Just A Little Off Kilter....

I magine if your fridge did what you do everyday...every half hour goes to your room opens the door and stares at you for five minutes then leaves.

I am not perfect. My parents, siblings, children, In-laws and friends are not perfect. People we love and those that love us, are supposed to love and forgive, but sometimes they don’t. We believe that we should feel appreciated and accepted and loved by our families, but love is not rooted in feelings. Love is rooted in action, and because love is bigger than forgiveness, we must first take the active step to forgive. I don’t know how this will manifest for you, but I think the way it must begin is on a very personal level. We must choose to forgive. It has to begin in our own heart. The words, “I forgive you” may never need to escape your lips, but when we forgive, we are changed, and it is because we are forgiven that we are changed. Forgiveness tears down the walls of rejection and frees us up to love. It takes strength, and humility and endurance. Forgiveness is not a feeling, but it feels great. Love feels even better. Love and forgiveness are active choices and as we learn to li

Lochlan is no longer a baby and has been potty trained for a while now and I should, at least traditionally, have no use for baby wipes. But I’m here to admit that I just bought a brand new box. On my list of priorities these days, “conserving paper” is right above “inventing a car that runs on pee.” Three years ago year ago (well, exactly 1109 days ago), when I changed a diaper, I would lay out a dozen of them, like I was setting up a game of wipe solitaire. I still have a container in nearly every room and use them now for a variety off-label uses. Here are just a few... Degreasing my phone Crushing bugs Moistening a temporary tattoo Wipe-down the refrigerator handles Removing makeup Wiping hair off the bathroom sink Create a moist mummy hand for picking up a yogurt-soaked cracker Giving myself a quick "bath" Cleaning dirt off dropped food before eating Wiping snot off the window Wiping snot off the iPad Spot-cleaning my jeans Wiping butter off my hands afte

Enjoy your weekend!

Here’s something I learned...I can only ask my wee son, “Do you need a Kleenex?” twenty three times within a four hour period before I give up. Lochlan inherited a clean nose obsession from me. If I feel anything clinging or flapping around in there like a sad little prisoner, I can do nothing else until I free it. Usually I blow it into a Kleenex, but sometimes I pick my nose because I’m a grown ass woman who can do whatever she wants while sitting at a red light or standing in line at Walmart. I don’t carry around a handkerchief because who wants a 14 square foot piece of cloth smattered with nasal goop in her purse? Also, I’m not eighty four years old. I recently watched a older woman (who I'm guessing was about eighty four years old) pluck a fairly used and tattered looking tissue out from inside the sleeve of her shirt that appeared like it was nestled comfortably against her wrist and I’m still upset about it. When I see a guy pull out a “hanky,” toot his giant man nose, and

Reading to your child is one of life’s greatest gifts. But sometimes, as a result of fatigue, even a sweet opportunity can feel like a curse. Consider the following questions... Have you read your child’s favorite book a hundred times? Is it making you insane? Do you frequently get caught trying to skip pages so you can get downstairs and eat a Beyond the Batter cupcake while watching Big brother? You’re not alone.   Here are a few tools needed to turn a twenty two page story into an 11 page story.   The Two Page Turn Children are extremely susceptible to slight of hand. Make use of it. While holding a book with your left hand, use the index finger, middle finger and thumb of your right hand to prep the next two pages. This will make the subsequent page flip appear seamless...like magic. And what kid doesn’t like magic? Warning...be ready to provide connective text to maintain the integrity of the story. “And then Chase tripped over a barrel of sandwiches, causing the

I could communicate with a pod of dolphins via the clicking and popping sounds my body now makes in the morning when I get out of bed.

Dear Lochlan, Today you turn three years old, and it's hard for me to believe where the years have gone. It's been... 94,780,800 seconds 1,579,680 minutes 26,328 hours 1097 days 156 weeks and 5 days since the day you were born and I still remember delivering you in the hospital and seeing your big beautiful eyes look into mine for the very first time. "Hi Little Loch," I said with tears in my eyes, "I'm your mama. It's so nice to meet you!" I remember being so worried about giving you love and attention around the clock and instilling good eating habits for later on in life. We sang songs, danced around the house, read books, played peek-a-boo. Those were the days that you relied on me for everything... Now you're three years-old and have become quite the independent little boy. You look in the refrigerator to grab your own food when you're hungry (even if mom doesn't approve of your first choice), you insist on climbing the stairs all

Old-school fairy tales are terrifying. An evil witch has an appetite for children. A mean lady is trying to kill the nice princess. All of the moms die and are replaced by evil stepmothers. Since our son Lochlan is just about three (big day is tomorrow), we are still trying to avoid these types of plotlines. Enter, Curious George. Loch has a deep affection for this little monkey. George is sweet and curious and likes to get into mischief, all of which I believe Lochlan identifies with on a personal level. George takes over a pancake breakfast. So cute! George accidentally let the baby bunny out of her cage. Adorable! On a recent gander at my neighborhood Buy Nothing group , someone was giving away a box of vintage George books (circa late 1960s) and I snapped them up. I mean, Lochlan loves this curious little monkey. Once I had a chance to look at the books, I have to admit, I was surprised with the darker, tragedy laden, C.G. experience that I was unaware of. Curious George Goes to t

I follow Lochlan as he runs into the bathroom. He has the awkward, unmistakable gait that accompanies an impending poop. ME Do you need some help with your pants? LOCHLAN Please! Hurry Mama! ME There you go. Lochlan sits on the toilet, very still. He stares into the middle distance. ME Loch? Everything alright? LOCHLAN Mmm. ME Where’s your poo? LOCHLAN It’s nowhere. ME Nowhere? LOCHLAN I think it went back down to my brain. Okay then.

Before long, we learn that in this life, we are not here forever. We learn through the changing of seasons, the loss of our pets in childhood, the death of a loved one. We have no guarantee of numbers. So many days under the sun or drizzly afternoons spent gazing out windows. We think they are infinite but they are not. One will be the last. And this is not the hardest part. The hardest is knowing those we cherish will share our fate; we can make no deal to change that. We grow up when we know this. And this is the deal we get to be here. We don't ask, yet are given opportunity to love, to embrace, to wonder and be scared, to scream and kiss and run and lie still in the cool grass under the flickering stars on a cool evening. We go through this time, galloping or whispering across the years, with a vague knowledge of the end. We are born to love feverishly. To anguish and rebound. To flourish. We are born for each other. It matters little where or when or how we are here. Our heart