Showing posts from January, 2015

He Built Me a Table

When my husband and I were in our "early years," we had no shortage of romance in our relationship. We were living in New York City, and we literally had nothing. But yet, we had everything . The entire world was new to us, and we were so in love. NYC can be an extraordinarily romantic place. Exploring its treasures was exciting, and when we did spend our money, we went big. A helicopter ride over the city. A day long excursion touring the wineries of Long Island. Dinner and a Broadway show. It was all so romantic. And yet, that is not what romance is.  In the last six years, I have moved across county. I have bought a house, sold a house, and bought another house. I have grown three children from scratch and birthed them. I have lost a grandfather and my cat. And yet, somehow my life has still been full of romance.  No, my husband is not constantly wining and dining me, bringing me flowers and chocolates and writing me little love notes. Sometimes, he does ,

Cinnamon Toast Crunch vs Organic Graham Crunch

We usually don't let our kids pick out cereal. Period. Usually, our cereal purchasing follows two criteria. It's available in the Costco cereal aisle.  It's something either Cheerios or Kashi branded.  So this Saturday during our weekly trip to the store, it was a big deal that my husband said the kids could pick their cereal. They pointed to the shelf, and my husband picked up the Organic Graham Crunch by Cascadian Farm .  Big mistake! Within 1.3 seconds there were real, physical salty wet tears streaming down my children's faces.  "NOT THAT ONE!!"  Their little fingers were pointing towards the tried and true Cinnamon Toast Crunch .  At least point I'm pretty sure we had already reached our limit of two meltdowns per Costco  trip. We've learned to choose our battles.  Let's get them both! We will see which one we like the best.  And that is how, while my husband was sick and we had no plans this weekend, we decide

The Trouble with Spoiled Babies

I'm about to be in big trouble, y'all. Today is Harper's 316th day on this planet, and I am still rocking her to sleep every day and night. Every. Single. Time. It can't be anyone else either. It has to be me. It has to be mama. Because she needs me. Because no one else can possibly know how to do it right. Soon after Harper was born, a friend told me that in France babies sleep so much better, and are overall better babies and perfect little darlings because their parents start making them cry it out in the night at 4 months old. What?! French people sound evil. 4 months old just seemed entirely too soon to me. I never started to make my babies tough it out until they were at least 7 months old. And apparently this time around I let that 7 month mark fly by. I'll stick it to those French folks. Show them how compassionate this little Virginian is. But seriously. I keep rocking her, because she could be our last baby. She could be the last one who needs

I'm not me when I'm not writing

I took a two year hiatus. What happened? I'm not sure... but my children keep multiplying. First there was one, and now somehow there are three. Beautiful Amelia, 5 years old. Light of my life. Will be going to kindergarten in the fall. I'm not sure whether to cry or throw up. I cannot believe how fast five years can fly by. Tristan. He will be 3 in two weeks. Not yet potty trained. He's trying but stubborn as a mule. He told his father that pooping in his diaper makes him happy. That's correct folks. My son literally said that crapping his pants brings him joy. Sorry little man, but it's about time that you enter reality. A reality in which you stink... you seriously stink and everyone knows the smell is coming from you.  Someday, my entire house will not smell like human waste.  Do you ever think that you've got your act together, only to return home after running errands and realizing that your whole house smells like POOP? That it must have smell