That Stillness

Not only is this the time of year that I like to self-educate and dive into historical readings, it's also my absolute favorite time of year to attend church. We attend church as much as we can, which is not as much as we'd like, but I stopped feeling badly about it a long time ago.

This is a busy season in our lives, with two small children. And I have a suspicion it's going to get even busier before it gets quieter.

It's okay, though. I have also convinced myself that God does not have a tally sheet showing how many times we've attended. If we keep Him in our daily thoughts and do good deeds, that is most important. (Please don't be offended by this over-simplification of Christianity- I'm quite aware that it's so much more than when I've just described.)

So we attend when we can, and while the grass is turning brown and the rust-colored leaves are gathering in wind-swept piles, our cozy church is exactly where I want to be. It's a time of self-reflection, a refocusing on Home, Family and Faith. You can almost feel time stand still in that church, at 9am on a Sunday morning, and I think that's why I crave that moment.

I need to feel that stillness, in my heart. As frenzy involving the impending holidays speeds up by the day, I need that time in our church to hear that quiet. To hear Him, loud and clear, in the hymns, in the prayers, in the thought-provoking sermon.

I can't wait to go again.

Fall Learning

I don't know if fall and learning are just forever locked together in my brain from years of being in school, but there's something about the colder days and longer nights that make me want to curl up in a comfy armchair and read all I can about days gone by.

In the winter, there's the craziness of the holidays and then the massive amounts of snow that usually come our way. It slows us all down, and for me, personally, zaps my energy, especially as the temperature gets lower and the wood stove burns warmer. I just want to eat all the bad things and sleep until the sun is at least out, which ain't gonna happen when sunrise is 7:13 and the bus comes at 7:45.

In the spring, come the first breeze that actually delights the senses and doesn't send me burrowing into the nearest dwelling, I find myself venturing, willingly, outdoors. There's no time for academia. Spring has sprung! The earth is pungent with heavenly smells- daffodils, lilacs, lily of the valley. I stay outside as much as I can because it feels like I've been freed from the prison of winter.

In the summer, there's definitely no time for studying. It's time to explore! I want to do all I can in the one time of the year that the weather rarely interferes, except the occasional rainy day. I want to be outside even more than I did in the spring, and the longer days allow for it. If I'm going to be learning anything history-related, I want to do it on foot- hikes, monuments, the like.

And now here we are, in autumn. My friend and I attended a history lecture a few weeks ago on a cool but sunny day, and I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. This is me. I'm a proud, self-proclaimed history geek! I am happy that I can further my education by attending lectures and visiting museums so close to me. I still am in awe of how many opportunities are right in my own backyard, if I look for them.

If I could go back in time, to my newly-college-graduated self, I would say: "Don't worry about not getting your Masters Degree. It's okay that you don't know the exact career you want right now. Your English degree will serve you well in any job you get down the line. Sometimes it takes a little while to find where your true passion lies."

I'm so glad I've found it. Now, you'll have to excuse me. I have the house to myself and a book told from the perspective of a daughter of a doctor in the late 1800s. It's calling my name.

Simple Things

I'm a married 32 year old mother of two and I drive a 10 year old Ford Focus. Getting from Point A to Point B, safely, is usually my one and only objective when I drive. But, one night, when I was returning home with the kids, I couldn't help but remember something my dad used to do for fun when I was growing up.

We have a long driveway. Once in a while, to get a squeal out of us, he would race up the driveway quickly in whatever car we were are all in, brake, and then pull into our small driveway faster than usual. Now, don't worry, this isn't 80 MPH we're talking about, probably just 10 MPH faster than the usual crawl up the driveway (my main assurance to you is that it's perfectly safe. I'm not being risky.)

Per my usual ways with the kids, I pretended our car was doing it on her own accord. Yes, her. Her name is Myrtle. I said: "Woah, Myrtle! Stop being so crazy! This isn't a racetrack. You're Myrtle, not Lightning McMyrtle!" and so on and so forth.

The kids were doubled over with laughter. I was laughing, too. They knew it was me, controlling the car, but they played along.

If that's not evidence of finding joy in the simple things, then I don't know what is.

Noticing

The other afternoon, I couldn't help but notice the blaze of orange reddish leaves against the dark grey of clouds rolling in. It was majestic.

As always, the swamps have been turning color first. While the green grass fades, the trees in the wet areas start showcasing their beautiful autumn shades. I have a few that I look for now every year. All these things I never noticed when I was working full-time. All these things I never noticed when I was sleep-deprived and just trying to take each day as it came.

I'm noticing now, and have been for a few years.

When I'm quarry walking, I spy a spray of light green ferns trying to stick out early autumn. I spy a small rippling stream of water, with tiny, yellow leaves leisurely floating around. I spy a single autumn leaf fallen on the ground. It's the contrast of autumn that I notice the most- the color against the darkening, greying backdrop of the rest of the world.

The busier I get, the more important it becomes to slow down and notice the things above. It calms my mind. There is just something to say about getting out of your own head for a minute or two.

There is just something about noticing the changing world around you, and choosing to take that minute to enjoy yourself and the display that mother nature has to offer us.

My Time

This past week, I have gotten a haircut, a pedicure and enjoyed a Café Mocha and chocolate croissant outside of a lovely eatery in Downtown Hamp with a friend. The most amazing part for me? Babysitter not required. I did these things in the few hours I have every week when both kids are in school.

I'm not going to pretend otherwise: I loved it.

I can respond to a text message before heading into a store without little feet kicking the back of my seat in protest. I can listen to NPR again, because I actually have the brain-space to do so. I can simultaneously s-l-o-w d-o-w-n, enjoy the moment, and also whip through stores if needed.

I feel sanity slowly returning. For nine hours a week, I get to do "what I want", or, at the very least, what I need to get done, without interruption. It's priceless. This week I've decided to indulge myself and use this time for self-care. Not every week will be haircuts and pedicures and Mochas. I'm sure before long I'll be using these hours to clean my house, organize toys, change clothes in bureaus from summer to winter- all that kind of fun stuff.

But, this week? It's been wonderful. You should have seen the smile on my face when I picked Buddy up from preschool on Wednesday. What's that saying- happy mom, happy family? I know there is truth behind it.

But for now, you'll have to excuse me. It's a morning that both kids have school, and I'll be going into the woods to explore old Goshen roads with a friend. It's something I've wanted to do for years.

Now is my time.

Banana Applesauce Crescents

One of the first things I did when I started my weight loss journey over three years ago was to stop baking. Sweets, you see, are hard for me to resist. Some people can't say no to a potato chip. I won't even notice the potato chips if there's a platter of homemade brownies on the same table.

Mmm. Chocolate.

Eventually I realized I could still bake- especially if I made things that didn't overly tempt me (read: no chocolate). I came across a blog, Mostly Homemade Mom, and found a recipe that has been a huge hit in this house since the first day I made it: Banana Applesauce Crescents. Did I mention it only calls for 5 ingredients, most of which I always have on hand? This recipe is a keeper. I'll insert the recipe here, although you can also find it in the link above:

1 banana
1/2 cup natural unsweetened applesauce 1/2 tablespoon brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
8oz can refrigerated crescent rolls (8 count)

Place banana in small bowl and mash with fork. Mix in applesauce, brown sugar, and cinnamon until well combined. Unroll crescent triangles. Spread 1 - 2 tablespoons banana applesauce filling on triangle and roll up into a crescent shape (some filling will smoosh out, that's ok). Place filled crescents on cookie sheet at bake at 375 degrees for 11 - 13 minutes.

The kids love making these with me. Now that Rosie's getting off the bus every afternoon, I'm trying to always have a baked treat ready for her. It's something that my grandma did for me, that I am happy to be doing for my daughter now.

Did you have a favorite after-school snack when you were a kid?

Picnic Summer

It's been a summer of picnics.

Pretty much whenever we could, I would make our lunch, we would grab our picnic blanket, and the kids and I would find a place in the shade in the side yard.

So simple, yet delightful.

We talked about what we saw and heard. We guessed the color of the next car to drive by, and the clouds wafting above us became dinosaurs in tow trucks and mama ducks with ducklings in tow. The breeze lightly tickled the hairs on our head as we inhaled all of the beautiful scents of summer.

After eating, depending on the day, we would either grab some books (and maybe some brownies) and bring them back out to the blanket, or the kids would get in their swimsuits and start shrieking in the kiddie pool. When they chose the latter, I'd put my chair close to the edge so I could submerge my feet, but sometimes I brought that picnic blanket out into the sun and lied down, basking, smelling that warm blanket scent.

We're never too old for picnics. Food always tastes better outside. Summer picnics are something I hope to always continue.

New Routine

In January 2014, in this post about Rosie starting preschool, I wrote: One of my very good friends had assured me earlier: "The first day is the toughest drop-off but also the best pick-up."

As it turns out, the very same thing was true for the first day of Kindergarten, 1 year and 8 months later. It was so tough watching the bus drive away with my little girl inside, but I eagerly waited outside 8 hours later for her return. I loved seeing the small, sleepy smile as she got out off that bus. I hugged her eagerly and fought every urge to bombard her with questions.

She was quiet as we walked up the driveway, and, in that moment, I understood my daughter better than I ever had before. She needed quiet in order to recharge, just like I do. It had been a long day! Now was not the time to try to draw details out of her. I offered her a snack and let her veg in front of the TV. I dove into her backpack to see what she had come with (yes, I'm that parent.) Sure enough, there was a folder, with one side labelled "Keep at home" and the other labelled "Return to school." Clever! I liked this teacher already.

Buddy woke up from his nap and Steve came home from his first day of teaching this year. We brought some munchies outside and hung out as a family while Steve grilled. It might have been my imagination, but we all seemed to be a little nicer to one another. Maybe because after a summer of togetherness, we had, all four of us, spent some time away from each other that day.

At supper, I started asking Rosie some questions that I had learned from my best mom friend that she uses with her sons. "What was the happiest / saddest / most surprising part of your day?" You know what, it worked! It was like a game to her, and she started sharing things about what had happened. I do have to report that tonight I tried that tactic again tonight without success. It might not be an every day thing.

It's interesting around here getting used to this whole new routine. As the bus whisked Rosie away yet again this morning, I found myself slightly emotional, really realizing that this was going to happen every weekday. I know I've been lucky to be with her so much up until this point, but I am going to miss her.

I love that girl with every fiber of my being.

The Days and the Years

During our grocery trek today, I spotted an acquaintance I had not seen in over 14 years. She was gingerly pushing her one month old in a stroller, while simultaneously pulling a grocery cart along. We exchanged pleasantries, and I cooed over her baby (I had almost forgotten the cute little faces babies make when they're sleeping!)

She looked tired (to be expected), but happy. She admitted it was her first time trying to take him out and go shopping at the same time. I told her that I totally recognized the significance of that moment. I remember all to well the prayers I muttered, hoping the baby would sleep through the whole store and not wake up, screaming bloody murder. I remember feeling so unsure about my first baby because it didn't seem to take much to make her upset.

That was a rough couple of months.

She asked me how old my kids were and I told her. I looked down to see Buddy pulling Rosie's hair, and heard her subsequent screech. "It goes by fast," she stated as she gazed at my kids.

I looked at her, and looked at her baby, and thought about all the things I didn't want to say because there were just too many that people had said to me over the years that didn't really help. Because while it was a few years ago now, I still remember the delicacy of first time motherhood.

I didn't want to tell her "enjoy every moment", because I think that's just a rotten thing to say to someone who is sleep-deprived. I didn't want to say "you'll miss this stage someday", because that, too, does nothing for a mother in that current situation of newborn neediness.

Instead I said, "You know, the best way I've ever heard motherhood described is this: The days are long, but the years are short."

She nodded, she said she liked that. Probably for the same reasons I do. It's a wistful reminder that we'll miss certain things about our kids now, but it also recognizes the difficulties we feel at each age, at every stage, day in and day out.

We parted ways, her newborn still asleep, and my kids talking over each other, asking if they were going to get a slice of cheese at the deli. I'm hoping she was able to have the same sigh of relief I still have at the end of shopping trips with kids: "I did it."

Ikea Roses

When our fourth annual Bestie Beach Day was forecasted to be cloudy and rainy, we knew we had to come up with a back-up plan.

Me: "This is totally random, so feel free to shoot it down. A trip to Ikea? I've always wanted to go."

Kels: "I LOVE IKEA!!!!"

It was settled. And even more settled once she reminded me that there was a Cheesecake Factory conveniently on the way home.

Ikea was everything I hoped it would be- inspiring and fun. We walked through display after display, oohing and ahhing over all the fun kitchen, living room and bedroom items. We made our way down into the warehouse portion, and I quickly found a few items that grabbed my attention:

A blue and white patterned coffee mug to match my blue-themed kitchen (as I placed it in the cart, I realized it was the first mug I had ever bought myself!)

A simple, white tablet stand that I could use in the kitchen to see recipes better.

A trio of metallic cylinder-shaped containers, perfect for holding band-aids, q-tips, etc. They were white with a pretty pink rose design.

Always cautious with how I spend my money, I rarely pick up something I don't need and put it in my cart without thinking about it. These containers, however, were different. I couldn't really put my finger on the "what" and "why" that made them stand out to me so much. I made a spot for them on a shelf in my bedroom, and it looked like they've always belonged there.

I finally figured out the other day why I was, and still am, drawn to them.

Every day after school, the bus dropped me off at my Grandma E.'s house. She had many homemade baked goods to choose from for an after-school treat, and hot cocoa was the drink of choice in the cold winter months. I would go into her pantry, and pick out the mug I wanted to use that day.

There was a white one with a yellow rose design, one with a blue rose design, and one with a pink rose design. I'm sure you can guess which one was my favorite.

I can still feel the solidity of that mug in my hands, and the warmth of it once it came out of the microwave. I remember my grandma sitting across from me at the table, and telling me all that was new with her, and asking me questions about my day.

I remember feeling loved and special. Those simple, pretty containers from Ikea make me feel that way all over again every time I see them.

Hi, Friends.

Hi, friends. It's been a while, huh? A little over 3 months since my last post, and more than 6 months since I was posting regularly.

Life got a bit busy.

When I started Lines from Lithia in April 2013, my main occupation was stay at home mom. I was on one committee- school committee- and that met once a month. Fast forward 2 years, 4 months.

Currently I hold 3 part-time positions and am on 4 committees. I'm not really sure how that happened (well, I'm pretty sure it involved me saying "Yes", that I do know). Why that may sound a little crazy, here's the cool thing:

Each of the positions (Assistant town clerk, Council on Aging Newsletter Editor, Goshen Playgroup Co-Coordinator) directly impact my town, Goshen. The town I hold most dearly to my heart.

Same goes for the committees (School Committee, Goshen Historical Society, GHS Bylaws Committee, Cultural Council). Each of those are Goshen-related.

Anyone who has known me on a certain level also knows that this was one of my life goals. Simply put, I wanted to serve my town. Specifically, I wanted to serve Goshen. I take deep pride in this town where my descendents have always lived. I wanted to continue my family's tradition of giving and contributing.

I couldn't be more pleased with where my life is heading right now.

The best part for me is that I'm still a stay at home mom. I get to enjoy both worlds. My life became busier at the same moment that both of the kids were getting ready to head to big things- Kindergarten for Rosie, Preschool for Buddy.

I couldn't have said "Yes" to any of the above things if I didn't have the support of my husband. Steve has long known my goal of serving the town, and has been stellar at helping me achieve that goal. Several nights a month, he puts the kids to bed when I'm at meetings. The three of them have developed their own routine, and while it made me a little sad at first, I realized it was no different than the routines the kids and I have established all during the day while he's at school.

I've been good about making time for exercise and for being with friends and family. Now I want to make time for this space again, Lines from Lithia. I've missed it. I can't tell you how many blog posts I've started in my mind that I haven't been able to type yet. I want to tell you about the playground I helped build this spring, and about Rosie's deep conversations about Heaven. I want to tell you about a memory I have of my grandma's chipped coffee mugs and about Buddy's "girls".

I highly doubt I'll ever get back to 3 blog posts a week, but I am going to try to write again.

Cheers!

A True Throwback Thursday

I'm a sucker for magazines.

The glossy, colorful pages full of helpful tips, gorgeous photos and words that inspire me. It also helps that the magazine industry must be slightly desperate, as I was offered two magazines, a year subscription of each, for $12.

How could I say no?

The last few issues have been particularly bright and cheerful, in spring hues. As I tore open the clear plastic covering one of them, out slipped a promo for Seventeen magazine. I picked it up and smiled. I loved that magazine in high school! I read the blurb:

"Send one year of Seventeen for only $10 to a special someone in your life! Offer includes free make-up tote and make-up."

I glanced at the grainy picture next to it, showing this free gift. My eyes widened and I laughed out loud!

This free gift? It was the same exact black make-up tote that came with my Seventeen subscription... back in 1997 or so! I would recognize it anywhere- I used it for years! How I laughed, because, while it seems like most everything has changed in the last 18 years, some silly things like this, remain the same!

How apt that this happened on "Throwback Thursday."

Loud and Lived In

My house is a mess.

Once, from my spot in an office chair at a desk that I sat at for 5 years, I thought that stay at home moms must have the cleanest homes of all. I mean, they are home all day, right? Why wouldn't their houses be clean? The scary thing: I was thinking this even having been a Women's Studies minor. How un-feminist of me.

This is what I know after having been a stay at home mom for almost as long as I worked in that office: Our houses are not super clean. There are toys, boots and dress up clothes strewn everywhere.

This is not because we don't pick up a few times a day. We do.

This is not because we're lazy. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to be lazy when you can't even use the bathroom alone.

This is not because we don't care what our houses look like. We do. Just a lot less than we used to. As my husband knows, I like things neat and orderly, and usually by the end of the day, 85% of the house is put back that way. But in the mean time?

We're living here, every day, most of the day. We're playing here, inside and outside. We're learning. We're laughing. We're creating.

You know what I'm not doing? Using every spare minute to clean this house just so it can be cluttered the next minute. A little birdie once told me that cleaning with kids in the house is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos. That little birdie is correct.

Another little birdie told me that I have years ahead of me when my house will be so clean... because no little ones will be living in it. No one will be pretending the dining room table is a secret fort or overturning the couch cushions in a frantic search for lost treasure. No one will be rummaging through the dress-up bin looking for a glass slipper or building elaborate walls and roadways in every room.

When I get discouraged about my messy house, I try to keep the above in mind. Someday my house will be clean, and it will be quiet. But right now it is loud and lived in, the way homes are meant to be.

Pendulum

My kiddos.

My sweet, crazy, awesome, tiring kiddos. At 4.5 and 3, they're the best of buds one minute and, as it appears at times, actively trying to kill each other the next minute. We have such fun times together, the two of them and I. We play, we laugh, we learn, and yes, completely exhaust one another at times.

Every day, I have a pendulum in my heart that swings between the following:

1. I love these precious days of being home with them before they start school and get older on me. I love our after lunch reading time, with the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and their giggles and my laughter filling the living room.

2. I can't wait for the day they're both in school so I can have just a little time, just a little space to get things done. A small example? Easter is a little over a week away. I just want the flexibility to go to the store and get Easter items, By Myself. No having to sneak things into the grocery cart, which really doesn't work now that my youngest, a keen observer, has turned three. I'd just like a little uninterrupted time to work, to write, to hear myself think.

Lately this pendulum has swung more often to #2, and with winter dying a slow death and no real warmth yet in sight, I'm not surprised. We have Cabin Fever like crazy in this house. I honestly feel that until we are able to spend a lot of time outside, it's going to be this way for a while. The kids are just fed up with each other, I find myself raising my voice much more than I'd like, and we just need Winter. To. Be. Done.

I think it's pretty normal and healthy to swing between both #1 and #2. I know that even though I'm eying #2 with great favoritism, I'll be a sobbing mess come September. Oh, the irony! We'll keep on truckin' and I'll try to enjoy our after lunch reading sessions while they last.

That is, until Buddy and Rosie fight over what book to read next, and who can hold it, and who can sit on my lap. There goes that pendulum again!

Almost There

I was going to write a post lamenting about how long the winter has been, and if I see vomit one more time around this house, you'll see me buy a one way ticket to California.

Instead, I'll talk about the good.

Since we turned the clocks ahead an hour last week, there is glorious sunlight almost all the way up until 7pm. It's amazing what an effect it's had on our family. The kids are no longer grumbling about nothing to do between the time they get up from quiet time until we have supper. For some reason, with it being light out later, they seemed to find it easy to find things to play with while I'm food prepping (I'm totally jinxing myself right now). Speaking of food prep, I've almost been forgetting to prepare supper in a timely fashion because I'm not used to doing so when it's still light out!

The snow is melting. Little by little. Just when it seemed like it was going to be freezing cold and snowing forever, the pattern broke, long enough to give us hope that there is, indeed, a light at the end of the tunnel. That light involves all snow melting, and green taking over the grey. It means the sun feeling warmer on our faces day by day, and it means the wonderful realization that our winter coats are no longer suitable for the milder weather.

We're almost there. I can't wait to walk in the quarry again with the dogs, and walk in general. Outside. Explore the woods, go to parks, just be uninhibited by the weather in general.

How do I know we'll make it 'til then? We're already 2.5 months into 2015. If that's not proof of how quickly time is passing, I don't know what is. In the meantime, let's try to enjoy any goodness that March tries to throw our way. There is something good in every month. Maybe for March, it's the promise of a warmer tomorrow.

Three Babies

There's so very much I want to write about, that I haven't had time made time for. Where do I start? I guess I'll start with what's most on my mind.

I have to talk about these three babies.

I've known for quite some time that my Gram Carpenter lost one baby, in 1961. "She came out blue when she was born" was what my very young ears heard. I knew she was a little girl and her name was Diane. She would have been the third girl: my gram had already had two- my mom, Donna and my aunt, Denise. I remember feeling sad for my grandma when she told me the story, stoically, but not thinking too much of it.

Not like I do now, as a mother myself. Now that I know what's it like to carry a baby full term, to get in those final weeks, days and hours and know you're so close to meeting the little someone who's been kicking around in your stomach the past few months. And then to have that moment come, and see not joy but pain and sadness... I literally can't imagine how horrific that must have been. And how, if my understanding of the 1960s is at all correct, the whole ordeal was probably swept under the rug and my grandparents were to go home to their two and three year olds who may or may not have understood that a baby was supposed to come home, too, and they were all supposed to carry on like nothing life changing had just happened to them. My poor gram. I can only imagine the pain and loss she felt.

I've also known for many years that my Gram Eldred lost two babies- Vivian and Donald. I really didn't know much beyond that except that their gravestones somberly read "Vivian 1948-1949" and "Donald 1950-1951". Such loss is such a short period of time! If wasn't until this past week that I was able to put some of the pieces of the puzzle together.

I was looking for something in the town's Death Records book, when I flipped open to a page of deaths from the 1940s. I scanned the page and found Vivian's record. Cause of death: accidental asphyxiation (today's SIDS). This coincided with the awful story my mom related to me of gram walking her baby in the stroller up Route 9 to her mother's house, and finding her 2 month old baby girl dead when she went to take her out.

My poor, sweet grandmother. What a living nightmare.

I flipped just a page or two to 1951. Donald's cause of death- pneumonia- wasn't the thing that shocked me the most. What shocked me was that he was 15 months old when he passed. He was not a newborn. Donald was a part of the family for longer than a year. Did I ever hear his or Vivian's names mentioned, ever? No. This again confirmed my suspicion that when these tragedies happened, the family was supposed to keep on going and not look back.

My heart aches for these three babies and their beautiful moms who played such a huge role in my life. My heart aches because I'm sad that my grandmothers lived during a time that encouraged suppression of feelings, not finding support and help through groups and counseling. My heart aches because the pain they had to endure is almost impossible to imagine, yet they were both some of the strongest women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I think of those babies- Diane, Vivian, Donald- and think about all the other tiny souls taken far too soon. Every day babies are lost- some while still in the womb, others at birth, and still more after birth. We, as a society, are just starting to talk about it, acknowledge it. We still have a long ways to go. Each life impacts this world in one way or another, and the generations that follow.

Life Expanding

I don't know how many times I've been told, "Don't engage."

As in, Don't Engage with that customer who wants to talk about the weather and the new building going up across the street. Don't Engage with the person cashing you out at the counter, what are you, a glutton for punishment? Don't you know, the more you open up, the more weirdos you let in?

This was pretty much the gist of what I was told- that if I stayed in my little corner, and only interacted with people that showed every sign of "normality" and no sign of "quirkiness", I would be better off for it.

Nope.

I can't even express how much richer my life has become by talking and interacting with people that cross my path of all ages, sizes, shapes and colors- a lot of them quirky, some of them not. It almost makes me feel like I was hiding under a rock beforehand.

The world is a beautiful place and there are multitudes of amazing people in it.

I've gotten to know the staff at our local grocery store pretty well after 4.5 years of shopping there every week on the same day at the same time. They know my name, they know my kids' names, and I know theirs. We do the small talk bit but we also have come to know more about each others' lives over the years.

Imagine my surprise when on a night out on the town with friends, I heard my name called, and there, at a table, sat some of my favorite "deli ladies"! I was so thrilled to see them! And to not have to talk to them over a counter of cheese and meat! We chatted and even danced together once the music was playing. Between them and the other friends we were with, I had the best night out that I had in a long time.

It made me so glad that I didn't listen to the advice of the past, that would have kept me tight lipped at the deli counter as I only gave my order for 1/2 lb of American cheese and then moved on with my day. It would've kept me from getting to know them and some other people who have really made a difference in my life and have made me look at things in a new way.

Be brave. Engage. Expand.

Friday Five: Favorite Songs

Anyone who knows me also knows that I listen to a wide variety of music- from Patsy Cline to Katy Perry, I'll give just about anything a listen. Here are my some of my top songs:

1. Favorite Classic Rock Song- "Sweet Emotion" by Aerosmith. This never fails to do the trick. It revs me up for a night out and makes me feel like I can do anything. I literally have never skipped this song on my iPod.


2. Favorite Song by an Individual Beatle- "What is Life" by George Harrison. This love song has such strong emotions behind it and puts me in a pondering, wistful mood. In a good way.


3. Favorite Country Song- "The House that Built Me" by Miranda Lambert. Miranda is my favorite country singer, and seeing how I live in the house that built me, I can really relate to this. It's beautiful.


4. Favorite Pop Song- "Suit & Tie" by Justin Timberlake and Jay Z. Yet another song that I. cannot. skip. Justin never sounded smoother!


5. Second Favorite Classic Rock Song- "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin. Everyone goes through moods as to what genres they're into at the moment. I'm really into classic rock right now, so I had to list another favorite from that genre. This song rocks my socks. Oh, and this recent Dior Homme commercial may have renewed my interest (you're welcome, ladies.)


What? No favorite in the oldies category? I heart the oldies like no one's business, but I just absolutely could not pick a favorite. Ok, then again... The Beatles "I Saw Her Standing There" is pretty sweet. Also, their version of "Twist and Shout". And speaking of shouting, the Isley Brother's "Shout" never fails to get me up and dancing. See why I couldn't pick just one?


What are your favorite songs that make your world go 'round?

Three

Dear Buddy,

You have taken on age three like you've just been waiting for it to come along.

Never walking, but always running. Not leading the charge, but always cautiously following your older sister and your friends. Not outgoing, but always charming with your huge brown eyes and sweet smile.

I love everything there is to love about you, my son.

Over the past few months, you've developed quite the imagination and I see you immersed in pretend scenes with your characters in the same way that your sister does. All the time, I come across elaborate play scenes that you have created, and I marvel at what you've created this time.

You've become the master house and train track builder, and are always happy to make your sister either of those. Nothing seems to give you more joy than setting up the most elaborate track you can think of and building the longest trains to run along them.

You're still my cuddler. A year has made you that much taller, but you curl up on my lap like nothing's changed. You still stuck your thumb to fall asleep, and occasionally you'll reach your hand out to stroke my cheek when you do that.

I love that. I love you, my big three year old!

Over the past year of Rosie being in preschool, we've developed a stronger bond between us as we treasure alone time that we never got beforehand. We enjoy trying new pastries together and going places, just you and me. You like to have me to yourself; I like it, too.

Your vocabulary has exploded, and even though it might take a few times of asking you to repeat yourself, I usually can understand what you want and need. I am so proud of you and how far you've come! Just yesterday, I heard you tell your sister: "Please listen to my words." We're listening, Buddy. We love hearing your sweet voice asking where Scout or Maggie is. Have I mentioned your huge love for animals, especially dogs? It would not surprise me if you one day went into a job that involved working with them!

Welcome to Three, sweet boy. You make this world a brighter place.

Love you always,
Mama

Homeless

There was a time when I couldn't walk downtown Northampton or Greenfield without the chance of running into my aunt or uncle.

My homeless, usually buzzed or drunk, aunt and uncle.

My entire life they drifted around the area, never going further than Connecticut, and always coming back to Western Massachusetts. Sometimes they lived together, trying to get by, other times they led completely separate lives.

Both of them, alcoholics. Both of them, wandering through life with no real purpose.

Once in a while, they would come around my grandparents' house, seemingly having put their lives in order, at least to an extent. The facade, the normalcy, would only exist for a short time before the demons caught up and took over once again. In and out of jail, substance abuse programs, rehab, you name it. One moment they seemed to want to take charge of their lives, the next moment they were stealing money and breaking our family's hearts in the process.

I remember one summer evening after work, I was walking to a restaurant in downtown Hamp with a friend. Suddenly, my rail-thin aunt was stumbling down the sidewalk toward me. "Krisss?" she slurred as she enveloped me in a huge, tight hug. I hugged her back, tentatively. I hadn't seen her in 3 years. She somehow didn't look worse for the wear, although I knew she had really only been existing on a liquid diet. She stepped back and took me in with her huge, blue eyes. "You look so much like your mom, my sister. I miss her so much. Are you doing okay?" I was surprised at how coherent she was in that moment, and how much I could see my mom in her. I told her I was doing okay, and then she started giving me her usual lines about how she'd love to get her life on track, but x, y and z was preventing it, and did I know she had a new boyfriend? Although his drinking problem was worse than hers, and he has seizures all the time.

We parted ways and I walked on with my friend, shaken. Over the years, I had to distance myself emotionally from both her and my uncle because they were unreliable and I saw the hurt they caused the rest of the family. Running into them, in the scenario I described above, was unsettling. This was not how normal families were. One black sheep? OK. Two? Sometimes in the same city that I frequented for shopping and eating? It was too much. I could never walk downtown freely without the worry of running into them, and I would feel guilty of my own life when I saw them. Guilty because I had a full-time job, a husband, and a roof over my head. Things one should not have to feel guilty about, but yet, I did, because it felt uncomfortable to be doing better than my older aunt and uncle. It felt uncomfortable that they had been dealt monumental struggles and I had not.

Sadly, both of them met tragic ends. The drinking took over, as we all thought it might, and they both died from it. They could not be saved, and if I told you all the effort that had been put in over the years to try to save them, you would be exhausted.

And you would understand.

Homeless people with substance abuse problems do have families. Families that care very, very much, but who can only do so much before they start hurting their own lives in the process.We loved them, but that was not enough to save them.

Loss

I recently found out that someone I know lost her mother, and I felt my heart constrict .

I know that kind of loss too well. The memories of those feelings are so strong, it could have happened yesterday. It felt like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart as hard as they could. It felt like the ground opened up beneath my feet and swallowed me whole with the words "Mom's dead". It felt like I had entered an alternate universe, a world that was never, ever going to look the same.

It still doesn't.

When you lose someone close to you, there are two time periods- the one you spent with them and the one in which you have to continue on without them. The latter is an unbearable thought in the first minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, even years. The grief was so raw, I felt like I was walking around, emotionally naked. No defenses, no cover, from the tidal waves of sadness and anger.

I cried every single day, in my car, on the way home from work, for months after my mom passed, and often on the way into work, too. The grief wreaked havoc on my mind and on my body. Every little thing was a reminder of her- music, places, even the way one of the towns I passed through looked in the evening commute darkness, as I had driven it with her more times that I could possibly count.

Family and friends were patient as they waited for me to come out of the storm. It took a while. Somewhere in there we planned our wedding, and life went on. I was thankful for the people I was surrounded by- they offered love, patience, shoulders to cry on and ears to listen.

That is about all you can do for someone who has lost a loved one- be there for them, and be consistent. They need all the anchors they can get while they weather one of the worst storms of all- the loss of someone they loved, someone they never wanted to picture a day without.

Little Miracles

I can't deny it: it's hard for me to find the beauty in 6 degree winter mornings.

Instead of beauty, I see a 10 year old car that needs sufficient warming up before going anywhere, two kids that I have to wrangle coats, boots, hats and mittens on, and two wood stoves that need to be checked on (more than once, because I am paranoid that my house is going to burn down while I'm away).

We finally get in the car and are on our way to preschool.

As I pull into the parking lot, Buddy exclaims: "Look at the school! It's sparkling!"

Sure enough, it was.

Tiny snowflakes had dotted the side of the pale yellow building and white fence, and the 8:30am sunlight was catching them perfectly. They shimmered and twinkled and sparkled.

We looked around and noticed that the sparkling continued onto the small surrounding snow banks.

All this beauty, right in front of me, that I failed to see because I was too focused on the annoyances surrounding a 6 degree morning. It didn't take me long to also realize the beauty in Buddy saying two clear sentences. For so long, I worried about his speech development. Now, here he was, using his words to show me that magic can still be found, even on cold winter mornings.

Little miracles are all around us if we take the time to listen and look.

2015

Right now, I feel so conscious of the very first days of 2015.

On the first day, I rejoiced in being able to sleep in until 9:30. Thanks, hubby! On the second day, I had the house to myself in the morning and crossed things off left and right on my To Do list. On the third day, I reveled in a spontaneous lunch date with my husband after we learned that a party we were going to attend was cancelled (but we still had babysitters!). We had a gift card, which meant I could definitely order dessert- my favorite- chocolate chip cookie bake.

Have I mentioned that I haven't looked at the scale in a little while? But, I will, today, with school resuming. It was a glorious 2 weeks of not sticking to routine, and getting time to do things and see people and eat delicious food. Today, I will get back on track. I know I will- because I won't give myself any other option!

Unlike previous years, I had no grandiose resolutions in mind heading into 2015. So far, that's turning out okay. I think by not setting my resolutions ahead of time, they have shown themselves in these first few days:

1. I want to spend more un-distracted time with my kids, husband, friends and family. I'm putting my phone in my purse so I'll look at it less.

2. I want to read and write more.

3. I want to find something good in each day, even when the day seems rotten.

4. I want to stay grounded and in the flow of family life even though our evenings are often consumed with meetings of some sort that take Steve or I out of the house.

5. I want to go to Church more.

6. I want to start looking at big picture things again- wills, life insurance, etc. 2014 was the fastest year of my life and was proof that the years can and will fly by. While we can't control everything that happens to us, we can make plans for the future, for home improvement, for anniversary getaways, etc.

I think it's going to be a great year.