wedge withdrawals

Olivia asked me today if she could play with my "high heels". Perhaps she should have said "can I play with your shoes that are probably a little bit age-inappropriate for a 43-year-old mother of three".

Anyway, at least they are seeing some action instead of continuing to collect dust under my bed.

I'm a little sad about the wedges...I love those shoes. Can someone please get married or invite me to go dancing so I have a reason to wear them?

thank you, gary

The Pinkstons :)

What a beautiful day in Ashland, Oregon. A perfect day for a celebration of life, I'd say.

After a chilly morning, the sun came out, and we enjoyed a stunning day in a breathtakingly beautiful location. We might be a little more ga-ga than most, having come from the sandy, rocky, spine-y 110 degree heat; but even the locals went on about how the sun shone for Gary today.

(I should clarify that we've known the Moores since my mom started working for Gary at the Bartlesville Community Center back in the 80's, and our families moved together to Phoenix in the late 80's  where mom mom and Gary worked together at the new Herberger Theater Center. Our families are very close and have been through quite a bit together.)

There are two things that I wasn't quite able to get out last night that I think I can share now. One is the overwhelming feeling of witnessing, last night, the incredible legacy that Gary left behind. I saw love. I saw the deepest kind of friendship. I saw beautiful parents. I saw children who found their way (and I mean both Moore kids and Pinkston kids, by the way).

The other was when my mom and I were talking with one of Gary's daughters, and mom was talking about how Gary always forced her (my mom) to believe in herself. Gary believed there was nothing she couldn't do. And, as Gary was prone to do, he gave her that gift when she needed it most. He believed in her, and eventually, my mom finally began to believe in herself.

Talk about an epiphany. I welled up and could barely speak.

"Oh my god. I married Gary."

And I did. At a time when things with my own father were going south very quickly, Gary quietly filled the role of a supporter and father figure to our entire family. It was a time when I was in a rocky place, during my fourth year of college at ASU, making questionable decisions and choices that still baffle me. I was disconnected; finding solace (or perhaps hiding?) in the dance clubs and dive bars of Tempe; finding myself drawn to men who were in no way looking out for my best interests; blowing off classes, responsibilities and commitments I'd made; and, worst of all, ruining valuable relationships with people who I miss dearly to this day.

When I hit my "rock bottom", I had to drop out of school just 4 classes short of my degree and move home. Gary gave me a job, and I house sat for them to earn extra money. Gary and Sandye loaned me their car when I needed to move. Whatever I needed, they were there. And I mean - perhaps even more critically - there emotionally, too; supporting, loving, cheering me on. It was a generosity I did not in any way deserve, and I feel shame about it to this day; so much so that it can keep me up at night when I think about it a lot.

But the most important thing that Gary and Sandye did during this time was to take care of my mother and sister, who were still at home with my very ill father, when I should have been helping to do it myself. I have so many regrets from this time in my life; and I struggle with this more than anyone knows, although I've not really spoken about it before.

These were selfish years for me, and they were the years when my father's alcoholism finally tore him away from my mother and our family for good.  And this is when Gary and Sandye took us all under their wings and carried us, just as long as we needed to be carried. I am so thankful...although that doesn't begin to describe the level of the gratitude I feel. You can only dream that you might be able to reciprocate the kind of support and friendship they showed us during this time. You can only pray that you have an opportunity to carry them in the same way.

It took me a couple of years to shake my bad habits and my demons and fully pull out of it. And I'm convinced it all turned around the day I met Larry. He is to me what Gary was to my mom, as a friend. He believes in me, and thinks there's nothing I can't do. And although it's taken several years, he finally has me believing in myself.

Thank you, Gary, for another gift; again, one that I sometimes wonder if I really deserve. Without the example you set in my mother's life, I might not have realized what I had stumbled into the evening that chatty film student approached me on the bench in front of Fat Tuesdays in Tempe so many years ago.

And did I mention? Gary and Sandye's wedding gift to Larry and me was a week stay at their bed and breakfast here in Ashland, the Morical House. So Larry and I honeymooned here, and visited this very lake as newlyweds. Another generous gift I never was quite sure I deserved; but for which I was so, so thankful. A magical place, this is.

As I write this, I feel selfish again, because here I am talking about myself when there were so many people at that beautiful celebration today who were touched by him just as deeply as I was. There was nobody, and I mean nobody, who didn't love Gary.
___________________________________________

At the celebration today, I was sitting with my mom, brother, sister and one of Gary's daughters, and we were enjoying the sunshine and delicious bar-b-que, chatting away. Right in front of us, there was a seagull that landed and waddled up to the group. I had stepped away for a moment, but when I came back they told me about how the seagull started chirping, like it was talking, and then made a noise almost as if it was laughing at them.

I looked at my mom immediately, because she and I kind of share a special gift, and because I know she believes the same kinds of things I believe. I said quietly,

"Mom, Gary is visiting us right now."

I believe in my heart that Gary was with that seagull, because he wanted to make sure we knew he was there with us today. It stuck around most of the afternoon, flying over the ramada and walking up close to all the guests.

And okay, I understand that skeptics may say it's just a scavenger bird who thought he might get a few scraps of the delicious pulled pork. But whether you believe he was with the seagull, or in heaven, or in spirit...hopefully he now sees how very many lives he touched.

In my case, I hope he knows about my regrets, and how desperately I hope to make it up to him one day...how very thankful I am for the love, friendship and generosity he gave to our family...and, of course, for the enduring friendship and legacy of his beautiful family.

air ninja warrior, meet oregon

Kind of overwhelmed right now, and really, really, really tired. But I could not go to bed without at least telling you about Air Ninja.

It's also been one of those fill-your-spiritual-cup-to-the-brim evenings, and while I am still not quite sure how to put it all into words...I have to try to write about it, at least a little bit.

My mother, brother, sister and I are in Ashland, Oregon to celebrate the life of a very, very dear friend. I hesitate to say even that - the Moores really are family. Gary passed away earlier this year, and asked his family to, instead of having a funeral, throw a big party on what would have been his 70th birthday (tomorrow). We have all decided that, as usual, Gary totally got it right; I'd be willing to bet that we all ask our families to do the same when our time comes.

I should start at the beginning. Which was 4:30 in the morning, after not being able to sleep the night before, so after like maybe three and a half hours of sleep? Even all the Diet Coke in the world can't fix that, so I am an early morning delight, to say the least. Met mom and sis at the airport, and we boarded our US Airways flight bound for Sacramento.

Air Ninja, protector of the skies

And fyi, we were traveling with a superhero. Just before they called our boarding zone, M starts pulling on her compression sleeve. As you know M is a breast cancer survivor (woot!), and had many lymph nodes (if not all? I can't remember, and I'm worried that makes me a less than supportive sister) removed from her left armpit. As a result, these are necessary, although I am not 100% clear on the medical explanation of what happens if she doesn't wear them (again...I should know this).

JY may call her Allen Iverson, but her hair hasn't quite grown out long enough to rock the braids. We prefer Air Ninja.

Happy to report that ninja skills were not called into action, other than to retrieve a fallen creamer container from mom's coffee, who is sitting to her left across the aisle. Oh, and to turn the US Weekly magazine pages.

Next is the drive from Sacramento to Ashland. Somebody's boss (*cough cough*) told us to expect 75 MPH, a five lane highway, gorgeous all the way, and like three hours. Well, we are thinking this individual may have spent too much time in Weed (a real town we passed - "Weed, next 3 exits"), because it was more like 5 hours, 65 MPH the whole way, and up until Redding, nasty traffic with lots of trucks and fields.

WATER!!!

From Redding to Ashland was, however, stunning. We were in awe of Mt. Shasta - covered in snow, standing majestically in the distance. And then  Lake Shasta, that went on, and on, and on, and on, and where I totally want to vacation every year from now on.

We're all like, water! Snow! Look ma, we're not in the desert any more! It really was a lovely drive. And what's not to love about traveling with my Mom and sister? Nothing. That's right. (Except that the rental car was not equipped with satellite radio, and we forgot a cable for our iPods, which we have declared a non-negotiable for all future trips).

The big celebration is tomorrow at the lake; but we spent tonight with the Moores, having a drink first at Sandye's (Gary's wife), then dinner at the home of one of their four daughters, Peyton, and her partner, who also live in Ashland with their five children.

Momma, wine and Ashland :)

Okay, there are two very important elements to this photo. One, my mom having a much-deserved glass of wine. I love seeing her kick it and relax here with Sandye. While we are saying goodbye to Gary, really, it already feels like a celebration. This was his home, and there's no doubt in my mind he was there with us.

Two, would you please look at the view out her window? Right? The hills, the green - it's breathtaking.

Larry, just pack up the kids and all our stuff and come on up here, because I'm not sure I can leave.

I'm going to have to shorthand the rest because I cannot keep my eyes open much longer. Plus, I'm still searching for the right words, and don't think I've found them yet. The story is too long for one post. There is a connection between our two families that is palpable when you walk in the room, even if it's been, oh, 17, 18, 19 years since you've seen each other. We just looked at each other and cried. And hugged. And cried. And then talked each others' ears off. What is it they say about friends being the family you choose? You know what I mean.

Peyton and Denise's vegetable garden. Gorgeous.

Wine, margaritas, burgers, a firepit, and a truly delightful, and special, evening reconnecting with people who we hold very, very close in our hearts.

This weekend is going to be over way too soon.

chatty

Olivia, a.k.a. The Fastest Mouth in the West

Sometimes, writers have been known to embellish or exaggerate a little bit, for the sake of the story. But what I'm about to tell you is in no way enhanced.

I spent the day with my daughter today, and she did not stop talking. Ever.

She's a girl, she's 8, she's got a memory like a steel trap, she's extremely opinionated, and she's the youngest in a family of five looking for valuable airtime. These five elements, combined, produce enough material to keep stories, comments, and declarations coming, rapid fire, for at least six hours straight. Confirmed, today.

I'm leaving town on Friday for four days, so I wanted to make sure we had some quality time together before I go. So while the boys were at Sunsplash (they'd rather rock the waterslides than shop for travel sized toothpaste - frankly, I would too), Liv and I spent some time noodling around the shops looking for the few things I needed for my trip. And it is safe to say that between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m., when I dropped her off at ballet, there was not more than 10 consecutive seconds of dead air at any given time.

I tried so hard to engage at that level. She is a pro. Tried to be interested and responsive to everything she was saying. Quality time, right? But as luck would have it,  she is the daughter of a kind of shy, quiet mom. (I'm beginning to think there may be a teensy weensy social anxiety disorder involved, but we'll talk about that another time) Too much verbal stimulation, when there are no cocktails involved, sends me into an anxiety induced coma. Even with my own offspring. Um, especially with my offspring.

Add to that the fact that I am mentally preparing for a trip - disaster. It takes me a good half hour to choose an entree off a menu; put me in front of the travel-size shampoo bins and I'm history. Do I need it? Will the hotel have it? Does it come in a 3.5 oz serving? If not, do I need to get a container? All these questions for each item, because I do not want to go to Walmart more than once. So as I concentrate on these critical details...

"Hey Mom! Look at this adorable hair tie. Lily has one just like it. You know what? Lily gets to wear hang down earrings. I loooove hang down earrings. I sure wish I could wear hang down earrings.

"Hey Mom! They have spray sunscreen. I like spray sunscreen so much better than the lotion. Can we go to the pool when we get home?

"Hey Mom! What ride do you think Griffin and Connor are on right now?

"Hey Mom! Do you think we should start to think about school supplies? I can't wait for the fourth grade. I've gotten so tall. I'm almost taller than Mrs. Jimenez. Do you think I'll get Mrs. Jimenez in 6th grade like Griffin and Connor?"

And on. And on. And on.

And every time she interrupts my thoughts I have to start at the beginning again. Okay, I need a container for my spray conditioner, and one for my hairspray, but I need to grab a travel sized can of mousse...

God bless my baby girl. She is just trying to fit it all in. Every last bit. And I'm trying so hard not to blow a gasket.

But the truth is, overall, we're having a lovely day. When she isn't having to jockey for position (Read: she has me all to herself), she doesn't have to employ any of the irritating tactics like whining, tattling, or hollering. And she was so polite, and thoughtful, and made such a concentrated effort to be good. One of those "oh my god, she actually paid attention those 437 times I told her to do that" days. At one point I said something under my breath about spending more than I'd intended, and she very genuinely offered to give me the $1 she had in her wallet. Sweet baby.

So no, I didn't blow a gasket. I took a deep breath, counted to 10, and haphazardly grabbed what I thought I probably needed for my trip. And then we went to Culver's for cheese curds, because I'm not an emotional eater at all.

When it gets right down to it, they just love us so much and want so desperately to please us. And way, way too often, she gets pushed to the side. Again - the curse of the youngest child. When I think about my oldest son's nighttime routine as a little boy, and then think of what hers has been...can you say guilt? Griffin got two stories, in a lap, every night until he was in at least first grade. Olivia was lucky to get three a week. You can throw out 100 different excuses and reasons why, but no matter how you look at it, when the kids grow up and compare notes...it ain't gonna look too good.

It's textbook, but it's true, and I know I'm going to try a lot harder to be patient with her, even when it means engaging in a six hour conversation. I can do it...

Love you, sweet pea xx

getting girls

(In order for this post to make sense, you need to know the story of my boy, which most of you do...his NLD, being bullied throughout elementary school and 7th grade, and our moving him to a small performing arts charter school in 8th, which changed his life, quite literally.)

So one of G's best friends has a new girlfriend. So interesting to watch from the guy end of things - since I'm a girl and experienced it (well...theoretically, as I never really dated anyone in high school) from a different perspective. His buddy is being so nice, trying to include G, but also making clear that he really, really, really likes to spend time with his girlfriend, too. G is handling it fine, and I think his friend is more worried about it than he is. Cute. At least his friend isn't being an asshole about it.

Well, today G was invited with Friend to Girlfriend's house to "get advice on getting girls". Seems they have made it their mission to help G hook up this summer. Which is fine, but I was a bit skeptical about the wisdom of this potential advice session. Laughing, also, that these 15 year olds are convinced they know what it takes. I held my tongue, only telling G that he is great just the way he is and not to feel like he had to change for anyone.

So early in the day, G's friend was at our house, and was helping him choose something out of his closet to wear. I was unclear - is this an educational session, or will there actually be girls there looking for a summer fling? Friend kept parading G out of his room in different outfits, helping him look "cool". Which is funny, because they were all his clothes he already wears anyway. I only piped up when he came out in a flannel shirt, considering it's over 100 degrees outside - no thanks, heat stroke, even in the name of hooking up.

G showered, did his hair, and looked quite handsome, if you ask me. And I dropped them off at Girlfriend's house.

He came home giddy, even though he'd been the third wheel - no one was there but Friend and Girlfriend. They'd gotten pizza, and some advice and, um, style tips had been shared and practiced.

My initial reaction? The "style tips" are going to remain between me, Larry and G. But suffice to say I tried very carefully to make him understand, for the 100th time, that he can be too trusting, too honest, too eager to please. Don't let people take advantage of you. Stand up for yourself.

He assured me that they were just being silly, but I was having none of it. He went upstairs, kind of deflated.

Understand, I really, really like his friends. They are good kids. But no one is off limits when it comes to protecting mine. It's like the blinders go on. Even though I think I know in my heart that they wouldn't hurt him intentionally, I am so programmed now to grasp at anything that might be a sign that someone is taking advantage. To a fault.

As I stewed on it for a while, I started to feel kind of bad, realizing I might have just totally burst his bubble. He is just now starting to venture out and have the friends and social experiences that most kids started having years ago, and now he's going to think he has to deal with me grilling him every time he comes home. When he did nothing wrong. I called him into my room.

"Buddy, I'm sorry if I kind of got on your case," I said to him.

"That's okay, Mom." And it was - he rarely gets upset about things. Forgiven, like that. So kind, that kid...this is why I feel like I have to be so careful.

"No, honey, it's really not. You had fun with your friends tonight and I totally turned it negative when you got home," I said. "You have to understand, for so long, people have take advantage of you, and I am immediately on the defensive, trying to protect you. I know these are your friends, and they care about you."

"Mom," he said, "We've talked about it. They used to be just like me. They never had any friends at school. They were just like me." And the unspoken words that I knew were in his head - that now, finally, he had friends who understand him, who are ready to wade with him through puberty and adolescence and awkward relationships and girls and guys and all that stuff. Who want to look out for him, even if they don't really know what they are doing, either.

Brick between the eyes.

I apologized to him again and tried to turn the conversation back around, so that he'd end the evening on a positive note. These kids don't want to hurt him. They want to help him. And if one looks like a dork, they all look like dorks, and let's be honest, most teenagers finding themselves look like dorks, so really, what's to worry about?

Nothing, if you've got good friends by your side.

Now, the radar is still on, if only turned down just a bit. I still worry when he says his friends have advised they go to the mall on Friday so G can work on meeting girls.

"You mean, you're meeting up with girls from school? Or like picking up on strangers?" I ask.

"I don't think anyone else is going. So I suppose they mean girls I don't know," he replied.

Oh, lord.

don't worry, be happy

Made a vow to myself today. For 24 hours, I'm going to do my very, very best not to worry.

And what, pray tell, are you worried about, you may ask?

I worry each time a grab a diet soda (which is several times a day), because of everything I've read about the horrible chemicals they contain, and the havoc they will wreak on my body.

Today I read a blog about parents' electronic connectivity and how it is disconnecting them from their children. Their list of 15 or so "symptoms"? Guilty, at some point, on each count. Now I'll worry about the time I spend on the computer or on my phone.

I worry about the food I buy for my family at the grocery store. Bacon? Breakfast cereal? Fruit snacks? Everything has something bad for us in it these days. Checking labels for this, that, and the other, it's tough to leave the store without having an anxiety attack.

Then that segment on the Today Show about not yelling at your kids. Really. They make it sound so easy. We are bombarded with well-meaning, and often good, advice about how to be the best parent we can be - which of course leaves me in constant worry that I'll never live up to the ideal parent I'm expected to be, and my kids are going to be scarred for life.

I'm worried about money. And college for my kids? Angling for scholarships - music for Griffin, academic for Connor, and Olivia, well, whatever she sets her mind to. So now I'll also worry about my ability to give them the opportunities they need to reach their potential.

I worry about my health.

Worried about how I'll keep my kids busy this summer.

Worried about getting enough freelance work.

Worried about tomorrow's deadline.

Worried that I am indeed in the early stages of perimenopause, which means of course hormone imbalance, mood swings, and god knows what else. So now I'll also worry about my poor husband and pushing him to his patience limits. In, um, many different ways.

And the list goes on. And on. And rarely does a day go by that most of these don't pass through my consciousness at some point and nag at me a little. It adds up. And so much of it is influenced by the over-abundance of information out there of how we should be properly working, eating, exercising, parenting, spending, saving, etc.

So I really did decide this morning that I'm going to do the things I can do to control what needs controlling today, and to let go of the rest. It's hard, but when you decide that the glass is going to be half full, the blessings are easier to find.

Went to Griffin's school this morning to pay for his yearbook and tickets to his upcoming production. I've been worried (there's that word again) about getting it done on time, and about the fact that I have to write two more checks for another $75. Nagging at me for days. But once I went in there, I got a huge smile from the receptionist who asked me about my kids, and who immediately pulled out the ticket information because she knows I'm Griffin's mom and knew why I was there. Then the principal popped his head out, and we had a quick and very rewarding exchange about my son.

Headed then to Target to get mother's day cards (worried I wouldn't get them in the mail on time) and a gift for a birthday party (another tic on the mounting to do list that I was worried I wouldn't get done), and lo and behold I run into a good friend and we clog up the shoe aisle for a good 20 minutes chatting. Good friends - the best medicine.

There's still plenty on my plate to worry about. But it won't do me one bit of good to brood over it 24/7. It makes me cranky with my kids and it shuts me down from my husband. Besides, what if a meteor hits my house tomorrow? Will I regret how I spent that last 24 hours?

If it hits tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be good.

beans on toast

This afternoon was one my meticulously timed masterpieces of parental carpooling. Olivia had dance class from 4 - 6. I had to pick Griffin up from rehearsal (his school is doing "Hairspray", and he's Corny Collins - can't wait) at 6, and I had to have Connor at the high school at 6:15 for his final band concert of the year. Throw in a necessary conversation with Griffin's director and the need to pick Larry up at the house (remember, he's doing public transport and bike) before going to Connor's concert - oh, plus a huge rainstorm, which we never get in Phoenix, and therefore resulted in the inevitable wreck with closed off roads right in the middle of our route (not making this up) - and it was a nutty, crazy, insane hour in the car.

(For the record - picked everyone up on time, and made it everywhere we needed to be on time. I'm good.)

Anyway, since no one was home at the time except me and Connor, and he wasn't hungry, and we were going to have such an insane evening, I made the executive decision to prepare dinner for the family after Connor's band concert. It would be late, but surely all would survive.

So we listened to the Gilbert Junior High School 7th grade band play The Lion King, and of course I cried. Then the 8th grade band played Star Wars, and I'm sure Larry teared up. After snapping a few pictures in the foyer, we headed to the car to go home.

And the natives were restless. Very, very restless.

"Mom! I'm soooo hungry!...What's for dinner?...Can we stop at Freddy's?...I want to go out to dinner!...OHMIGOD I can't wait, I am so hungry!!...I'm going to DIE!"

I tried to throw out an answer or two - one of which was no, we aren't going out to dinner, that costs money and I just spent a small fortune to buy tickets to your sister's dance recital after spending enough on lessons and costumes to pay off my car - but they were having none of it. It was an official hyperactive bitch-fest.

"Okay," I say in my loud and authoritative mother tone, the one I pull out for emergencies, "that's it. We're having beans on toast for dinner. Now shut. up."

I was kidding, actually. I had some some pre-cooked carnitas in the fridge that I could nuke in five minutes. Chop some onions and cilantro, warm up a can of refried beans, and you have a Mexican feast on your hands in a flash.

But they didn't know that. So - moans. Groans. Complaints. More pleas to go out for dinner.

"What is beans on toast, mom?"
"What do you think it is? Beans and toast."
"You're not really going to feed us that." "No way." "I hate beans." "Yuk."

Guess what we had for dinner?

Looks like we'll be having our carnitas feast tomorrow night. And they got the full-on lecture, including the part about the starving kids in Africa.

And you know what? They got the message, loud and clear. And ate every last bite. Turns out they don't hate beans so much after all, especially when they are starving. And Larry and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The meal, that is, not torchering our children. Although we were feeling pretty smug.

20 minutes for me

I've made a decision. I have been working hard all day, and as a treat I am going to watch the third period of the Coyotes' playoff game tonight without multitasking.

Period one, I clipped coupons and went through 5 days' worth of mail. Most of period two was spent shuttling kids through showers and putting about 20 braids in Olivia's hair so that she can have a totally 80's crimped hairdo tomorrow.(How cool is she, having the confidence to rock that look in the 3rd grade in 2012?)

Period three, by god, I am going to curl up on my bed in my cozy bedroom and watch the Coyotes beat the Predators and make it to the western conference finals for the first time ever.

How often we deny ourselves the opportunity to truly relax and lose ourselves in something for an hour or so? Um, constantly? It could be the hockey game, American Idol, Us Weekly, anything - we never do it, or if we do, we either multitask or become consumed with guilt for the large number of things we leave undone.

You don't need me to tell you it's good for you to break away and take time for yourself. We see and hear about it all the time from watching experts on Today Show segments...as we fold the laundry.

Take a break ladies.

Okay, it's on!


GO YOTES!!

Epilogue: Of course, once I'd settled in, the entire family and both dogs joined me to watch, and it wasn't exactly my fantasy 20 minutes of focused sports bliss. Ah, well, love them, so it's okay.

today's horoscope

My horoscope today:

The pressure is on.
So just remember who you are.

I think this is meant to be comforting. Like, take comfort in who you are. Mmm. Today? Not so much.

Because the pressure is, indeed, on. And I am not entirely clear that I know for sure who I am right now.

L and I are in that hairpin curve of life where the huge decision I made to leave my job in December is either going to make us or break us financially. I think we're going to make it. But that doesn't make that curve any less frightening.

I'm also being held up to my promise of writing upon leaving. So. Where are the goods? Many questions from friends and loved ones lately, which I appreciate, because it keeps me real and honest. But then I have to take a really close look and see if I'm really doing what I promised myself I'd do.

And remembering who I am? I chucked who I thought I was (or was trying to be) out the window a few months ago and have been testing the waters with a "new" me, without much luck at settling comfortably into any of them yet.

Stay at home mom. Blogger. Writer. Freelancer. Transcriptionist. Family CEO. Chef. Maid. Tutor. I haven't found that perfect balance. I'm not entirely sure exactly who I am any more - or more precisely, how to juggle all that I want to be. And to be clear - I put this pressure on myself, even though I try not to. L would tell me, leave the dirty socks, have the kids clean the kitchen, just go write. He says some version of this at least 10 times a week. But when I'm right here and it needs doing...so hard not to cave.

So often I am driving around and have a conversation with one of my kids or have a great observation that would make a great blog entry, but I'm struggling to make the time to write it down. I've had 5-6 good ideas in the last two weeks alone that I know went unwritten. Because if I don't write it immediately, while I'm feeling passionate about it, then it sounds forced if I try to write it later.

Then there's the laundry. And the kid leaving for Disneyland tomorrow who needs my help to pack and prepare for his first trip away from home. Oh, and I'd better divide up that ground turkey I bought at Sam's Club yesterday and get it in the freezer along with the salmon before it goes bad in the fridge. And did I pay the bills yet? OH YEAH! I have a deadline with the Republic!

To complicate matters, I've spent so much time lately looking at myself, introspectively, thinking about the autobiographical elements I'd want to incorporate into my fictional heroine - should I choose bestselling author over nationally syndicated columnist, hypothetically - that I'm kind of all jumbled up about how I'm feeling about myself on a deeper level. (Let's steer clear of this entirely for now. Dangerous topic.)

Time management, I know, I know. And structure, and balance, and discipline. And ask for help. And don't try to do it all. Blah blah blah, I know, it's just so much harder to actually live it than to just say it. To constantly have doubt and concern nipping at the edges of your consciousness even though you want something so badly. And to have so many distractions that make excellent excuses to keep you from trying and failing.

So, horoscope that's meant to make me feel better, I think I'll pass today.
____________________________________

P.S. Full disclosure, it's an hour and a half later and...rather than do all those things I mentioned above, I went on to Cox OnDemand and watched last night's episode of The Voice. I don't deserve too much sympathy.

to coupon or not to coupon, that is the question

Before

As part of my new stay at home budget, I vowed to start clipping coupons. So of course I got behind and as of this morning had four months' worth sitting next to my printer in my bedroom. Today's project, get them all cut and sorted.

(Perhaps more importantly, it gave me an excuse to turn on the two hour episode of The Voice that I missed last night to watch as I snipped.)

I'd put it off long enough that at least half of them had expired. But the pile is gone, and I can rest easy knowing that I've managed to tick this one off my list.

Here's the thing. I'm not really sure how much I'm going to save doing this. It takes an incredible amount of time and planning. And while the idea of the Extreme Couponer is a little fascinating, I don't have anywhere to store 300 packages of toilet paper, nor do I have the time, patience or stamina to store and sort through hundreds of circulars and plan the shopping trips. (Actually I'm just the teeniest bit worried that I'll get addicted to it and not be able to stop).

Half the time I get a better deal on the store brands using my store savings card, anyway. They send me customized coupons that I do use. But if I'm trying to save money...I feel obligated to clip, clip, clip everything I can. But, really, then you just have like 20 coupons for razors to use in one month, none of which actually end up being the least expensive option.

After

But look at those adorable coupon folders. So snug and organized. And I feel so responsible walking down the grocery store aisle flipping through it. 

Do I commit myself to this or not? I'm this weird combination, an obsessive procrastinator. I know this won't be worth my time unless I really commit to it. But I'm spread pretty thin already.

I mean, what with all my t.v. shows to catch up on, and US Weekly to read.

feeding the OCD beast

A picture of OCD bliss. Plus, I need proof
since it will probably be wrecked by tomorrow.

I can't quite decide if it's a problem or a gift.

Sometimes I get completely obsessed with the idea of completing a project, and can no longer function happily and effectively until it is complete. Right now, there are two such projects on my list (among the 74 other less oppressive - but probably more important - ones).

First is cleaning out my closet. Seems so many other projects hinge on this one, so until it's done, those others are on hold. Not only do I need to do the annual purge of things that have not left a hanger in the last 12 months; I also need to purge and store some of the work wardrobe items that are currently taking up space and collecting dust (tee hee).

Until I finish the closets, anytime I host a laundry marathon, there aren't enough hangers for all the clean clothes. And I have vowed, despite the fact that they are 10 for $1 at Walmart, that I will not purchase any more, because I know I will be freeing up like hundreds soon.

Current status - on hold. So my clean laundry is folded over the back of my computer chair until we wear some more stuff and hangers get freed up.

The other project was cleaning up and organizing the kids' computer/homework space. It morphed from our home office to the kids' area when I quit my job and set up shop in the bedroom, and it's all been in flux ever since, which drives me insane. I don't think the kids care. In fact, I'm sure they don't. But I had reached that point where if I had to look at any more bags of poster making supplies or pencil boxes full of old crayons and colored pencils, I was going to slit my wrists. Much of which was sitting in bags in my dining room, I might add. Crazy button. It's the dining room.

So today was the day. All day affair, I might add. I'm very methodical about these types of projects; clearing out the space to be organized, moving all things that will not go into the new space to the dining room table (so, obviously, the dumping ground), then meticulously moving items one by one into the carefully planned space.

For example - dumped out the four lap drawer trays full of everything from shoelaces and allen wrenches to hole protectors, staples, and correction tape. A black hole of random office supplies, or things no taller than 1.5 inches that didn't have a home. Sorted out the staples, the paper clips, the push pins, the rubber bands...one by one. And it probably took me 30 minutes. But the satisfaction I derive from sorting and organizing said items is intense, if not a little worrisome. I of course put those supplies back into lap drawer trays that had been washed and dried, after pulling out all the little dust bunnies.

However, my hands down, absolute favorite part of the entire project was collecting every pen, pencil, marker, crayon and colored pencil from countless nooks and crannies around the house and putting them in one central location. Each time I found a handful of crayons, I'd have a little giddy feeling...which would slowly morph into calm satisfaction as I placed them in their designated container (of course, having sorted out the broken ones and ones without paper wrappers).

Markers? Tossed the fat ones, since my kids are all big now. And tested every. Last. One. Aaaaah.

And perhaps my favorite of all, the colored pencils. There are so many. Like, I probably still have some from when Griffin was a 2nd grader. I mean, how do you not buy your kid a brand new box of colored pencils for the first day of school, despite the fact that you already have 497 at home? You do, case closed. And then, like us, you end up with hundreds.

And I sharpened every one of them.

I just felt a little chill.

After dinner (spaghetti-O's - I was way too busy to plan dinner today, right?), I gave the kids a tour of their gorgeous, clean, organized computer and homework space. They are good babies - ooh'd and aah'd just like they were supposed to. I know they appreciate it, even if they didn't ask for it. Then they left, and I spent a few more minutes soaking it in.

And then I said goodbye.

Because come on. We all know they will never, ever be able to keep the paper clips out of the safety pins, or make sure that they don't accidentally slip a marker into the colored pencil box. Hell, they may want them mixed up. I don't know. But, at least for 12 more hours, I can take silent joy in my meticulous, if short-lived, work.

What is it they say is the definition of insanity?

Epilogue
It should be noted that my daughter was fascinated by what I was doing and was itching - I mean desperate - to help. I gave her a bag of items for her little desk area in her room, and she spent the last hour and a half before bedtime organizing her area. Mini me? I think so. I can't help but feel a tiny surge of pride.

the heat is getting to all of us.

Even the dogs. Sammie is usually burrowed under the covers, snuggled against Larry.

Relax much?

no longer a zumba virgin.

I HAVE DONE IT.

Today was a banner day.

It all started yesterday when I saw a commercial for the Olympics. Disclaimer - I am a complete and total Olympics junkie. I'm a little worried - and excited - about my first Olympics post 9-5, because with all the round the clock coverage, there's a distinct possibility I won't leave my sofa for two weeks.

But unlike the winter Olympics where most of the athletes are covered up, summer Olympics is all skin. The swimmers. The beach volleyball players. The runners and jumpers and throwers of long pointy sticks. All scantily clad in their nation's colors; ripped, toned, tan and hot.

So imagine me, planted on the couch, watching countless displays of human athleticism...and how grungy and horrible I will feel if I am still in such bad shape.

Me and working out have had an on again, off again relationship for a couple of years now. My new stay-at-home mom/work schedule has kind of rocked my world and, although you'd think I'd have more time for it, I have not been to the gym at all. But the Olympics commercial put it all back in perspective. Another of my many mini-epiphanies. Time to get off my ass. (Again. We've been here before.)

I've been threatening to take a Zumba class for well over a year now; but I've said it so many times that most of you are probably like yeah, right Robyn, you're crying wolf again. I love to dance, and always figured this would be the perfect workout for me. But I was always too scared to try it. My people-phobia has always led me straight to my elliptical machine, where I stayed and looked longingly at the Zumba-ers wishing I had the guts to do it. Other hangups? A lack of cardio stamina, a sweat issue that has haunted me from grade school, and boobies that could cause me serious injury if not properly harnessed. And that was enough to keep me from ever crossing the threshold of the studio.

Fast forward to this morning. I wake up (barely) and say goodbye to the kiddos as they leave for school.  I'm taking a week off to get some stuff done around the house, so decided it was okay to curl back up in bed to snooze and watch the Today Show. I am a serial facebooker, so I had my phone and my glasses on the pillow beside me; and around 8:45 I took a look. Commented on my friend's post that she was going to her first Zumba class. She commented back - do you want to come? She could bring me as a guest to her gym (Lifetime Fitness - I belonged to the YMCA. Until a couple of hours ago.)

Uh oh. No excuses. And a sign from above - since I just started obsessing about my Olympics viewing marathon less than 24 hours ago. Perhaps it was my snoozy brain, subconscious desire to look like Misty May-Treanor, or just plain insanity - but I said yes, and had to be ready in 30 minutes. No time to think and get out of it - had to get up and go.

Met my two girlfriends in the lobby, and felt a little giddy. None of us had Zumba-d before. Entered the huge studio - dark mood lighting, and music already blaring to get you excited and ready to go. Awesome, I thought! I knew it! This is SO me! I am going to have a blast!

Then in came the instructor, wearing her second-skin black leggings and bright yellow workout top, the sculpted muscles of her arms, back, and quads screaming at me, "you will never, ever look like this!". Ugh. Don't lose your motivation. I looked at the clock...55 minutes. I can do this.

She was way too cute, way too good of a dancer, and way, way out of my cardiovascular league. Good god almighty. It started out okay, and I did a decent job keeping up with the moves. My dance classes with Miss Jan in Bartlesville came back to me, along with some of the more current moves I've seen my daughter whip out in the kitchen. But slowly, my breathing and my limbs started to get heavy. I looked up at the clock. Surely we're a good way through the class, because I feel the old heart pumping at a potentially dangerous rate.

10 minutes. We'd been in there 10 freaking minutes.

Thank goodness I was with friends or I would have pooped out. I gutted out the next 30 minutes - great hip hop mixed with Latin, and girl, could this instructor rotate those hips. She was bionic up there. Bouncy, hopping through every move - I could barely keep up. It was that mixture of pleasure and pain (mostly pain). I'm here, I'm doing it, but dear god in heaven I cannot lift my arm again or do that micro-fast hoppy step thing you just did. Can't. Do it. Anymore.

Clearly, however, she knows what she's doing, because by the time the last 15 minutes rolled around and I was about to tell someone to get 911 on speed dial to handle my impending heart attack, the music changed and the moves got significantly easier. I was actually groovin' it out a little there towards the end.

I was drenched. Muscles aching. Heart about to burst out of my chest. But I did it. And it was fun, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't the biggest or least coordinated or worst dancer in the room.

My girlfriends and I left the studio talking about all the other classes we'd like to try. Spin? Weights? Bring it on. I immediately walked downstairs and signed our family up for a membership, because being able to sweat with the girls is going to make a huge difference. Olympic couch sitting marathon, get ready, because I am NOT going to feel guilty come July.

take a wild guess what i'm ready for...

top ten secrets to a happy marriage

Installment #2.

Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James

If you've read it, I probably don't need to say anything else.

And if you get squeamish at the thought of reading rather explicit material, well, I might urge you to reconsider.

Okay, maybe it's not for everyone. (And I'm talking about the genre as a whole here, not just this book.) But I really think that you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who secretly doesn't get a little rush out of it. Not everyone will want to admit it or talk about it - or blog about it - but you know you are at least a little curious.

And if you tell me you aren't, I'll tell you I think there might a little wall somewhere that may need tearing down. That, or we just haven't found the right book for you yet. This one does touch on some rather, uh, taboo subject matter. But either way, if a little steamy literature doesn't get your engine revved, I'd like to know what does.

I heard about this while watching the Today Show a couple of weeks ago (frankly, I'm surprised I didn't hear about it earlier) - and have included a link to their piece below. It might make you feel a little less uncomfortable about wanting to read it. Take a look:

Triple-X trilogy of novels has women talking (quietly)

It includes an interview with a blonde therapist and Dr. Drew Pinsky. One, I love the therapist's view on this. Don't feel weird for wanting to read it - embrace it. And it doesn't in any way promote violence toward women. Seriously. Two, I love that Dr. Drew actually kind of gets outdone. Larry and I have been Dr. Drew fans since listening to him on Loveline and KROQ years ago when we lived in L.A. - but he's outmanned - or out womanned, as the case may be - here, and I love that the gal totally shows him up.

But I digress. The point is - as we women get older, our bodies and hormones start to change, early or pre-menopause becomes a reality, we are completely overcome by the demands of our families and in some cases careers, and often our libidos begin to lag. Sometimes our engines need a little jump start, if you know what I mean. Reading this doesn't mean we want to necessarily go insane in the bedroom. It doesn't mean we want to be bent over our men's laps and spanked, or that we have any intention of running out to Fascinations to buy a whip. I certainly don't. But come on, it's fantasy - and some of this stuff is really hot.

Catching a little steamy lit on the side can help power that engine with the time is right. That I can attest to. Hence - another happy marriage tip. Find your Fifty Shades and tuck it in the nightstand for emergencies. Almost nothing keeps your man happier than, well, that.

And on a final note...
This book certainly isn't great literature, and the writing is very simple. Take it for what it is. And now that I'm halfway through book #2, I find that I'm done with the hot interludes every four pages (I'm sorry, nobody does it that often), as now I've invested enough time into these characters that I just want to know what happens next. But I just might be looking for something new now...

victoria's secret jr.

Take a wild guess what these are.

Pads for the newest bathroom cleaning wand? Knee pads? Smooth white tortilla chips?

Nuh uh.

These are pads designed to fit in the bathing suit and training bras I just bought for my eight and a half year old daughter. And yes. They go where you think they go.

The shopping trip was supposed to be a rite of passage. Her first training bras. I took her to a store where we don't normally go because it's really more than I like to spend (okay, it was Justice); but I wanted this to be a special day, so we made an exception. And so there she was, and there they were, in all their fluffy, padded, bright colored glory, impossible to pass up. I caved, because I didn't want this shopping trip to be a negative experience for her.

And that's just the beginning. While I struggle greatly with the reasoning for the pads in the itty bitty bras, I'm dumbfounded as to why they put them in a bathing suit. Honest to god, there is no reason my eight year old needs that area padded in her swimsuit. Or any other young girl who is the size and age to shop at Justice. None whatsoever. (Of course it was the cutest suit that fit her the best...I should have taken a stand and not bought it, but she loved it, and I didn't have the willpower to tell her no.)

Thank god I can pull the pads out. But why??? Why are they there in the first place? You cannot give me one good reason. Not one. Except I guess that our daughters will see them and then we will cave and buy them and then they get more sales. I regret not having the strength to say no, and I take responsibility for that.

I had to sneak in her room tonight while she was asleep and pull them all out. I will be waiting for the argument once she notices they are missing. She shouldn't even know they exist.

I'm so incredibly worked up about this. There are so many millions of ways that our young daughters are encouraged to grow up way too soon. And there are also so many unrealistic images that our daughters feel they either must, or are entitled to, emulate. It makes me steaming mad that my daughter now thinks, because a store designed for her age is selling it, it's appropriate for her to try to enhance her natural beauty at such a young age. Whether I buy them or not, she's seen them; so she's already getting the message that what she has isn't good enough, and could use improvement.

These will go in the trash, and we will not be buying any more undergarments at Justice, to be sure.

soundsations!

Griffin and his school show choir, the Soundsations, performed at the Phoenix Suns' pregame last Saturday night. Sure am proud of these kiddos! They just started working together this year, and have really come a long way.

Don't get me started on the fact that the ticket office issued group tickets looking at their backs, behind the performance, knowing our kids were performing. Not happy at all.

But we could sure see them on the jumbotron - awesome!! What a great experience!

meeting an idol

Similar to a couple of weekends ago when I was having washing machine drama, I'm sure you are all keenly aware that tonight I was going to see my current literary idol, Jen Lancaster, because I only posted about it on facebook like 400 times.

Me trying to look all hip and urban while chatting
up one of my favorite authors. When actually I'm
feeling all silly and excited.

First and foremost, a shoutout to my girlfriend Whitney who turned me on to her in the first place. I'm not sure I ever would have managed to stumble on to Jen L. on my own...and then I just might not have decided to quit my job OR stalk her. And then where would I be? Because I love love love my new job of sitting at my home office desk writing. And I actually did consider wearing pearls and Sperry Topsiders tonight in honor of her. Too much?

I've decided Whit and I were by far the coolest people there tonight, and after hearing that someone in another city tailgated for her book signing, you totally know what we're doing next time she rolls into Phoenix. Vodka in the parking lot, ladies. No one can rock a tailgate better than me, and you know it. Football, books, whatever. I'm in.

So of course, my big night could not be without a little dramergency (I just made up that word). As we were waiting in line with our priority pink wrist bands that still left us 3/4 of the way to the end of the line to have our books signed, I realized that Mother Nature had decided it was the perfect time to wreak a little havoc. (If you are squeamish reading about Aunt Flo and the Special Time of the Month, you might want to tune out now.) Ever since I had baby #3, got my tubes tied, and quit taking birth control, things are a little more, shall we say, erratic when Aunt Flo visits, and sometimes you have that "oh dear god" emergency. Well, we had finally wound our way up to the front of the line with only like 4 or 5 folks in front of us when said emergency struck, and I knew that I had absolutely no choice but to go take care of business.

So my linemates assure me that I can make it (I totally lied and told them I needed to pee...funny, I have no problem sharing the gory details with everyone and their mother on a blog), and promise to let me back in line when I return. But I know I'll be cutting it close. And the restroom is, quite literally, on the absolute farthest opposite corner of the store. I know I don't have much time - I'm going to either lose my spot in line, or have a horribly embarrassing accident.

I motor to the restroom and, of course, one stall is out of order and the other two are full. I wait. Wait. The line to see Jen L. is moving without me. Wait. Until finally one is free - and without going into gory detail, what I will share with you is that this was a lower than low flow toilet. Which means anything more than one square of TP is going to have issues getting sucked into the pipes. So I had to flush. And flush. And flush.

There is a line in the restroom, too, and I know they are people from the book signing. And since I totally asked a couple of awesome and memorable questions during the Q&A earlier I just know everyone will recognize me. So there's no sneaking out in shame and hiding in the aisles. I have to get back to that line before it's my turn, and I absolutely, positively cannot leave this stall until this toilet does what it was designed to do.

Panicked, I continue to flush. And flush. Really. And once everything does eventually get whisked away and I get to leave the stall, these ladies are going to be looking at me thinking, what on earth was she doing in there? All while the line is inching up and I'm going to miss my chance to impress Jen.

All's well that ends well - finally, on like the 8th flush, the ordeal was over and I jogged through the store to make it to my spot. Close call, indeed. But I made it.

And I have to say is that if I make it big and my publisher/agent sends me out on book tours, there is absolutely no way that I could smile, take photos, chit chat and be fresh and funny with hundreds of strangers, one after the other, as I sign all their books. For this skill alone, Jen L., I am completely in awe.

Anyway, thanks Whit for a fun night, and thanks Jen L. for being exactly who you portray yourself as in your books. So damn funny. And let us know what you want at our tailgate.

happy endings and optimistic beginnings

Let me tell you about what happened this week. It's been a big one for us.

I've mentioned before that our oldest son was diagnosed with nonverbal learning disorder (NLD) back in the 4th grade. General testing began in preschool in Los Angeles, when an amazing group of dedicated teachers took notice of a special little boy who needed a little extra help. But it was only after years of testing and agonizing and trying to follow our parental intuition that we finally stumbled on the right therapist who finally nailed the right diagnosis.

NLD is kind of like ADHD minus the H, mixed in with a little mild Asperger's. In our case it sounds a little more dramatic than it really is; NLD kiddos are in a mainstream classroom, sometimes with just a Section 504. The day I was told about it, I went straight home and Googled it so I could read more about the symptoms. I'll never forget that day, as I sat in front of my computer screen and cried like a baby. The realization slowly settled in that finally - finally someone had been able to tell me why my son was struggling, and was going to be able to help.

Therapy, meds, and a new school have worked wonders. And it has become increasingly clear, as we'd guessed early on, that he is a creative soul. He will always be an artist. But...there's that pesky issue of academics. With the ADHD/NLD came great struggles in the classroom. He is a very bright boy, but always had real challenges with any kind of long term or sustained assignment or project. He couldn't plan ahead; he couldn't wrap his head around the organization it took to pull it off. He got overwhelmed. And although it's textbook NLD, and it's good to have that perspective and understanding, getting through these assignments was still tedious and riddled with unexpected challenges. As a parent, and as an educator, you have to learn and live in the fact that that these kids' struggles are not because they are lazy or don't want to do the work. It's because, on a certain level, they simply can't do it. You have to adapt to their abilities, to their way of thinking; and that is difficult in a traditional classroom, especially in junior and senior high with hundreds of students. And it's difficult at home as well.

... fast forward to today.

I am not sure I've ever seen my son as proud as he was today. And I'm not sure I've ever been more proud of him. He won second place in his Freshman class on his Science Fair project, and gets to take it to the state competition. And, most importantly, he did it, 100%, by himself. 

He picked his subject, worked with his science teacher, and made every single assignment deadline - sans parental nagging. Larry helped him in the very beginning to narrow his topic and show him how to get better results on a Google search; and I showed him how to plug all his research data into a spreadsheet on Excel, because he'd never used it. But other than that - we did not touch a thing. He pulled the whole thing together, printed photos, created graphs, and put it on the display board. He struggles with fine motor skills and handwriting, more textbook NLD symptoms; so his writing was a little shaky, and his stick-on letters a little crooked. But, by choice, I did not touch it or offer assistance - I knew he'd tell me if he wanted it. But he clearly wanted to do this all on his own. And to this mom, it was the most beautiful project he'd ever done. I was so proud of him when he finished it; he even turned it in a day early for five extra credit points.

And then he won second place. We're gonna spruce it up for the state competition, but the original is going in the family archives.

Really, I don't think I can adequately express what a huge deal this is. And huge, huge kudos to his science teacher, Mrs. Sims, who was instrumental in helping him develop and execute his project. One of those above and beyond teachers who helps change kids' lives. I realize that the other kids probably had super slick presentations, via the help of their parents; but we felt it was so important for him to see this through on his own. The self confidence. Finally. That child has SO earned his moment in the sun. He's had it on the stage - now he finally gets in the classroom.

Just look how far he has come.

So it's ironic that, just two days earlier, the journey began for his little sister, who was diagnosed with ADHD and began medication for the first time. She definitely has ADHD with the H. Another blog for another day - meds can be so controversial, but they can also change lives, I believe; and ADHD is much less common, or at least less diagnosed, in girls. But for now, I am going through the grieving stage, where you have to face up to the fact that your child has an issue that makes her little life more difficult than you want it to be.

And even though you can go into an office and run a battery of tests and the professionals come back with a neat, tidy little diagnosis and a list of things to do - as a Mom, you still have that tiny, relentless nagging in the back of your head...did I do something wrong? How did this happen? We are undoubtedly embarking on an entirely different journey with her; and we set out, optimistic, full of love, eyes wide open and well-educated from our previous travels. But still a little nervous, and unsure of what lies ahead.

I've always believed things happen for a reason. Griffin worked so hard and earned every inch of that huge red second place ribbon; and Larry and I have to take comfort in knowing that we have helped G on his journey the very best we could. And while we aren't perfect, and there are things we'd do differently, and moments we aren't proud of, all in all, we know it's going to be okay. He's going to be okay. More than okay. We think he's a superstar. 

And his timing could not have been better, as we now face the first few steps of what will surely be just as long and hopefully rewarding a journey with his beautiful, spunky little sister. As the uncertainty of what lies ahead for Olivia makes us, as per usual, constantly question our decisions, analyze our parenting, look for answers, and pray for her peace and happiness - we know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks Big G. xx

secretly love...

Sometimes we get so caught up in routines and schedules and responsibilities that we (read: I) forget that sometimes all our babies really want is to be close to us. I kind of forgot about how magical your parents' room is when you're little; somehow, the bed is just a little more cozy, and the pillows a little softer.

Daddy's working late, and Olivia was having a rough evening, so I offered to let her lay down in my room and read on the condition she would go to bed in her own bed tomorrow. Shortly after, Connor's light was on, and he said he couldn't sleep. Then a little light went on in my head. I asked Connor if he wanted to come read in my bed, too, and he couldn't get in there fast enough. So we turned on a little Norah Jones and declared my room "The Quiet Zone", and we couldn't be more cozy. Now I'm glad they are both in here with me, and I'm thinking I need to bend the rules more often.

I offered to let Griffin in, too, but he wasn't interested...that's a message, Mommy. Enjoy this while you can. They outgrow it so fast.

Epilogue: It's not lost on me that the last three photos I've posted to my blog are from my bedroom. And it's no surprise considering the amount of time I've spent in here - it's Work At Home Mommy Central now. I need to get out a little.