My Resolution For The New Year

It's New Year's Eve.

I have been flipping through a cookbook this morning, trying to plan a menu for tonight's dinner.

I forgot I had an old one with Namoi Judd on the cover. Inside one of the pages was this...

"In today's world, we know more but care less. Seems the experts have more and more information to give people who have less and less time to be paying attention."

So true.

My goal for the new year is to take more time to enjoy the moment. No more rushing around. No more lists of things I hope to do.

Just do 'em.

Does He Have An 'Off' Button?

My youngest is now four.

He turned four two days after Christmas. Okay, so I didn't time that one out too well. Hey, I've learned.

I've also learned that just because he is four, doesn't mean he ACTS four. More like four going on twenty. Here are some of the things my "20" year-old has rattled off since his birthday.

"Hey, Mom, do boys have boobs? Cause I've been wondering." Try answering that in front of a room full of people.

After getting his new 'big boy' bed, Hayden asked, "Who's gonna sleep in my other one?"

Upon finding a pack of sugar-free gum in his stocking, he turned to me and said, "Finally! My OWN pack of gum. That means I don't ask YOU for permission." W-R-O-N-G.

Three days AFTER Christmas, Hayden asked, "How many more days till Santa comes?" That tells me two things...1) He wasn't impressed with Santa's delivery. 2) It's gonna be a looooong year.

When Hayden was giving me some attitude, I stopped him and said, "You will be respectful to your mother." He yelled back, "That's not nice, Mom. That means 'Mommy doesn't love you.' Huh?

And finally, to his grandmother, who had just gotten out of bed the day after Christmas..."Your hair is WEIRD...is that a mohawk?"

I'm still looking for the 'off' switch.

My Favorite Gift

Christmas has come and gone.

I took a break from blogging to get through the holiday, knowing it would be different without my dad. It was our first Christmas with him gone, and I had dreaded it for some time.

Instead of camping out at his home, we grabbed air mattresses, packed our pajamas and slippers, and headed to my older sister's place. There, we tried to remember what Christmas was all about, and did our best to lean on each other.

It wasn't bad, just different.

My father was the inspiration for many of our family traditions, so his absence was obvious. Kinda like a sock that is missing its match in the dryer, a beach without a seashell, or a cookie jar with no lid...Dad belonged.

I missed getting that call this year asking me for ideas for Mom, then asking me to wrap it later. I missed not seeing Dad in his robe, while putting batteries in the grandkids' toys, and seeing him enjoy them as much as they did. I missed not teasing Dad about how he mumbled the questions during a round of Trivial Pursuit where the girls took on the guys.

So, it warmed my heart when I opened my gift from Mom...

An ornament with Dad's picture. And it's just how I would want to remember him, handsome, smiling and looking content.

We toasted to Dad by sipping his favorite drink...Coca-Colas in the miniature glass bottles. Without a doubt, my favorite gift this year was the ornament from Mom, and next year I will have a new tradition...

The 'brightest star in the sky' will be hanging on my tree.

Even Peyton Needs His Mom

Every mom dreads the day when her son or daughter won't need her as much.

Of course, we all want our children to grow up to be independent and be their own person. But, soon, they will only want a kiss on the cheek, no hugs when we drop them off at school, or they won't feel the need to call much once they're on their own at college.

It happens.

And now that I'm a mother, I know how my parents felt when I slowly began to pull away and climb the mountain of life.

So, I had to laugh when we watched the Colts play last week, and Griffin spotted Peyton Manning holding a telelphone on the sidelines. He said...

"Look, Mom, Peyton had to call his parents."

So True

Came across this in a magazine today. Thought I'd share...

SOMEBODY ISN'T A MOTHER (Author Unknown)

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you’ve had a baby … somebody doesn’t know that once you’re a mother, “normal” is history.

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct, somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

Somebody said being a mother is boring … somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver’s permit.

Somebody said if you’re a “good” mother, your child will “turn out good”… somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

Somebody said “good” mothers never raise their voices …somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor’s kitchen window.

Somebody said you don’t need an education to be a mother…somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

Somebody said you can’t love the second child as much as you love the first… somebody doesn’t have two children.

Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books…somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery….somebody never watched her “baby” get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten or on a plane headed for military “boot camp.”

Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back….somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married…somebody doesn’t know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother’s heartstrings.

Somebody said a mother’s job is done when her last child leaves home…somebody never had grandchildren.

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don’t need to tell her…

Somebody isn’t a mother.

Betcha Haven't Seen This Before

I did some writing in that book I mentioned a few weeks back.

I've been trying to squeeze it in between cleaning up drink spills, refereeing the boys wrestling matches, and catching up on reading my People magazines. The last three issues are sitting on my nightstand.

I had been on a writing website this evening, when I spotted this job ad...

We want to PAY YOU to give yourself acne!

I'm not looking to quit radio, yet I certainly did a double-take. Surely, this was a joke. But, nope, turns out it's legit. I read on, and had to laugh. Here's the full job description:

We're looking for a moderately attractive male or female, aged 18-35, with fairly clear skin and a good sense of humor. The assignment is to spend one week trying to GIVE YOURSELF ACNE: you will smear your face with oil, crisco, pizza grease, and other unctuous substances, then go about your daily business.

A high-quality digital camera is required, as you must take plenty of pictures (at least 10 per day). You will also need to keep a written journal of your experiences (at least 2 typed pages per day). Your experiences will then be written up for our award-winning comedy Web site, where we will give your experiment massive publicity. Please do not apply if you do not want to become a "breakout" star!

We will pay $250 for the article, plus up to $100 for expenses, with an additional $100 bonus if you are able to successfully give yourself at least five zits. This is not a joke. (Well, it IS funny, but we'll really pay for the article.)

$450 is a nice bonus for five zits, almost one C-note per blemish, but who DOES this?

By the way, I didn't apply.

Out With the Old, In With the New

Whether we admit it or not, we all change over the years.

Maybe it's appearance, personality, values, likes or dislikes, but it is inevitable that we go through a self-metamorphisis during the aging process. I'm the first to admit this. I've done the inventory to prove it...

The old me was shy as a child. The new me, well...isn't.

The old me was called "Debbie" in high school. The new me became known as "Deborah" at college, thanks to to the way my full name was listed on the roster.

The old me wrote in a diary, recording what 'Jason' wore to school every day. The new me writes in a journal, and Jason's pale yellow jeans are no longer mentioned.

The old me begged my mother for a couple of "carbon copies" from her checkbook, so I could pretend I was old enough to write them. The new me doesn't WANT to write them.

The old me curled my hair with hot rollers. The new me invested in a flat iron.

The old me loved the smell of my Dad's coffee, but never drank it. The new me chugs it.

Finally, the old me feared sitting in restaurant booths, hates doing laundry, and loves lipgloss.

Oddly enough, the new me STILL fears sitting in restaurant booths, hates doing laundry, and loves lipgloss.

Ok, so some things NEVER change.

I'd Turn Around

Guess you can't say they didn't warn you.

Found The DS, Lost My Sanity

The search is over.

The missing Nintendo DS is no longer a mystery, I found it.

You would have thought we won the Superbowl by the celebration that followed. I mean, it has been missing for 6 whole weeks. How did Griffin ever survive?

That's like me going one day without Starbucks coffee. Greg going a week without a bubble bath. Or Hayden going three days without grumbling and then stomping off when I tell him he can't wear shorts to go to the grocery.

So, last night I was watching the boys play in the basement, racking my brain as to where the DS might be. We last saw it in the basement. It HAD TO BE THERE SOMEWHERE.

Even though we've removed the cushions from the couch a good seven times, we never found the missing game. Yet, we DID find a squirt gun, two gum wrappers, and a piece to a puzzle that we tossed because, well, because it had a missing piece.

I stood up last night and decided I needed to look one more time. I removed the cushions, then slid my hand down between where the seat meets the back of the couch. And there it was.

I did a little happy dance that went unnoticed to the boys. The feeling of finding something that's been missing for so long could be compared to winning the mini-marathon. Well, almost, but without the sore muscles and months of training. Ok, not at all. Point is, I was excited.

Later, Griffin mimicked my happy dance when he learned the DS was no longer in hiding. He pumped his fists in the air, and screamed, "Yessssssssssssssss!" Hey, it's the little things.

Yet, within twenty minutes, the boys were fighting over the beloved little game, and all of the previous squabbles they've had came rushing back.

Turns out, a lost Nintendo DS wasn't that bad after all.

Couldn't Make It Up If I Tried

Kids.

You know the phrase, "Kids say the darndest things."

I spent most of yesterday making mental notes of all the silly things my boys blurted out. Such as:

-Driving home from Hayden's school, we were crawling along on 465. Frustrated with the slow-moving traffic, 7-year-old Griffin says loudly, "I KNEW we should've rode our bikes."

-Eating dinner at Chili's, 3-year-old Hayden spotted an elderly man in the booth next to us. Loudly, he said, "Momma, when will I become a papaw?" I told him it won't happen for a long, long time. "You mean, probably in twenty minutes?"

-On the way home from that dinner, Hayden kept at it, "When will I be old?" I told him it would be years and years, after he marries a woman and maybe has kids. "Ewwww, I will NEVER do that, cause you have to dance with a girl."

-Hayden started to take his pants down out in public one day, and I told him we don't do that. "It's not good manners to show your privates to others. Mommy doesn't do that." His response? "You don't HAVE privates, I've looked."

And that's just three days worth.

I'm Afraid of the Dark

In case you missed it this morning, I shared this story on the air.

I'm the "trash collector" when my family is in the car. Doesn't matter where we are going, could be to and from dinner, to the grocery, or driving home from basketball practice, there is always SOMETHING the kids need to throw away from the backseat. And lucky dog, they hand it to me.

Greg is driving, so he's never handed an empty juice box, gum wrapper, used napkin, or 3-day old chicken nugget that was found near a seatbelt.

You get the idea.

It happens so often that I've resorted to reaching my arm toward the boys without turning around. Last night, as Greg drove the family home in the dark, 3-year-old Hayden says, "Here, Mom. Take it."

Instinctively, I grabbed for "it" without looking. As I felt his hand in mine, I curiously asked, "Whatcha got?"

Long pause.

"A BOOGER," he said with a grin.

That's what I get for not looking.

Couldn't Have Said It Better

I ran to the store last night to get a prescription filled for one of my little guys.

It was going to be a ten-minute wait, so I browsed the cards section. That's when I read this one, which reminded me of how I used to look at life...

For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin-real life.

But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid.

At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.

This perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness.

Happiness is the way.

So treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one.

Happiness is a journey, not a destination.

Inspiring words to live by.

I'll Clean Toilets Any Day

One thing I detest doing is laundry.

I know, it's kind of a necessity. I'm good with sorting my laundry, and I'm good with getting my darks downstairs and into the washer. But, that's where things start to go downhill.

I've been known to let my load of clothes sit in the washer, only to never have the pleasure of making it to that next level...

The dryer.

I'm not lazy. I just...forget. I wouldn't have trouble remembering if it was an enjoyable task. Say, for instance, if it involved tortilla chips.

So, usually, I have to REWASH my laundry, because it has dried by the time I get to it, or by the time Greg has teased me relentlessly that I'm only doing it to keep him quiet. By the way, it's usually the latter.

Last night, after pulling my freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer, I took them upstairs. That's another dilemma. PUTTING THEM AWAY. Hey, we all have flaws.

Griffin asked if he could help put my clothes away, and I welcomed the extra hand. Thinking it would be fun to make a game out of it, I told him socks go in my second drawer, and underwear in the third. Except, we didn't get very far.

His response?

I am NOT touching PANTIES!!!

I spent the next five minutes trying to figure out where he's heard that one.

Christmas Magic and Memories

Christmas.

A magical time of the year. For me, it's bittersweet.

I live for seeing that magic through the eyes of my boys, but struggle with knowing my father will miss their squeals and smiles on Christmas morning.

I can remember the butterflies in my stomach as my sisters and I slept next to each other on Christmas Eve. I tried my hardest to keep my eyes pried open, hoping for a glimpse of Santa with his snowy beard.

I never made it.

The next morning, we could hear our hearts beating in our ears as we waited in our rooms for Mom and Dad to "go check" if Santa had dropped down our chimney.

My favorite memory as a child which holds true today is the smile on my father's face as he watched us open our presents. He would sit with his coffee, and each reaction we had made his day. He got the same enjoyment out of watching his grandchildren.

Christmas won't be the same without Dad. I wrote this for him...

You held me as a child

And showed me the world

Knowing one day I would find my own path.

Yet, I still rely on your instinct

Hoping to make you proud and carry on your traditions.

As I climb the stairs of life

I can feel your hand behind me

There to catch me if I fall.

Thank you, Dad

For your love and understanding

For expecting me to do the right thing

Or for understanding when I don't.

And for showing me that family relationships don't just happen,

You build them.

I love you.

The Curse of Christmas Cards

Christmas cards.

Every year, we send them to family and friends. But every year, it stresses me out. Not sure why. I always tell myself to get the boys' photo taken early in the fall, but it never happens.

I tell myself to create my photo cards online in the first week of December, but something inevitably comes up. I love, love, love receiving cards in the mail, yet it's another reminder that I STILL HAVEN'T DONE MINE!

I'm usually the one slapping postage on my cards as though I'm in some Olympic event. I'm the one who actually feels the weight lift off my shoulders when I drop my stack of holiday wishes in the "To Be Mailed" slot.

So this week, I picked up my photo cards that I had ordered and drove home on a mission. All I had to do was address these puppies and I would be finito.

I decided Greg could help speed up the process. He could stuff them and seal the envelopes. We had nearly 75% completed when he blurted out, "Do you know they spelled your name wrong? They spelled it 'Debor-E-h?'

WHAAAAT?

I knew there was NO WAY I was doing them all over again. It just might be the first year we nix holiday cards altogether. I was obviously not cut out to be a Christmas well-wisher.

"Just kidding," Greg said.

I wasn't laughing, meanwhile my cards go out tomorrow.

One of These Things is Not Like The Other

Siblings.

It's interesting to me how you can raise your children the same, yet they couldn't be more different.

That's certainly true for Griffin and Hayden. Of course, I'm one of three girls, and the same goes for my sisters and I. We're very close, but also very different in many aspects.

Still, I am amazed at how my two boys form their likes and dislikes while living under the same roof. For example...

Griffin loves Mac N' Cheese, Hayden doesn't.

Hayden wants the skin on his apple slices cut off, Griffin says keep his on.

Hayden will dip anything he can find in ketchup, including those apple slices, yet Griffin is anti-condiment. No ketchup, no salad dressing, no cheese dip for his breadsticks.

Griffin can't stand orange juice, Hayden would like an I-V of it.

Hayden will not touch rice, and Griffin would be happy if I only served that for dinner.

Griff loves football, Hayden wears his baseball uniform around the house.

Griffin refuses to admit when he's tired, Hayden will admit it in a heartbeat, and even ask to go to bed.

Griff enjoys his Pop-Tart toasted, Hayden wants his right out of the box.

Hayden loves his back tickled at bedtime, Griff wants to hear a story.

Griffin is sentimental, Hayden? Not so much.

Yet, they're brothers, and best friends.

Different, yes, but loved the same.

Lots.

Not Really My Thing

What's your take on holidays decorations on vehicles?

My sister recently sent me a photo text of the car in front of her while she was driving. It displayed a wreath on the back of it. Let's just say she's not a fan.

To each his own.

After thinking about it, I'm probably not in any hurry to buy a wreath for the grill of my car, either. Heck, I barely get a wreath hung on our front door. I don't know why I've never gone the vehicular route. Something about it just seems odd to me.

Kinda like seeing a woman out in public with rollers still in her hair, or a man wearing pajama pants at the grocery. It just has a "doesn't belong" look, in my opinion.

Now, I DO like seeing a freshly cut Christmas tree tied down on top of the family car, but only because it is en route. It's heading to a home to be put up and decorated.

But, hey, my son dips his green beans in his applesauce, so we all have our "thing."

In fact, I've got a list of 'em.

Wish Everyone Talked This Way

It's always nice to be around people who say kind things.

My 7-year-old son would fall into that category. I can always count on Griffin to lift my spirits or make me smile. He'll say things like "This is a great dinner" or "This is the greatest day of my life."

I always appreciate his sunny outlook. Yet, yesterday, I laughed at the compliment he blurted out, which was...

"You're the best Mom I've ever had."

Call me crazy, but wouldn't I be the ONLY Mom he's ever had? Still, I didn't have the heart to point it out.

So for now, I'm the best mom my son has ever had. And that's good enough for me.

Am I Drinking a Big Mac?

Here's some news I could have gone without hearing.

Starbucks, or Fivebucks, as a friend of mine calls it, because our drinks cost us five bucks apiece, has more fat in a frappucino than a Big Mac at McDonalds. I should mention that over the summer, I bought one of these frappucinos every morning.

The largest size, no less.

I first learned of this depressing tidbit of information in the newsletter Griffin brought home from school this week. So, let's do the math:

A frappucino every day for the months of June, July and August=92 coffees.

And according to Griff's oh-so-appreciated newsletter, that's 92 BIG MACS!!!

Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "liquid diet."

Things I Miss

At 36, which I'm ok with saying, there are things in my life that I no longer see, or do, or experience.

Things that may have been part of my childhood, or for whatever reason, I just no longer do as an adult. Things that bring back fond memories, and things I miss. Such as...

Making popcorn on the stove with my Grandmother, and eating it from her silver bowl.

School chili and peanut butter sandwiches. Yes, oddly enough, I actually miss one of the lunches served at school. The fudgy brownies served with the school's spaghetti are a close second.

The lipgloss I wore as a teen. Two colors, peach and pink, held in a clever container of big red lips.

Concerts I would hold in my bedroom, as I belted out music by the group Expose.' I would tape my hairbrush to our vaccuum and have an instant microphone with a stand. Or so I thought. I now know why I had no audience.

Lemonheads. I don't eat 'em anymore, but I used to have a love/hate thing with the candies. They tasted good at first, then my mouth would contort from the sourness, then go back to normal once the sour was gone.

Frying donuts. I haven't done this in years. But, there's something about shaping the dough, dropping it in a vat of hot grease, then sprinkling it with powdered sugar. Trans fat, anyone?

Archie comic books. I could have opened a bookstore with the books I owned and I secretly wanted to be Betty. Veronica was high-maintenance. And I still haven't met anyone called "Jughead."

My adult-sized sleeper that had no feet. It was like wearing an eggplant-colored sleeping bag to bed. It was a gift from my parents, and in my late 20's, I fell down their stairs during a Christmas stay. Sleeping in it was one thing...walking was another.

Scratch N' Sniff stickers. I actually collected these, and loved peeling back the plastic pages to scratch the fuzzy peach.

Finally, the slam of the back patio screen door at the home where I grew up. We were constantly in and out of that door that led to the pool, and I didn't love it then. Yet, the thought of it brings back memories of pool parties and summers with my sisters.

Those are just some of the things I miss.

And How Was Your Day?

Life is never dull.

Take, for example, my trip to the bank. I was in a hurry, and making a trip through the drive-thru. Here's the rundown...

I pulled up, and quickly hit my automatic power window. I then reached for my license and deposit, then turned to grab the bank tube that looks like a time capsule or the Magic Bullet blender seen in infomercials on the driver's side door. Big mistake.

My nose bounced off the glass. The window had failed to go down, and I had failed to notice.

I glanced around to see who caught my mishap, the same way I look to see who spotted me knocking over ten boxes of Ritz crackers in aisle 10 at the grocery.

Next, I put my deposit in the tube and place it back in its holder. I press the SEND button, and soon hear a suction of air as it starts to move upward.

Which is when I felt a tugging sensation at my neck. Turns out, some fringe from my scarf had gotten shut inside the tube. Hey, a common occurence. I frantically yank my scarf back, and had to laugh out loud, though I nearly suffered a minor choking hazard.

And, of course, I look around to see who is watching.

A quick thank-you from the teller, and I was on my way. I put my car in gear and slowly pull forward...

...Only to drive over the curb. This time I don't even bother to see who's watching. Does it even matter?

The surveillance video would be quite entertaining. The sad thing is, stuff like this happens to me all the time.

All in a day's work.

Who Are You And Where Are My Boys?

I'm at a loss for words.

The boys just got baths/showers for the night, and dressed for bed. They decided to watch a movie in Griffin's room, and I heard this when I walked out the door...

"I love you, Bubby. You're my best friend."

I looked back to see Hayden, who is 3, kiss his 7-year-old brother on the cheek. Griff put his arm around his brother and grinned. Gotta love it.

Twenty minutes ago they were rough-housing and I had 9-1-1 on speed dial. Twenty minutes ago, the boys were yelling louder than I did when I grabbed Nick Lachey's arm at the Superbowl. Twenty minutes ago, they were playing tug-of-war with the Gameboy, until I put them both in time alone.

Who knows how long this latest kindness act will last, but I'm not complaining. As I write this, it is actually quiet in this house.

And I hear stuff...

Like the whir of the dishwasher, and a cardoor shutting across the street. I hear our black lab snoring, and my office chair squeaking when I lean back.

This NEVER happens.

Lovin' it.

Just When I Needed It

There's something about opening the mail on a bad day and getting something to lift my spirits.

I had been missing my dad, and opened a small package from my dear friend, Michelle, in Georgia. She creatively made a piece of artwork that featured a quote from an old Eskimo legend. It read:

"Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy."

Her card was signed, "Look at this when you think of your dad, the brightest star in the sky."

I often tell the boys that their Papaw Mike is the brightest star. I will forever treasure it, especially when looking up.

Thanks, Michelle.

Ten Years Down the Road

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

A friend of mine told me she was asked this question in a recent job interview, and she wasn't sure what to say. I'm not a big fan of questions like that.

What's the right answer?

Sure wouldn't have guessed I would be where I am now had I been asked that when I graduated college. Heck, I remember telling my Dad I didn't WANT to go to college. That's when he told me it was NOT an option.

Alrighty then.

Once I got my degree, I took the first job I could get...in radio. And I've never left. 16 years ago, I wouldn't have said I would still be here. Had I not stuck it out, I would have missed some of the best times of my life. Such as...

-Working with my three best friends, Jim, Kevin, and Gator.

-Hearing my favorite music. Country songs tell a story. "Don't Blink" is one I connect with because it reminds me that life is fleeting.

-Interviewing the artists. It's one of my favorite things to do, learning more about the person behind the image. Trace Adkins deals with the same things we all deal with. And who knew Kenny Chesney secretly likes Fruity Pebbles, too?

-Crying on the air, and being ok with that. I broke down on my first day back from maternity leave, and was greeted with emails from many women who said they cried along with me on 465.

-Becoming a Child Advocate. I began working with foster kids during my years on WFMS, after reading so many news stories of kids being neglected. It's been one of the most rewarding experiences.

-And finally, learning who I am. I'm not the same person who first slid behind the microphone years ago. I've grown. I'm a wife and a mother. I'm a better friend. I see life through a different lense.

So, where do you see yourself ten years from now?

I still can't answer it.

A Christmas Tree, Star, and Kitchen Sink

We put up a new tree last night.

Assuming it would fit, we put it together, and noticed the top branch was about to poke through the top of the ceiling. But, hey...things happen.

The real dilemma is we can't fit the star on top. Every year, Griffin hangs the gold star over the top branch, but this year...

It didn't happen.

He got on his dad's shoulders, but couldn't make it fit. Greg tried. I tried. Hayden tried, too, sort of. He kept shouting "push harder, Gwiffin!" Short of cutting a hole through the plaster, it's just not reasonably possible. So, we're working on plan B.

In the meantime, the star is sitting next to the kitchen sink.

Ho Ho Ho.

What'd We Win?

Groceries.

I put off getting the week's groceries long enough, so by Wednesday, we were almost out of everything we needed.

At 8 pm Wednesday, I realized I couldn't put it off any longer. Tired, I put on my boots and headed to the car. That's when Griffin asked if he could go with me.

We hopped in, and drove to the store. Once there, the real reason Griffin tagged along was revealed.

Chocolate-chip muffins.

Not just muffins in the bakery, but the mix. And he was hoping we could bake them for a bedtime snack. As soon as we get home.

I still had a million groceries to get because our pantry was bare. The muffins needed to bake for 16 minutes, and it was getting later on a school night. So, I made Griff a deal.

"Let's see how fast we can get groceries on my list. Almost like a race, ok?" His eyes lit up and he nodded.

And we were off. We grabbed blueberries, strawberries too...but they looked bad, so I put them back. Sierra mist, turkey bacon, peanut butter, bagels...plain ones at first, then switched 'em for blueberry, and 2% milk.

We grabbed frozen veggies, broccoli, green beans, and corn, and literally threw them in the cart. A quick jog over to get eggs, check them for cracks, then it was off to buy paper towels, a 12-pack.

I was running and Griffin was laughing.

Not done yet. A box of Townhouse crackers, Honeynut Cheerios, and syrup for pancakes, too.

Out of breath, we ran to the checkout, and found the open lanes with lines three people deep.

"Let's scan them ourselves, ok?"

We worked as a team, he scanning an item, then me, then Griffin, and on and on. With each beep we got excited that we were closer to the finish line.

I paid, he grabbed the receipt, and we loaded up to head home.

We told Greg about our quick shopping, and he asked if he could help as I put things away. "Yes," I said, exhausted...

"Make the muffins."

What Would Your Pledge Say?

Three months before my Dad died, I had given him the book "Just Who Will You Be?," by Maria Shriver.

It served as a birthday gift. I now have it at home.

I picked it up the other day and was reminded of the Pledge in the back of the book. It's a list of the top ten things Shriver pledges to herself in order to keep focused and centered on who she wants to be.

And here they are:

1. I pledge to "show up" in my life as myself, not as an imitation of anyone else.

2. I pledge to avoid using the word "just" to describe myself. For example, I won't say, "I'm just a mother," "I'm just a student," or "I'm just an ordinary person."

3. I pledge to give myself ten minutes of silence and stillness every day to get in touch with my heart and hear my own voice.

4. I pledge to use my voice to connect my dreams to my actions.

5. I pledge to use my voice to empower myself and others.

6. I pledge to serve my community at least once a year in a way that will benefit other people.

7. I pledge to ask myself, "Who am I? What do I believe in? What am I grateful for? And, what do I want my life to stand for?"

8. I pledge to sit down and write my own mission statement.

9. I pledge to live my own legacy.

10. And I pledge to pass it on.

Good words to live by.

The Search Continues

My 7-year-old has lost his Nintendo DS.

I don't use the word "lost" often. I tend to use "misplaced" instead, because things always turn up. But, the DS is clearly LOST. We've looked, and it's no where to be found.

We've searched for DAYS.

It's happened to all of us. You misplace something and you can almost see it lying around your home. We can recall the last time he had it. It stands to reason that the game grew feet and literally walked away.

Over the past week, we've looked under cushions, under beds, in our cars, through toyboxes, and bedcovers. We've moved furniture, cleaned out a closet, opened drawers, and dumped out dry-cleaning bags. We've checked with relatives and asked Hayden if he's playing a trick on his brother.

Nothing.

We've rifled through the junk drawer in the kitchen, looked under the sink, on the shelf in the laundry room, in the guest room, under Darby's bed, behind pictures, inside the piano bench, and guess what?

Nada.

Yet, my husband is determined. Monday Greg was back at it. I heard him exhale with frustration and then say, "I can't stand LOSING things!"

It's now become a challenge for Greg. Last night, he was back to his search, rummaging through our closet, even dumping out my laundry basket.

Still nothin.

You can bet Griff will have a Nintendo DS on his wish-list this year. In the meantime, Greg has a new hobby.

Searching for stuff that's been "misplaced."

Permanent Spirit-Wear

Interesting, to say the least.

Do You Remember?

Memory Lane.

We all take a trip down that famous path from time to time. Here are some of the ones I think of fondly.

The Paramount Pizza Palace. The sound of the organ when I walked through the door as a child was enough to form a grin from ear to ear. Forget Chuck E Cheese's, this place was more fun than a robotic mouse on a stage. I was scared of him anyway.

My Cabbage Patch doll. I loved the smell of baby-powder in her yarn-like hair and the autograph on the doll's backside.

Ground Round Restaurant. Mom and Dad would take my sisters and I to this place, and it was the one restaurant I could be messy. I loved cracking open the peanut shells and throwing them on the floor.

Sun-catchers. We made them for our kitchen window. Baking them in the oven was fun and Mom would display our artwork.

Mr. Steak in Anderson. I lived for their brown rice, and loved the trivia we could play on the big screen. Good family fun.

Dad's wood-paneled station wagon. Forget calling shotgun, I loved the rear-facing backseat. As kids, we would wave at the car behind us, annoying many drivers.

Hostess Ding-Dongs wrapped in foil. Third drawer in the kitchen, that's where Mom kept 'em. I would break them open and eat the filling first.

Finally, the Lazarus restaurant in Castleton. Mom and I would always request a balcony seat so we could people-watch the shoppers down below. It's where my love for chicken salad was born.

And so many more.

We All Have 'Em

It's been kind of an off day...

The kids are fighting over a Gameboy. Yes, we are still searching for a missing Nintendo DS.

I didn't cook the potatoes long enough, and they were crunchy.

My hair has static electricity.

We're out of paper towels.

I have a migraine. Somehow, SOMEWAY, I forgot to go to Starbucks.

Soooo...I think I'll call it a night.

Hold My Calls

Tis' the season.

With Christmas approaching, we sometimes tell the boys that we will call Santa when their behavior is less than stellar. Just the mention of it is usually enough to put an end to the problem.

And did I mention we've used the Santa threat since August? Hey, milk it for all it's worth.

Hayden recently threw a tantrum over not getting his way. The boy was determined, and I was trying to hold my ground. I told him I was disappointed, and Santa probably was, too. I took it one step further, and hit the "page" button on our cordless phone so it would beep.

"Look, Hayden, Santa is calling. He's probably going to tell me that he sees you throwing a fit."

Hayden stopped crying for a moment, then suddenly blurted out...

"Well, tell him to call back later!"

Not exactly what I was hoping for.

Independent To Say The Least

Over the weekend, Hayden woke up and announced that he was hungry.

No surprise there. The boy, almost four, wakes up hungry every morning. It's the first thing he talks about. "I wanna eat. Let's go downstairs and have breakfast."

Yesterday morning, Hayden woke up, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I want chicken."

For breakfast?

We got up, and before I could get things started, Hayden came to me and said, "I'm making popcorn." WHAT?

My impatient child had discovered a box of popcorn in the pantry. A box that had three packets inside.

I assumed he was kidding, but heard the microwave running as I turned the corner. How in the world did he get it to work? And I had to laugh at the sight of it.

The ENTIRE box, unopened, was turning in circles inside the microwave. It was hot when I removed it.

Determined little fella. Luckily, he settled for eggs and bacon.

A Pretty Good Life

My oldest is 7. He may only be seven in age, yet I call him an old soul.

There's something about him that keeps me going. I'm not even sure I can put my finger on it. He has a unique way of looking at life, and sees things I don't. Simply put, he has a way with words.

Last week, as I drove us to run some errands, Griffin said something that caught me off guard.

"I've sure had a good life, Mom."

I wasn't sure what to think of that one. His life was just getting started at only 7 years old. What was he talking about? So, I asked him. Here's how it went:

Me: What do you mean, Griff?

G: I was just thinking, and if you ask me, I have had a good life. Gotten to do some fun things.

Me: Oh yeah, like what?

G: Like "family nights" on Fridays, and I went to my first concert over the summer, I got to be on the big screen at the Colts game, and I've even been in a parade. Pretty good life.

Fast-forward to yesterday, when he and his little brother ran outside to play in the snow. I bundled them up, and watched the snowballs zip through the air as they had their first snowball fight.

Twenty minutes later, they trailed in snow from their boots and sat down for some hot chocolate in the kitchen. Griffin took his first sip and said...

"Ahhhh, I've waited for this my whole life."

His WHOLE life? He's seven.

"Waited for what," I asked?

"For the winter season. For snow. For hot cocoa. It doesn't get better than this, Mom."

I'm not sure where he gets it. But, I love seeing the world through his window.

Thankful For a Lot

It's Thanksgiving.

My first without my dad.

So, in honor of him, I made a list of the top 10 things I'm thankful that I learned from him. And here they are:

10. To do for others. My dad was always very generous with his time and wanted to help his family.

9. To tuck in my kids. He always tucked me in at night when I was younger, and the boys love that I tuck them in the same way. Pushing the covers around their legs and saying "tuck, tuck, tuck."

8. To not take yourself too seriously. He was a very funny person, and I learned that it's ok to laugh at yourself. Life is more fun that way.

7. To be proud of who you are. My dad, and mom, taught all of their kids to be confident.

6. To give your best effort. And if that still doesn't work, you know you tried your hardest.

5. To be together. There were times I didn't understand this one as I grew up, but now I know how important it is. I hope my kids will know one day, too.

4. To hug and kiss when you leave. Greg says our goodbyes need "pre-goodbyes." It takes awhile.

3. To be there. Dad answered the phone nearly every time I called, and showed up at every family event, or kids' activity. He didn't miss.

2. To create traditions. That's what my dad was all about. He fostered a feeling of togetherness among all of us, and we now pass it on to our own.

1. Finally, to love your family. It's your backbone in life, and will get you through the bad times, and help you celebrate the good. It's who you lean on.

I miss you, Dad. And I'm thankful you were my father.

No One Would Stare

Ever been so sick that you couldn't reach for a box of tissues?

Me, neither.

Write It Down Next Time

Greg and I have a running joke.

Some weekend mornings, he goes to pick up McDonalds breakfast for the family. I'll give him my order, only for him to return WITHOUT it. He always forgets. Always feels bad, but always forgets.

Last night, he called home to ask me if he could bring me anything because I've been sick. I asked for Gatorade, lemon-lime flavor.

A few minutes later, I called him as he was walking in to the store. "We need a gallon of milk," I told him. He said he'd get it and be right home.

I was lying on the couch when Greg walked in with the milk. "Where's the Gatorade," I asked? Greg's response...

"Aaaagghh...I forgot it."

Isn't that the REASON he even went to the store in the first place?

My New Pals: Saltines and 7-UP

The flubug. I have it.

I can honestly say I haven't felt this bad since I was pregnant with both boys, and literally sick for several months.

Even though I'm 36, there's something about being sick that makes you want to say...

I want my mommy.

Dancin Feet

I had my first dance lesson today.

Let me explain.

I have signed on to dance with a professional dancer for a non-profit organization. This may surprise you since I am known for falling up the stairs and tripping over my own size-10 feet.

Yet, today...I shocked even myself.

After two hours of working with my dance instructor, I think I actually have RHYTHM! And even better...

He didn't leave laughing.

My husband doesn't have much faith, (can't blame him, since I literally RUN INTO WALLS in the house), but I think he'll be surprised.

Bring it on.

9 Things I Do

As we age, we learn more about ourselves.

Some of the things we learn are good, some are silly. Here is a list of both, as I've come to realize it's what makes me ME.

I make "To-Do" lists and put them in my purse, only to never look at them again.

I drink my coffee at work out of a styrofoam cup with the stir still in it.

I often paint my nails in the car when Greg is driving.

I use envelopes from junk mail for bookmarks.

I often don't wear a winter coat because I get too warm in my car.

I memorize phone numbers. I know my old home number growing up, a friend's from elementary school, and my cell number from 10 years ago.

I like to give exact change. If its $10.32, I give the 32 cents from my wallet.

I will read the last page of my People Magazine FIRST. Every time.

And finally, I say the phrase "Long story short" a lot as I'm telling a story to a friend, but trying to keep it brief. Which it NEVER is.

And that's me in a nutshell.

Some Things to Remember

I was recently invited to an engagement dinner for someone getting married soon. All couples attending were asked to write a few words of advice for a happy marriage. I wrote this...

It's love, and it's laughter

Then laughing some more

A gentleman who occasionally opens her door.

A foundation of friendship

A trust that's unbroken

A glance full of words that don't have to be spoken.

A hand on a shoulder

"I love you's" each day

Not being too proud to have the last say.

It's giving, not taking

Enjoying the miles

That's my advice for a marriage of smiles.

Like A Deer In the Headlights

The boys asked if they could have some of their Halloween candy last night.

I mean, we only have 3 huge bags of it left, so why not? I let them each choose a couple of pieces and they went on their way, unwrapping the candy as fast as they could.

I went to put the candy away and eyed a little pouch of M&M's, which were calling my name.

So I ripped open a bag.

As I sat eating the chocolate, Griffin ran up to me to ask me something. He also eyed the M&M's, and his face said it all.

Momma got into my Halloween stash.

To put it mildly, Griff is a little territorial about his candy. I had to think quick on my feet. Here's how the conversation panned out...

Griffin: Whatcha doin?

Me: Ummmmmm...nothing.

Griffin: Where'd you get those?

Me: Well, um, I got them from...(stalling, stalling)...You know what Griff? You guys got some treats...and I figured, Momma works hard to be a good parent, so I thought I deserve a treat, too.

LONG PAUSE

Griffin stares at me very seriously, nods his head, and says,

"Yes, Mom, yes you do."

And with that, he walked away.

Dodged that one.

Magic Stairs

That's what my 3-year-old calls an "escalator."

If I dare mention going to the mall, he gets excited. Not to shop. But to ride the magic stairs.

I've never understood his interest in the escalator. It goes up...it comes down. No music. No fast-paced amusement thrill. Yet, we ride it anyway. Even when we don't need to.

His interest in the magic stairs reminds me of when I was a child.

I loved going to the Buster Brown shoe store. I was fixated with the statue of Buster Brown that was actually a helium tank for balloons., and the spout came out of his mouth. I wanted new shoes all the time, and it made my day to make the trip to Muncie where the store was located.

Knowing this, we ride the magic stairs. Again and again.

And one more time.

Everyone Has One

Everyone has a story.

I believe that. Some may be more exciting than others, but everyone has a defining moment in their life where they realize who they are, why they are here, and where they are going.

I often try to imagine the "story" behind the various people I encounter in my life. Because everyone has one.

Like the man who sits alone at Wendy's, eating his lunch. Is he dining alone by choice? Is his wife at home, or passed on? Does he secretly wish he had a companion to converse with, or is he content by himself?

Or the man I often pass at the corner of Keystone and 86th Street, holding a sign that reads, "Will work for food. God Bless." What led him to his current situation? Does he have family? And how long has he been down on his luck?

Or the woman with no hair paying in front of me at CVS. What illness does she have? What's the prognosis? Does she live each day as though it's her last?

We all have a story. I'm writing mine.

What's yours?

12 Things I love

While shopping the other day, I heard "The 12 Days of Christmas" being played over the store's speakers. So, here are twelve random things I enjoy, not necessarily just about the holidays.

Seatwarmers in my car.

MAC "Oh baby" lipgloss.

Seeing a freshly cut Christmas tree on top of someone's car while passing them on the road.

Getting thank-you notes in the mail.

Seeing my boys hug each other tight.

Finding a pair of size 9 1/2 shoes.

Sitting under the dryer at the hair salon, reading a magazine without interruption.

Sea Salt Bagel Chips.

When my 3-year-old asks me to tickle his arm, just like I used to do as a child.

When my husband wears his hat backwards.

Surprising my son for lunch at school.

And finally, finding money I'd forgotten about in a coat pocket.

And there you have it.

Hi Dad, It's Me...

It's been three months since I've seen you.

Hard to believe, yet the world keeps on turning, sometimes unfairly. The changing of the seasons is bittersweet, because it's one more reminder that life continues without you.

Three months seems like an eternity.

That's three months since I've walked into your home and found you sitting with your feet up on a footrest, eating from a can of Pringles potato chips.

Three months since I've been able to run the palm of my hand over the "peach fuzz" you had left for hair.

Three months since I've been able to tease you about wearing your white socks pulled up to your calves. Yet you wore them anyway.

Three months since you have walked through the room while pulling up your pants that always seemed to be falling down.

Three months since you've sat next to me at one of Griffin's ballgames, sipping a cup of McDonald's coffee with cream and sweetener. By the way, I drink mine the same way.

Three months since I've hugged you, taking in the scent of your cigars and Head and Shoulders shampoo. You've used that shampoo since I was little. Somehow, I miss it.

Trying to focus on the positive, some good things have happened during the last three months that you have been gone.

Griffin got the game ball in basketball, Saturday. You would have been so proud.

The boys now know all of the words to "Daddy's Little Girl," and ask for "Papaw's song" in the car. That makes me smile.

Hayden now dresses himself, though his underwear is usually on backwards.

They now tease Mamaw that they will "put her in the trash can...and put the lid on it," just like you used to say to them. It makes them giggle.

Griffin wrote his Veteran's Day letter to you, then called me in Nashville to read it over the phone. He told me he saw your picture in your Army uniform at the funeral.

I recently overheard Hayden telling someone while pointing at a star in the sky, "Look, there's my Papaw Mike." The kids talk about you daily.

And finally, three months since I've been able to call and ask for advice. Didn't matter if it was how to fix something, or kid-related, you knew the answer.

We miss you.

I'll Watch It At Home

Speaking of the Colts game, how would you like your view to be THIS?

Seats? Who Needs 'Em

Took the boys to the Colts game today.

Always a fun time, yet a busy one as well. Mainly because we have a 3-year-old. Here's how our day went:

11:30 am...Leave home.

11:38 am...3-year-old asks, "Are we there yet?"

11:45 am...Same child asks, "How much LONGER?"

12 noon...Boys both ask when we will be able to park the car.

12:30 pm...We are officially stuck in traffic.

12:40 pm...Still stuck in traffic.

12:52 pm...Park, finally.

1:00 pm...Make our way inside the stadium and find our seats.

1:10 pm...3-year-old needs to use the "potty."

1:15 pm...3-year-old plays with the automatic towel dispenser in the bathroom

1:20 pm...7-year-old and I see our faces on the big screen!"

1:22 pm...My phone starts buzzing with texts from friends who say, "Hey, I just saw you on the big screen!

1:25 pm...Greg returns to seats with 4 hotdogs, 2 lemonades and 2 diet Pepsis.

1:45 pm...7-year-old says nature is callin.

1:58 pm...3-year-old announces he is tired and wants to sit in my lap.

2:30 pm...Greg returns to seats with popcorn.

2:45 pm...3-year-old needs to potty, RIGHT NOW!

2:50 pm...Return with cotton candy.

3:00 pm...Take 3-year-old to restroom to wash his sticky fingers (Thank goodness we sat on the aisle.)

3:15 pm...Get smacked in the head with a foam finger from the person behind me.

Oh...and did I mention we watched a football game?

What Did You Say?

Kids talk in code.

Skip me learning another language. Adults have a hard-enough time trying to figure out what their kids are saying.

Tonight, Hayden wasn't watching where he stepped, and landed ankle-deep in water. He later told his dad that he stepped in a "water pud." That would be water "puddle." Other code words used in our house, either currently or in the past:

Big Donalds...McDonalds

Cheffer...a chef

shaky...chocolate shake

plug-ears...(Hayden used this one today...wanting some earplugs at Griff's basketball game

steam..."seam"...the favorite part of Hayden's blanket

movie puter...movie theatre

And on and on and on. I love what they come up with.

So I'm Sentimental...

I have a confession.

Remember back in August when Greg and I had a garage sale? And I had trouble parting with some of the items the boys used when they were younger?

I told you that Greg put what didn't sell in my trunk and asked me to take them to Goodwill. "A trunk full of memories," I called it. I promised to do so, but knew I wouldn't go right away. I drove from home to work, to the mall, and in between, even resorted to putting my groceries in the boys' carseats. Needless to say...

Those memories are still in my trunk. And it's November. Maybe it's time to take them back into the house.

I obviously can't do it.

There Are Boys in My House

As one of three girls, it was rather quiet in my house growing up. Lots of tea parties, and playing school, where my older sister always insisted she was the teacher.

I'm now the mother of two boys, and I don't know quiet any longer. It's a whole new type of parenting. The energy level of boys has taken some getting used to, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I wrote this about living with Griffin and Hayden.

There are boys in my house

One big one, two small

Toys scattered in bedrooms and all down the hall

They swing their make-believe swords through the air

With dirt on their faces and tousled blonde hair

Footballs, big trucks, and gooey green slime

So full of energy, no concept of time

Then it's off to get bad guys and slide down the stairs

They make forts with a blanket thrown over two chairs

They live for video games and books about sports

They're obsessed with team jerseys and elastic-type shorts.

They will frown over showers, and avoid tucks in bed,

Remote-control airplanes will fly by my head,

They like to get dirty, and they're always too loud

Yet nothing could make me more happy or proud.

There are boys in my house

Listen close and you'll hear

"I love you, Momma" when one hugs me dear.

Then it's back to their capes, and the heroes they play

And I count my blessings because I can say...

There are boys in my house.

Keith and Nicole's Baby Photo Revealed!

"Keithette."

That's what actress Nicole Kidman says she sometimes calls her baby with Keith Urban. She says the nickname came about because Sunday Rose looks more like Keith, though she did inherit her momma's fair skin.

During an appearance on Oprah this week, Nicole surprisingly showed the talk-show host and the audience a photo of her and the baby sleeping. Apparently, Keith captured it on his iphone.

Adorable.