There's rarely an occasion my boys and I can have a conversation where they aren't trying to talk over each other or fighting. I never know where these times of curious questioning and mostly peaceful exchanges will lead but since I fancy myself a cool parent nothing is off limits.
I had a terrible dream last night. You were leaving for a trip. A trip alone. A trip without us; your parents and little brother. We were getting ready to check bags when the attendant asked for your passport. We forgot it. I panic, offering to pay whatever in order to get a "quickie passport" printed at the gate.
Eight weeks ago I brought two new family members home. A mommy cat we named Elphaba and her baby Max. Both were cuddly and docile cuties. Until the third week when Elphaba went into heat.
My parenting responsibilities always require that I go into overdrive during the summer months.
Our oldest was not quite a year old when we took our first official "family vacation." I was still getting the hang of new motherhood so the idea of getting out of town sounded PERFECT.
Just 24 hours after my last column appeared in The Wilson Post, I started to breathe normally again.
I'm sad, I'm scared, I'm constipated. Or why I want you to know I'm in therapy.
As they say, all good things must come to an end, and on Sunday, May 17, at exactly 2:30 p.m. at College Hills Church of Christ in Lebanon, the Year of Madison bit the dust.
So I got a mammogram today. It sounds like it was a spur of the moment thing. It was, actually.
Every so often while in conversation with another mom or dad, one will say, "Be glad you have boys. At least you don't have to worry about fill in the blank."
It's no secret to my friends, family and anyone wandering the cleaning aisle of the local grocery that I don't enjoy cleaning. I enjoy cooking, eating, reading. I do not enjoy cleaning.
With Spring Break now over, the writing is on the wall. And as hard as I try to keep my eyes tightly shut, whenever I open them just for a moment, I can see the "Year of Madison" quickly coming to an end.
We had a death in the family last week. While the deceased has (or had, rather) four legs, this did not make his sudden passing any less painful.
It's not like we can't remember the deadline. Just like Christmas is always on Dec. 25, Uncle Sam's birthday presents from Aunt Becky are always due on April 15. Even so, every year, I find myself scrambling through faded receipts making sure to count every deduction.
With Snow-mageddon- Part 2 finally behind us and spring looking like it's here to stay, I did what many of you probably did this weekend. I broke out the summer wear.
Children, teenage boys in particular, are wonderful... most of the time.
It started happening again. I can't sleep. Rather, I can sleep, I just can't STAY asleep.
This leads to a frame of mind that's an ideal breeding ground for worry production. So I worry. Worry about getting back to sleep turns into worry about work, bills, taxes, life insurance, dementia, cancer, Ebola, my car's engine light that keeps coming on, my oldest driving, even deflated footballs - stupid Tom Brady.
I am writing this letter as I would like to lodge a formal complaint.
I've done it. And if you are being honest, you have too. My mother warned me about it. It happens all the time. And sometimes the damage is done before you get a do over. Just ask former GOP staffer Elizabeth Lauten.
When something bad happens, that bad can reach in and pull the breath right out of your gut. It feels like suffocating. But as your arms flail and you gasp for air, the light turns green, traffic starts to move, pedestrians take to the cross walk. No one notices. It's as if the people in cars, on cross walks, in the grocery or at the DMW don't care or don't feel the shift on the planet when life as you know it forever changed.
It's that time of year again. Relatives are heading home. We bid adieu to the tree and that stupid elf till next year. Returns are made. My jeans feel about three sizes too small and I've not even put them in the dryer. Regret from my over consumption of cheese balls, peanut butter balls, chips, dip, wine, cookies fill my head every time I see a new 'NOT APPROVED' photo floating around on Facebook. I have to diet and lose the weight that crept on between October 31st and January 1st. I knew it was time for an intervention when I bit the inside of my cheek while noshing on a handful of fried peanuts (Seriously!).
There's few places as beautiful as Middle Tennessee in the fall. And one only needs to visit Facebook or Twitter to take in all the beauty. Changing leaves, crisp air, family photos in all orange or red surrounded by a bevy of changing leaves posted all over social media, and general giddiness of the season make even this girl excited about football...for the social atmosphere, not the game.
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