart sing with happy.

I will say that we got a little Christmas fever during this time. I went through all our other decorations, too, but the red and green seemed to hit a bit harder. The whole house smelled like holly and mistletoe and cookies and spice. Looking through all our ornaments just made me itch to get them on a tree. Brian and Ammon were in on it, too … not just me. And so … we made the most of it. We listened to Christmas music and we watched Christmas videos. We’re still doing this and the boxes have long since been done.

But, what can I say? We’re Christmas people. And what’s wrong with enjoying a little winter goodness in the middle of May? What’s wrong with needing a little Christmas now?

We say … why ever not?

empty nesters, chimneys and the end of good luck —or— are we havin’ a good time now?

This past week has been an interesting one for the Thomases Three. Very interesting.

We are slowly marking projects off of our list. We have really begun to make some stalwart progress when it comes to ‘completing our move’. Sure – we’re moved in. Of course – we’re living here. But we’re still in that in-between stage. We still have boxes just sitting around. We still have pictures waiting to be hung. We still have purchases to make and little projects to finish … and we need to scour the world to find some things to make other things just right. Despite this, I’m proud to report that we are really accomplishing some things. I’ve marked three huge items off my list in the past week, not to mention really tackling my craft room. I’m far from done there – but I’m happy with what has been done.

Project Yard Beautification continues … and will continue to, well, continue. Brian hacked those darn azalea bushes last week. They are now down to the normal size – which is about half the size of what they were. You can actually see our home now. In fact, if the house itself wasn’t so distinctive, you probably wouldn’t be able to even recognize the property now. After all that we have done to this place – which has been some s.e.r.i.o.u.s work – it truly looks like a different space.

For some reason, Ammon has begun biting. He has never been a biter, but I’ve noticed him biting George over the last couple of weeks. He is now biting people. Don’t quite know what to make of that…

I guess you could consider us empty nesters. Henry, Penelope and the babies have flown the coop. The honest truth - is that 'something' got the babies. But we're choosing, at the time, to not dwell on that. It’s difficult to describe just how much we miss them. Because we really do. I miss watching that little nest as I go about my day. I had to break the news to Ammon yesterday. Up until then, he was still saying, “Shh” as he passed that particular window. He was frequently asking me to pick him up so that he could peer out the window. I just couldn’t take it any longer. I sat him down and explained that the birds had moved to a new home. And – surprisingly enough – he seems to understand. Maybe not why – but that they are, indeed, gone. We will all remember this first Spring in our new home. We will fondly reflect on our little family of birds that shared their lives with us.

My record has been tarnished. Apparently, my luck has run out. I say this with a chuckle. In fact, that comment deserves a barrel of laughs. I am not known for my good luck. I feel a lot like Bella Swan when Edward says, “If we could bottle your luck, we'd have a weapon of mass destruction on our hands.” And I know why it happened. It’s all because I ratted on Brian not so long ago. But, anywho, Ammon and I had some errands to run last Tuesday. Now, one of the many quirks of our new home is the back door. It locks from the inside. It is my routine to always check and make sure that I have keys, etc. before we even get close to heading out the door. But, that day was one of those days. One of those scatterbrained, everything blows up in your face days. Ammon and I waltzed out of the door and I realized, just as I was closing the door, that my keys were inside. I screamed like I’ve never screamed before … so loud, in fact, that the people at the gas station on the corner looked down the road to see what was up. I have never – n.e.v.e.r – done anything like this before. I have n.e.v.e.r locked my keys in a.n.y.w.h.e.r.e . Just like my Never Been (Caused) in a Car Accident or Never Been Pulled Over by a Cop records, this is one that I am proud of. Luckily, I did have my cell phone and I was able to call Brian. Lucky still that he actually answered. And, most of all, lucky that he was where he could run home for a minute and unlock the door. Of course, Ammon and I had a nice little wait outside. This absolutely infuriated me because I had gone to painstaking efforts to stay inside all that week. You see, Brian and I had a special little treat coming up just the next day (which you will read about later). I wanted to have a great time … with no interference from my allergy woes. But – as expected – that 30 minutes of outside just about did me in. All because of some dang keys. All because I made fun of Brian. I guess I deserved it. It was my turn after all … and most certainly my luck.

We have had a little bit of – for lack of a better term – a development on our hands over the last week. In our new home, we have a fireplace. An old, very old fireplace that is no longer functional. It has been closed off – in a way. We have had a fireplace before – but not one with a real chimney, like this one. About a week ago, I started smelling something a little off. Not all the time, but sporadically. Brian didn’t notice anything and probably just chalked it up to my ‘overactive’ senses. Well, just prior to the weekend the – again, for lack of a better word – aroma got so bad that even Brian The Unaffected was, well, affected. We decided that the only possible explanation for such a thing was that some unmentionable something had chosen our chimney to be its final resting place. On Sunday, things got so bad that Brian removed the cover on the fireplace and attempted to extricate said something himself. He couldn’t see anything but the years of dirt and other whatnots that had just been piling up. Of course, once the cover was off the ‘aroma’ spread farther than the living room. We called our landlord yesterday, and he sent some guys over to look into it and a few other things. The cover was off for about an hour … and that lovely smell spread throughout the entire house. They better secured the cover over the fireplace with a horrendous smelling silicone something. Even though this smell was vile … it was so much better than the other. There is still some work to be done, so we are sort of in the middle stages of fixing the issue. We’re still dealing with it, but it isn’t as bad. Either way … we’ve been enduring some serious funk. Some serious funk that is about to kill us, too.

Despite our ever present pal, Decay, I had a lovely Mother’s Day. We were able to stay at our home this year, since we had visited with other family earlier in the weekend. Friday, we spent the afternoon with Brian’s grandparents and parents. We went to dinner at Circle Grille in Graceville with Brian’s mom and dad. Saturday, we went to Enterprise to see my mom and grandma. My Aunt Kaye was also in town, which was a treat. That evening we went into Dothan and did some shopping and went to dinner. On Sunday, I enjoyed my family. I was given a lovely card and a canister full of sour power (yum!). I also got The Young Victoria … which is such a good movie, by the way. My most precious gift, of course, is being a mom. It has its own rewards that are beyond measure. It is my greatest treasure and my greatest calling. And always will be.

Last Wednesday night, Brian and I had the opportunity of a lifetime. We went to Columbus for a … wait for it … ZZ Top concert. Ammon was a tad put out with us for not taking him, too … but we went anyway. As you know, the ZZ Top blood runs thick in Brian’s veins. He comes by it honestly. Ammon comes by it honestly. Brian called his uncle in Texas a few days before the concert and he told him that one of his dreams was coming true. He began to describe what he could possibly be talking about, to which his uncle replied, “Well, I can only think of one thing … and that would be the Top.” And it was – without a single solitary doubt – one of the very most awesome things we have ever – e.v.e.r – done. And probably will ever – e.v.e.r – do. Seriously. We have been to lots of concerts – Brian has certainly been to more than I have. But it is still a rare thing to feel that kind of energy. It was incredible. Purely fantastic. Seriously! I have nothing else to say. I am without speech. I should add, though, that I made a friend there. She looked exactly like Edna from The Incredibles:

… except she had blonde hair. And no younger than 60. I'm totally serious, people. And, she offered me her leftover marijuana. Yes, indeed, she did. At first, I thought that it was a cigarette … until she shoved it up my nose getting up from the step. And then, of course, there was no denying what it was. I do regret gagging in her ear … though I have a feeling she didn’t notice. But – again, and then a t.h.o.u.s.a.n.d times more – the show was just incredible. I know that we will be seeing them when they are in these parts again. The whole thing has me hankering for some Mexican food. Real, real bad…

This is Brian's Grandfather. He is '39' today.

Happy Birthday, Granddaddy. We love you so.

Sometimes, the best man for the job …

is a woman.

Happy Mother’s Day

my new life

meet the family

Say hello to Henry. You won’t see him much. So trust me when I say: Jump at these chances. They are rare.

Again – we rarely see Henry. He’s a flighty little thing – no pun intended. Unlike Penelope, he is v.e.r.y skittish. For instance, the other day I was measuring the window right by their nest – I sort of slipped off the chair and nearly flew through the windowpane … but Penelope didn’t even so much as flinch. As far as Henry is concerned, though – all one has to do is walk past the window and he gets all nervous and flies off … leaving the nest alone.

I have to admit … I’ve been a little hard on Henry and his gender throughout this experience. Brian has tried to defend little Henry – unsuccessfully. I have watched little Penelope lose herself in her calling. I watched yesterday as she sat on her nest all day in the pouring rain – being hammered continually by the downpours and wind. I’ve watched her go days at a time without leaving the nest for food. And then … there’s Henry. He who does his five minutes of servitude and then flees. But. I’ve had a change of heart. Because I have not only watched Penelope today – but also Henry – as they care for their sweetest babies. Yes. We have baby birds.

Can you see them? We've decided that this is a family of cardinals. After much internet research we've deduced that - even though Henry and Penelope are on the small side - that this is them. Of course, now, it is obvious. And we wonder in vain at what the confusion was before.

Henry and Penelope certainly chose a prime place to call home. Their nest is snuggled up high in this camellia bush … carefully protected from every hazard – to include my camera. We can hardly see them, but we know that they are there. We have loved observing this happening of nature. This miracle of life. True – we’re glad these two chose our home to be theirs, too.

the switch

Well … it’s done.

After much debate, Brian and I decided to convert Ammon’s crib to a toddler bed. We were planning to do this before we found out we were moving – and then, of course, chose to wait until we were settled in our new home.

For a while now, Ammon has been in the middle of that he-could-stay-he-could-go phase. I – of course – have lost sleep about moving him to a toddler bed. It’s a thought that scared me a lot. He is so small – and such an incredibly rough sleeper. Seriously. You would have to see it to believe it. I wondered if he would ever even stay in his bed, too. I never really worried about nighttime; however, naptime had me nervous. And then, of course, there’s the whole loss of confinement. I – when I’m at the end of my rope – have been known to depend on the gridiron bars of that crib. Not out of neglect – but desperation. Most importantly, though, was the knowledge that this act would officially catapult my baby into toddlerhood. Something that makes me sad. And again … scares me just a bit.

But – I was reminded again that my baby boy must grow up. And will grow up despite my best efforts. So … Sunday was the day. Brian converted the crib – removing the front panel and adding on that little, tiny guard rail. Ammon helped him out, naturally … and was so proud of his new big boy bed. To quote him, “Wow … neat!”

Within seconds, he had arranged all of his buddies, blankets and pillows … and had mastered the art of climbing in and out. He also attempted – only once, because I was eyeing him very carefully – to climb onto the guard rail and jump off.

The switch was made after his afternoon nap that day – so his first rendezvous with his new bed was that night. When we put him to bed … he was giddy with excitement. This new bed was proof to him that he was r.e.a.l big. We had taken every precaution – that we could think of – to keep him from inadvertently falling out. We barricaded the opening. We layered blankets and quilts on the floor, just in case. We mentioned it in our family prayer that night. You name it, we did it.

And … he stayed put. For a couple of hours, anyway.

To explain the sound that Brian and I heard from the living room, I can only say that it was like a gunshot. We’re talking loud. Clearly, he had landed directly on the hardwood floor – and not on the blankets that we laid out for a good two feet around his bed. Brian and I ran right in there – but, in that short minute, there was already a good ole' knot on Ammon’s forehead. It looked like someone had cut a golf ball in half, painted it bright purple, and glued it to his forehead. And – obviously – he wasn’t happy.

Ammon already had some painkillers in his system, luckily. He screamed like he has never screamed before. He was clearly scared out of his wits – he had been asleep when he hit the floor. Finally, he shrieked for juice. I got him some ice water, and he slowly started to calm down. Brian sat down with him in my big chair and I put together an ice pack. After about 30 minutes of ice – and a blessing from his daddy – the swelling in Ammon’s head started to go down. But the kaleidoscope of colors on his forehead were still ever present.

While they were rocking, I went into Ammon’s room to assess the situation. I tried to recreate what had happened – figuring out that he had somehow rolled completely over the guard rail and flown about three feet away from his bed, landing upside down on his forehead. I thought through all of this and made a couple of changes to his bedding that I thought had caused the problem. Of course, this wasn’t going to stop Ammon’s wild sleeping habits – he is just going to have to learn his limitations, I guess.

We put him back to bed after a while. He looked up through those impossibly long eye lashes of his and gave us a look that clearly said, “This is all your fault.” Of course, changing his bed had been our idea. As keen as Ammon had been about the whole affair, I’m sure that he now thinks that this big bed stuff isn’t so great after all. But – despite whatever was going on is his beat-up head – he slept the rest of the night without a problem. This is his knot and bruise the day after, eventhough the photo doesn't do it justice:


Since this episode, Ammon hasn’t fallen out of his bed again. He stayed in his bed for both of his naps yesterday and slept all night. Today – hasn’t been the same story. After moaning at his baby-gate for about 2 hours, this is what I found:

All in all – even with the bumps and bruises – this has been good for Ammon. I’ve noticed some changes in him that are just grand. He is exhibiting a desire to be a little more self-sufficient. He is showing us that he can handle these changes. Of course, there have been some behavioral adjustments that haven’t been so groovy, but … we’ll take what we can get.

In fact – this has been a good experience for us. We have proven to ourselves that we can handle these ‘growing up changes’. These obligatory developments that we must face sooner or later. This experience has shown us – has shown me – that maybe we can handle the other changes that loom on our horizon. Like potty training.

A quote from Teeny Little Super Guy – of old school Sesame Street fame – comes to my mind: “It isn’t too scary. Just … scary enough."

here ye, here ye

All you girls – you know who you are – know that we talked about this a long, lonnngg time ago. Like first Twilight party, long time ago. I’m posting this here because I’d like to get more folks involved, if possible. Our numbers have dwindled majorly … and we need bodies. New blood. Fresh meat.

We talked about starting a monthly – girls only – get-together. We would do it on a rotating basis – taking turns being hosts. The original concept was to do a craft each time – either have a crop, have/teach an organized craft, or each just bring whatever they’re working on individually. I think, however, that we can take it up a notch and not limit ourselves to just crafts. I say we can do just about whatever we want to – have a game night, watch a movie, just stuff our faces. You get the picture.

I’d like to know what you girls think about this. I know many people have given me some suggestions already – just with things/projects that I do, that they would like to learn, or subjects they would like me to teach on. I want to know what your ideas are. What types of things would you like to bring to the table? What types of things would you like to learn? What types of things would you like to do?

I won’t do open invitations for these get-togethers on this blog, for obvious reasons. It will be personal invitation only. So – if you are interested, please let me know … and we’ll be sure to include you. The more the merrier!

‘more room’ is the name, organization’s the game

I took the opportunity to re-organize some things while unpacking at the new house. I at least took the chance to make a list of things that needed to be done. Since I’m not quite ready to share pictures of our new house in all its glory – I thought that I would share two little things that I’ve been working on in the mean time. Two bits of organization that make life in our home so, so much better.

This is our mud room. Okay. It isn’t really intented to be a mud room. But I’ve always wanted one, so that’s what we call it. This is the room adjacent to our kitchen – those fab shelves were existing. Our back door is here – the one that we use the most – and we have some shelves and baskets on the other side of the room where we keep shoes, strollers, outside toys and all our bags (diaper bag, camera bag, school bag, church bag, etc.). When we moved in, I had no idea what I would use these shelves for. It wasn’t until I realized how completely wacky the kitchen cabinets were, that inspiration struck. So … welcome to my makeshift pantry. My favorite things? My pasta jars, of course. Love those straight lines. I also use this extra shelving for all of our music (sheet music, music books, guitar tabs, etc.), Brian’s old school books, cook books, etc.. My coupon box is here, along with our ‘calendar slot box’ where we keep bills to be paid, etc.. On the other side of this built-in unit is my craft room – which, of course, is so not ready for sharing.

These are a portion of Brian and Ammon’s Transformers. Each Transformer has its own box – and there are at least four boxes in each of these bins. This is a hobby that the boys share ... sans me. I have learned the names of all of these ‘robots in disguise’ – and even learned to ‘fix’ a few of them after they have been stepped on. However, lots of them have multiple pieces once you figure in all the weapons, missiles, boosters, energon stars, etc.. I got tired of wasting limited time trying to figure out who went with whom ... after I unearth the bits from the bottom of my foot. So – for Happy Home Feeling (or Family Home Evening) a couple of weeks ago, Brian and I sat down and went through each of these babies – one by one – and I typed up their names, models (Generation 1, 1st movie, 2nd movie, etc.) and what extra somethings that they have. I added their ‘symbol’ – either Autobot or Decepticon – and printed them up on clear labels. I try to keep the boxes in some type of order in the bins – but that’s a little less realistic. We try to keep all the Autobot Aerialbots and Decepticon Constructicons together at least, because they are all part of a set. But, whatever order they're in – unsurprisingly – my boys are more than satisfied.

Voilà. Craziness managed. On to the next.

birds of a feather

This week has been a hazy one here for the Thomases Three. Looking back on it – the week has completely flown by. And yet, as I recall, each moment seemed like an eternity. I’ve yet to figure out how that works.

My allergies continue to overpower with a vengeance. I’m trying not to complain too much, though, because – after two days of absolute quarantine – I can now see, breathe and hold my head up. My eyes – after last night’s flare-up, anyway – are no longer swollen and fiery. My headache has kept itself at bay for a day or so. All in all – I’m a happy indoor camper.

Ammon has two new favorite phrases. He now refers to just about everything as, ‘this guy’. “I want this guy”, “Who’s this guy”, “What about this guy”. He also whispers – ever so quietly – “It’s okay”. When doing this, he usually puts his finger over his mouth and says, “Shh” first. Of course, it looks like he’s picking his nose, instead. For instance, last night – when driving home and looking for the moon – he kept saying, “Moon, where’d it go?” Once he found it, he whispered, “Shh. It’s okay.”

Ammon and I have only ventured out once this week. I hate keeping him cooped up inside, but my head just can’t handle it. After only two minutes, I’m clawing at my face and my nose resembles a faucet. But the weather has been so nice. It's been fairly cool during the day with a nice breeze. In this part of the country, it's u.n.h.e.a.r.d of for it to be this late in the year and still be – even remotely – nice outside. Usually, we're alreay wishing for death. So – after we could stand it no longer – we went outside for a bit on Wednesday. While Ammon played, I decided to tackle the brick encasing around our gravel driveway. It looks like those bricks were just thrown down willy-nilly quite a long time ago – and they look pre-etty janky. Blame it on the OCD, but – I’ve been wanting to straighten them up and turn them on their sides so that the gravel is better contained. This will require me to push back all the gravel, dig up the bricks, dig a new trench and, in some places, reroute the driveway a bit. Obviously, this is one of those ‘it’ll take a while’ jobs. That afternoon, I finished one short side. And, I – of course – immediately regretted it. Hence the aforementioned ‘two-day quarantine’. We unfortunately skipped playgroup yesterday – but, I’m feeling a tad better today. And … the driveway already looks better.

Ammon and I had a visitor this morning from a member of my family that I’ve never met. My grandpa’s cousin lives in Abbeville – just down the road from us, in fact – and she stopped by to see us this morning. Our house was a wreck, Ammon was in his jammies with a juice mustache and graham crackers caked up at the corner of this mouth, and I was still in my jammies with bed-head and Vicks under my nose. Needless to say, we looked like a hot mess. But, it was surely nice of this sweet lady to stop by. She brought some cookies and commented on how nice we had the place looking – especially the yard. Of course, this made me feel good … because we have worked very hard to make this house our home.

Getting used to the different layout of this house has been tricky at times. Having farther to go for certain things is hard to remember sometimes. For instance, at our old house, when you were in the shower and forgot that you were out of something, it was easy to just jump out and get a new something from under the sink. Because everything was on top of everything else – it wasn’t a very far trip. But now, we have a linen closet. And it’s out in the hallway outside the bathroom. A much farther trip. Sometimes, I still do jump out of the shower and make the cold dash for the closet. I especially remembered to do it last week when I had forgotten to put more shampoo in the shower. Because, one shower prior, Brian’s shampoo had done some serious damage to my hair. For some reason, I forget to restock supplies in the shower right away – like my body wash. Yes. Sometimes I make a run for it. But, sometimes I’m just too darn lazy. That’s why today I’m reeking to high heaven of a ‘classic masculine scent’.

In the camellia bush outside of our dining room window is a tiny little bird’s nest. Ammon and I sit and watch it sporadically throughout the day. There is a little momma bird that stays in the nest most all of the time. Do you see her? We’ve – of course – named her and the daddy bird: Penelope and Henry. Ammon is fascinated with them – always saying, “Shh” when we get close so we don’t scare them away. We’ve watched Penelope feather her nest – adding little twigs and pieces of paper and straw. Just the right touches to make it just right. We’ve watched her fondly eyeing her eggs before she fluffs up her bottom feathers and snuggles down in her nest. We watched her carefully eye any other bird that gets too close. We’ve watched her carefully survey her surroundings and make sure all is well and safe before she leaves her nest. We’ve listened to her quietly chirp and sing to no one in particular, clearly content with her lot in life – I tell Ammon that she’s singing lullabies.

As I’ve watched Penelope, I’ve marveled at the ‘mothering instinct’. She is a bird. I am a human being. And yet – aren’t we, as mothers, so similar?

As mothers, we nurture, teach and protect. We safeguard our homes from the dangers of the outside world. These same things that sweet little Penelope does to her nest, I am asked to do with my home. For my family. It isn’t something that is ‘easy’ for me, I’ve found. It isn’t something that ‘comes naturally’, so much as I would like it to. I have to work at it. Every day. Every hour. Even every minute. As much as I love my home and my family – as much as I love my child – this ‘calling’ has been a difficult one for me to fully grasp. I am eternally grateful to be a mother – and yet I often feel that I am nothing more than a babysitter. A very cheap babysitter. And an unwanted one, at that.

I’ve quietly watched as others have taken ‘better care’ of my child. I’ve quietly wondered why he listens to others and not to me. I’ve quietly wondered why he prefers his dad. I dealt with Postpartum Depression for over a year after Ammon was born. I’ve been doing much better for the last six months or better – but, recently the fear that I might be regressing a little has been ever present.

I’ve decided that that isn’t the case. In the last several weeks I have had many experiences that have put my relationship with my husband and child into sharper focus. I’ve decided there isn’t anywhere to put the blame. The ‘problems’ that I face are not there because of my self-conscious nature. They aren’t there because I’m feeling sorry for myself. They aren’t there because there is something wrong. Maybe, all I need to do is try harder. And not just try harder at the logistical things. But trying harder to see. Try harder to see the good things. Like the times that Ammon does listen to me when we’re out in public. Or the times that he and I have a really good day. Or just the times that he comes to me for comfort – and I can instantly quiet his fears. When I sit and take notice of those good times – I find that they happen more often than not. The times that I am a ‘bad mom’ are far outweighed by the times when I am good at it. Granted, I fall short many days. I’m far from perfect – and I am assuredly not a perfect parent. But, I should give myself some credit. I don’t screw up the majority of the time. I’ve tried to implement some changes over the last few days, and – I’m comforted to report – we’ve had much better days. I’ve had much better days. What a difference it makes to do something so small as to say, “Just a minute” a little bit less.

A little something happened a couple of weeks ago that – in its own way – reassured me that there may be hope for me yet. We were down at Brian’s grandparents’ for a family reunion that we have every year to honor his great-grandmother, Claudie. Ammon had become fascinated with Granddaddy’s lawn mower, and sat on it for most of the afternoon. At one point, he was sitting on the seat with Brian standing right there with him. I was sitting in a row of chairs in front of the mower. Ammon slipped off the seat and bounced off about four things before sliding – upside down – toward the ground. I – without thinking – lunged backwards, reached through the small space between two chairs and grabbed Ammon by the shoulder/neck, right before his head hit the concrete. Brian made a comment about ‘a mom’s cat-like reflexes’, while his dad, Larry, said, “And that’s how the pros do it.” Now, of course, this was a potentially scary situation – and it was scary even though, ultimately, no harm was done. But, I didn’t panic or feel the terror of the situation until afterwards. It wasn’t my impressive reflexes that caught my attention so much as my father-in-law’s comment. It was nothing big. And yet, it was what I needed to hear.

No mother is perfect. No mother is good at her job every single second of every single day. And yet, I know many wonderful mothers who try to be the best that they can be. Incredible nurturers who start anew each day – with new resolve to be better. I know many women – mothers or not – who do incredible things. Motherhood isn’t a glamorous job. And yet, I’m glad it’s mine. I’m glad I have the opportunity to rise above my imperfect human nature and selfishness. I know that perfection is not expected of me in this life. But I am expected to try my best. And I’ve decided that I can do that. Because I have others counting on me to be the best that I can be. Counting on me to try.