Transitions

Life has been full of transitions in my 43+ years; all of the normal progressions, with some wild rides thrown in for fun.  We are now facing a challenging one; helping our parents make care decisions for their next phase of life. Knowing that this will eventually be a reality of life was always on our radar, but we never thought it would come so soon, so suddenly, seemingly without warning.  The fragility of existence is something of which you become fully aware. The realization is unsettling to say the least.

Trying to decide the best way to care for a confused, almost child-like parent is surreal.  Some of the same questions that must have been in their own heads when we were the one being cared for by them are now ours.  How do we make her life as good as possible?  How do we shelter her from the pain and hurt ?  How do we make her feel love when she may not understand our words? The answers are simple, yet complex at the same time. 

Being several states away and trying to help from afar, and traveling to be present as often as possible will create new patterns for all of us.  We must be even more understanding, even more loving and helpful to one another.  We must envelope everything; the decisions, the tasks, the words and deeds in so much love, as we pray for peace and humility to do so. 

Transitions are rearrangements.  Our roles and duties change.  The love must remain present at the forefront.

Yogi Bear? Yogurt? OH! Yoga!

With the invitation from a friend to give a month of yoga a try , I found myself on a borrowed mat in a gentle class. A room full of thin, limber, stretchable, serene people isn't really a place I've ever thought was a good fit for a small, roundish lady who has a scorching case of undiagnosed ADHD. Stillness, quiet and focus are not my strengths, and I believe that recognizing and respecting your limitations is an important quality in life. Flexibility is surprisingly mine, but I look like a blobular glob when I stretch my limbs into unnatural poses. I've been to one or two classes before, but my attendance was more socially driven than truly inspired.

The good news is that I am already the owner of an impressive yoga-pant collection.  When the sundresses are stored for the season, yoga pants become my uniform for the bleary months that you don't exactly want the breeze blowing up your skirt.  How could I resist the urge to actually put them to use? Who knows?  Maybe after a month of it, I might appear to actually belong in them. 

So, there I was, focusing. Focusing on the fact that my mat was not my favorite color of pink, on what ZK might actually stand for,  whether the class would last an hour or was it longer and that I was the only person in class that actually wore yoga pants.  Maybe the teacher had some on, but my classmates were so cool they just wore sweats, shorts or (my personal favorite) polka-dot leggings. So....maybe true yogis don't need the pants.

Focus, Crys. Focus.  ON YOGA!

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.  Breath in, hold it, breath out.  My breaths didn't match the instruction.  Trying to do it for as many seconds as suggested really confused me.  For a while, I was doing a breathing cycle opposite of the one instructed.  Trying to get my breaths in sync resulted in a little hyperventilation and a little dizziness.

Next came poses and some cool hand exercises with a ball.  That was fun, and I was enjoying myself.  I made some mental notes to incorporate some of the best ball-hand massages into my doula techniques and then came my favorite part of yoga:  Laying down on the mat!  Stretches, relaxing and that cool thing they do to the back of your neck.  Finally, a nap.  Just like in Bradley birth class, yoga ends with a totally relaxed nappy-nap.  Sweet mother of sleep, did I enjoy just laying there!  Instructed to do so, I felt zero guilt and was surprised to find my mind relaxed and unfocused.  Yes, unfocused must be the key.  I had been trying too hard to focus on peace, on zen, on relaxing, when the key was to just relax

I think I'll go back on Tuesday and relax.  

He got it.

Our VBS theme this week was 'Groovin' with Jesus: Peace, Love and Joy'. Right up my glitter-hippy alley, yes?  Yes.  I'm enjoying it.

Today, we learned the 'Love your neighbor as yourself' verse during bible story time.  I'm not much of a memorizer, but I do remember key teachings and this has always been one of my favorites. Yesterday, we'd made tie-dyed pillow cases during craft time.  As a group leader, I went ahead and made myself one. Resisting tye-dyed anything is futile, so I just grabbed a bottle of pink and dove into the fun with the kids.  Today, we received them to take home and wash, in preparation for a good night's sleep and happy hippy dreams.

A little girl showed up in my group today who'd not been there the previous day. As I passed out my the multi-colored cloth, still banded and in Zip-locks for their parents to deal with  later, her little face fell when she realized she wasn't getting one.  It took a lot of selflessness for me to turn mine over, but in my almost 43 years, I've managed to improve in that area.  She went home with mine.

Meeting up with Caden a few minutes later, he asked where my pillow case was, as he was planning for us to both sleep on them tonight.  After explaining, his response was 'WHY did you do THAT?!'  He was a little upset.  Maybe he was hoping I'd give it to him so he could have a matched set?  Maybe he just didn't understand the relinquishing of a tie-dyed item.  That never happens.

Reminding him of our bible story, I told him that if my little boy was at a vacation bible school, and was sad about not doing a craft the day before, I'd sure want some mommy to love him as they love themselves, and give him theirs. Even though I really liked the craft, I did unto that little girl's mommy as I'd want someone to do for me. So, she went home with my pillow case.

A few seconds later...he handed me his pillow case, saying he wanted me to have it.

Next Day Update:  After craft time today, the little girl gave me her paper-plate tambourine and a huge hug.  Apparently, she gets it, too. Being in the presence of a child is a gift (most of the time ;)  )

A sick boy, but just for a while.

"Mommy!  My belly feels....."  and so it begins.  An endless day of cleaning messes that don't quite make it to the proper receptacles.  Laundry and carpet cleaning and floor scrubbing, then more of the same have swallowed the majority of my day.  Now, as I write, he's resting and I'm praying that an ounce of ginger ale stays down.

I'm tempted to wallow in the misery that is mine on this day gone so not the way I'd planned.  But I've trained my brain to find the joy, and it's a groovy habit to make.  My son's body,mind and soul function at optimum levels most of the time.  I don't have to worry about losing him, and I won't be cleaning his messes forever.  Some parents aren't as lucky; I'm prompted to pray for them.  They suffer as much if not more than their children. As he begs for food that I know I can't give him because I don't want to rock the gastrointestinal boat, I am at the same time sad that I have to deny him, but thankful that I have food available.  Some parents watch their children die begging for food they cannot provide, and wrap their starving bodies in rags that they don't have the luxury of washing.

As my washing machine hums, my carpet cleaner rests, my mop airs itself outside and my son watches movies and snuggles on a clean couch in a warm, comfortable house, my joy explodes.  In the midst of the nasty belly bug, I am more thankful than most other days.

Do you know how to find your joy?  It's a choice.  I suggest you choose it.  Happiness can be fleeting, and dependent upon circumstance.  Joy?  it's always yours, always there.  You just have to train yourself to find it.  Think this post is a bit Pollyanna-ish?  I encourage you to read through my other posts.  You'll find that my life is far from perfect, and has survived and thrived through some pretty dark places.

Find your joy!!

Loving Me

When I was 20, I thought I weighed too much (I didn't hit triple digit weight until my pregnancy with Alex), my nose was too 'button-shaped', my hair was too red and my breasts were too small.  I didn't enjoy looking in the mirror.  Now, as I run screaming headlong into my 40s, I love my sweet curves, my adorable nose, my amazing hair that I'm accused of dying all the time (it's just me..just mine!) and love my breasts that fed my babies and still excite my husband.  The mirror is my friend, and if you catch me looking into a storefront that has some reflective value, you'll know I'm just being thankful for the gifts that are mine.

Baby Squirrel

Following Caden as he pedaled his Transformers bike along the path in Muskingum Park created the perfect 'moment' for hand holding with Jon and enjoying the early and very blossomy spring. Watching this 7 year old boy cautiously maneuver his bicycle around pedestrians, fellow bikers and even few roller derby queens gave me one of those 'everything's right with the world' feelings. Birds were singing, children were laughing and lovers were sitting on a bench by the river. It couldn't have been more picturesque.

Then, we saw the baby squirrel.

Tiny, naked, eyes, fused shut and all alone on the ground. My first impulse was to scoop it up and warm it against my chest, but was afraid of hurting it. The little guy must have fallen from so far up, yet there was no blood, and it was wriggling and moving all about, looking for the comfort of fellow nest-mate siblings and mama squirrel. Animal person I am not, and squirrels in particular make me think of a tree-dwelling rat; however, baby person I am. My baby-care instincts were slowly overcoming my tree rat aversions.

After some intense conversation with Jon, I left the baby on the ground to be scooped up by the mama squirrel and carried back up to the nest. Did I believe that was really going to happen? Probably not, but I did eventually leave it at his insistence to avoid a scene. I could not figure out why he was so adamant about not bringing this little squiggler home and letting me at least try to care for it. If you know Jon, you know it isn't like him at all to be cruel...or to tell me no.

Today, I understand.

He would rather have me angry with him than devastated from caring for a tiny, living creature who (in his mind, anyway) was probably injured beyond saving and would die in my hands. He is usually protecting me from hurt when he is able, and he saw right through my 'poor baby squirrel' words. He knew I saw a baby boy that was born cold and still and too soon..whose eyes were still fused shut, who never moved or breathed, whose lifeless body in my hands caused us more pain than we had ever imagined possible...and he wasn't going back there. I understand. I love you.

Tiny Dancer

Kensley has been dancing since she was 2; tap, ballet and jazz, adding lyrical, and hip-hop in later years. This year, as I helped her with hair and makeup, it hit me that she really is growing up. How many more recitals will I be blessed with? I can remember her first one like it was yesterday; apple juice dribbled onto the leotard, bobby-pins struggling to hold the hairpiece into her wispy strands, excitement bubbling up as she realizes she gets a dab of mama's lipstick before the performance. As the tiniest dancer, she gets to perform with her teacher in the closing act.....tears of joy just flowed from my eyes!

The tears haven't stopped. Every time I see my graceful, beautiful little girl on stage, I'm overwhelmed with thankfulness, gratefulness for the blessing of being her mother. Her adorable exterior pales in comparison to the shining soul she has inside. tonight, as we applied makeup, pulled hair into buns and searched for costume pieces, I realized I wouldn't trade what I have in life for anyone else's in the world. Tomorrow is the performance; I'll be taking a dishtowel, because mere Kleenex won't contain the flow of happiness from my eyes.

Thank you, Kensley, for the gifts you give me every day. I love you.

It's Mother's Day Eve!

Whooo - pee. Blah. Being the mother of a hormonal almost-teenager who would rather disintegrate than give you the satisfaction of eye-to-eye contact doesn't leave you with much of a loving maternal glow. Jon tried to rally some interest in my offspring to make one of those infrequent treks to 'the mall' and focus on buying something for someone other than themselves; maybe for the one in whose uterus they resided once upon a time. The kindergartener was excited, until he learned that mom probably doesn't have much use for a prom dress, camo underwear, or a Nerf gun. Then he just wanted to go jump from the foamy trees and mushrooms in the middle. You may as well try to get blood from a turnip than expect enthusiasm from any other participant. My high schooler would have tried, if he hadn't been at an all day crew meet. Bless his heart, he's finally turned the corner on his trip back from the dark hole of middle-schoolness. Apparently, it's a long, tough climb out. The mere fact that I can see some light gives me hope for those following in his attitude-filled footsteps.


Sometimes, I want to scream: "Is it too much to ask for a little enthusiasm? For crying out loud, fake it if you have to. This part of your life may not be where my parental gifts and talents lie, but I'm trying my best! Every night I pray for wisdom, guidance to be the mother YOU need me to be, and for patience..sweet Jesus, I need that more than anything. I know I'm not a walk in the park. I know my mere existence cramps your style and embarrasses you to no end. I know you are smarter, braver and even better looking than I am. But, c'mon, give me a break! "

Then, I want to whisper; "I also know that you know not what you do. There is absolutely no way that you can comprehend that your cold shoulder and avoidance cut me deeper than anything else ever could. I miss the times that I held you, carried you, cuddled and kissed you, and curse every time I asked you to give me some space, and longed for a night out without you. I love you. I love you more now, with your indifferent grunts and exasperated sighs, than I did then. Nothing will ever change that...not even if your eyes get stuck in the permanent upward roll. "

Happy Mother's Day!

What is a Doula?

The word doula is an ancient Greek word, meaning 'woman servant or slave'. In our modern culture, a doula is a woman with childbirth experience that offers emotional support and physical comfort measures to a family bringing a new member this side of the belly ~ in particularly, the mother.

I've been a doula for over a decade now, attending birth in four different hospitals, and many, many homes. To try to add a bit further of an explanation, I equate my responsibilities to those of a wedding planner ~ a birth planner! I help families formulate a birth plan specific to their educated, informed decisions (whether I agree with them or not :) ) Without good, independent perinatal education, it's difficult to even know all of the options available. With a good birth plan, approved by the caregiver during a prenatal appointment which I attend with my clients, everyone is on the same page. It's better to begin to discuss the aspects of birth that are most important earlier, rather than later. If a current caregiver doesn't support them, an expecting mama want to find one that will.

Birth plans are not legal documents, and childbirth is rarely textbook perfect. Each one is unique, requiring respect and understanding of the laboring mother. A couple will want to choose a birthing environment that makes them feels safe. Likewise, it is equally important to only allow a few supportive, caring people to attend the birth. Sometimes, extended family members work well in the birth setting; other situations, it's best to have them wait until the labor, birth, first feeding and babymoon are finished to visit. It is a doula's responsibility to ensure that the laboring woman/couple have the utmost happiness in their experience, with their wishes followed as closely as possible, in a loving, nurturing atmosphere.

Childbirth is a pivitol moment in each woman's life. When you visit with an elderly lady, she may not be able to tell you her name, or remember what she had for lunch. She will almost always tell you in, intimate detail, about the births of her children if you ask. It is my passionate hope that each woman's birth I attend results in a very happy memory, year after year. I give all of my energy, expertise and experience to make this happen.

Every new family member deserves a gentle beginning, full of love and happiness. Having a rewarding, positive first experience as a parent usually leads to the next step being successful, and the next, and the next, and so on. Peace on Earth begins with birth!

Processing and praying ~ running

I must have had my head in the sand all last night, because I didn't know about the Bin Laden news until Jon woke me at 6 to run. Emotions are crazy things...they send you here and back and here again. Personally, I struggle to keep mine under control ~ the passion inside wells up in every area, during the most inconvenient of events, and when most are least expecting it. Just last week, during variety show tryouts, I was just crying because each child was so beautiful, so talented, and trying so hard. Not wanting to freak them out, I held it to mere sniffles, and somehow held back the welled-up tears.

So, when Jon told me about Bin Laden being killed, I went for a run to process and pray. You can do anything when you run that you normally wouldn't, and no one notices, because you are going by them so fast. So you can cry, laugh, throw your arms up in praise, punch optical illusions of those you are angry with...the list goes on. The 6 am time frame helps, also; not many people out to notice you're acting like you forgot to take some very important pills.

Where am I now? Proud of our troops, and thankful that while I was living my busy life, full of blessings and fun, they were putting theirs on the line so that I could. Rocking babies in the church nursery, helping women have great births, voicing my opposition to circumcision, volunteering in Kindergarten on Thursdays and attending Harmar Rowing Club meetings where I pretend to be a secretary, and write some stuff down to send out in email as 'minutes'..all of these little freedoms are fought for. Someone died so that I can. I don't forget this for a second.

Running takes you places..it mostly just takes me to the fountain and back home, then back home again from walking Kensley to the middle school...but it helps with processing and praying, which bring me to peace. A great destination.

Things that make you go hmmm

• I am considering going into the placenta processing business, if for no other reason than to thoroughly gross my kids. Holly led me through the entire process earlier this week, from washing the raw organ, to steaming it, then dehydrating, pulverizing and encapsulating the powder. Most of you who know me well know that I don't deal with meat unless it's boneless, skinless and wrapped in cellophane. This adventure was a big deal!


• Watching a new life come into the world is definitely a great benefit to my job. Being bitten, squeeze-pinched, vomited on, and having your feet soaked by amniotic fluid are not. Women in truly natural-childbirth mode find their inner-animal, and react accordingly. Not far into the career, doulas learn to pack extra socks in their bag o' tricks ~ thinking of adding bite sticks, as well.


• Of the seven deadly sins, sloth is my biggest problem. I could just sit and do nothing if given an opportunity. Thankfully, life has arranged itself so that I am rarely given that opportunity. Right now, as I try to put my heart, soul and brain to paper, I've been interrupted by children 5 times...and counting.


• Reflecting this day, Good Friday, on what Mary must have felt, seeing her son tortured and killed. Putting myself into her place is a tough place to go in the mind.


• Not sure why I don't have people over for dinner more often. Last night was a blast, and I'm glad I have friends who organize things like Supper Club, which 'forces' me to entertain. It really is enjoyable, and a gift I seldom use.


• Since we had said event, my house was completely clean ~ every single room, all three floors. OK..maybe not the storage one in the attic, but all the rest. Thinking of keeping it this way. I like clean. I also like to be lazy, though, and the two don't mix well.


• That's all.

The World According to Caden

Returning from a lovely birth tonight, I went to Caden's bed to cuddle with him since he was still awake. Kensley popped in to ask about my night, and we discussed the benefits of low, moaning noises compared to high-pitched screams during contractions.

Apparently, Caden was drinking the conversation in. As I rubbed his back, kissed his curly head, and wondered how in the world I was going to get all that dirt out from under his fingernails (he'd made a gourmet specialty tonight ~ macaroni and mud), He asked if it were OK to laugh when you had a baby, if it happened to be a very funny baby inside, and told you a joke when it came out.

Yes, I'll keep this kid around, if for no other reason, the sheer entertainment of his presence. The problem is, you are never allowed to laugh. Ever. His conversations are very serious..unless he's talking about gas, poop, or other bathroom functions. Then it's OK, and he'll tell you that you probably should laugh. It's not OK, however, to laugh when he asks why in the world you'd go running out to an ice cream truck when you have perfectly good Chunky Monkey in the freezer, or tells you your birth scrubs look like 'A Japanese Death Suit' (?? yeah, I was lost, too).

Just Some Stuff That Made Me Smile This Week.

• A pooptext (received, not sent)


• Lunch on the front porch of the Buckley house with my handsome husband


• Lunch inside the Buckley house with my sweet friend, Holly


• Discussing the story of David with my same sweet friend. You think YOUR family is dysfunctional? Check out David's story in 2nd Samuel. Still, he was a man after God's own heart. It gives me hope that my crazy efforts at serving Him are good, and thankful that His grace covers me when they go awry.


• Buying ice cream for everyone who forgot their money in Mrs. Haught's kindergarten class.


• Realizing how fortunate I am that even my big kids still like for me to 'tuck them in'.


• Driving with Alex, and realizing that I didn't have to remind or correct anything he was doing.


• Walking Kensley to dance class, and watching her eat a drippy ice cream cone on the way.


• The gift of a chest freezer from a friend who didn't want it any more. We were planning to buy one, but free is so awesome!


• Sun! Sun! Sun! a few rainshowers in the mix, but still, a lot of SUN!!


• Watching Caden ride his bike ~ he's so much stronger and better at it than last year!


• Seas of purple violets, with occasional dandelion islands.


• Bidding on and winning the most perfect of perfect potluck pots at an auction


• Walking Kensley to school, picking Holly and Andre up on our way. Kensley, sweet girl that she is, doesn't complain that she has two moms walking her to school


• The anticipation of a birth any day.


• Feeling God's message to my heart..and sharing it. Hope I remember to share it on Facebook tomorrow ~ it's good !


• Dinner and a movie with two of my favorite men. Rio rocked. I highly recommend it.

Praying

When someone you love is hurting, you may feel there is nothing you can do to ease the pain. Especially for far away friends, family, or even someone you haven't met, but felt led to pray for, there is a way to take a bit of their misery onto your own shoulders. By sending the love of Our Father via prayer, the comfort that he will afford them will ease their suffering; they will feel your love, and His.

I know from personal experience that you can feel prayer as tangibly as you can feel a hug, see it as if you've seen a friend walk into the room. There comes a time at the bottom of your dismal pit that you experience peace, rest, comfort. There is no other explanation for it but that the prayers of others have come to you, wrapped around you and begun the healing process when you did not have the strength to begin on your own.

Who is on your mind today? Who needs to feel your prayer?

Reading to my Child

"Mama, will you read this to me?" Hoping against hope that it's a Little Critter book, or even better, a book about Jesus, I take a look at his offering ~ USKids History: Book of the American Civil War. Great. This child has accomplished what several teachers in my lifetime were never able to: Reading about and discussing history. Mr. Lachapelle would be proud. Reading to my children has been a joy to me for as long as I could remember. To this day I have every single letter's poem in the Dr. Seuss's ABC book memorized because it was Alex's favorite book for so long. Test me. Throw a letter at me the next time you see me. I'll recite! I remember hearing him use the word 'actually' at the mere age of two while reading a book that called a piece of machinery a 'snort'. My mind still echoes with the sweet little voice saying 'Actually, dat's a back-o (backhoe)'. I was thrilled when Kensley allowed me to read every single 'Little House' chapter book to her. Sharing my favorite childhood series with my daughter was a treasure! Even better, the following year we were blessed with a cross-country trip, which included a stop in Minnesota, at one of the Ingall's homeplaces. Never mind the subject of the book; what really matters is that for quite a while, that little boy will be cuddled close to me. In my arms, he will fold his long, thin body parts to accomodate my short frame. I know, more now than ever, to cherish these moments. I know he will grow older, would rather read his own books than to have my voice stumble along the general's names and battle's sites. I know it will soon be way too uncool to cuddle this close to me, even though he may want to still. I know that these moments are blessings, that God has given to me more than I could ever hope to ask.

Sick

For the past two days, I've been sick. That's one of the hardest things for me to admit, to give in to. I religiously take Sambuca, Vit. D, Vit C, Fish oil and a natural mulit-vitamin. Hundreds of dollars pass between my wallet and All Pro. Yet, something wasn't right. I had felt tired, very very tired for the past couple of weeks..maybe longer if I admit it. It's no wonder, with all of the late nights and early mornings, I told myself. It's nothing. Nothing? What if it *was* something? So, I gave in and visited my medicine man (aka Dr. Eric). A few labworks later, I found out I was on the road to diabetes and a heart attack. Thankfully, I've been granted a detour. My own death scares me, but not for myself. I am confident in the knowlege that to be absent from my body is to be present with my Lord. The rest would be heavenly..literally! However, I don't want my sweet children to finish growing up with no mama. I know that my older two would probably have to go live with their biological father, and be ripped from all of the friends and 'family' we've built into our lives in the past eight years. Caden would not only lose a parent, but siblings as well. Unless some miracle came through, Jon would be left to deal with the loss of a wife, children he loves as his own, and one lonely little boy. The mere thought of it makes me cry. Writing those words made tears stream down my cheeks. SO..it's on to a new game plan. With God's help, and the help of some great friends and encouragement from my family, I'll be eating much healthier and excersizing even more. I thought I was doing a good enough job most of the time, but, apparently, I was giving into my addiction to cake and french fries a little more often than I remembered....

Spring

Oh, spring, why must you be such a tease? Beautiful sun, breezy and warm this morning is followed by damaging winds and the possibility of snow? Really? Spring, you are bipolar. Maybe if we throw some psych drugs into this windstorm, you will calm down, and begin to behave.

My body longs to be sundressed and flipflopped, with sunglasses holding back the hair that gently blows in the breeze, tickling my face. The turtlenecks are tired...the blue jeans need a rest. This house grows tired of our neverending presence, due to your pathetic weather conditions. My soul grows weary of the dark and dreary sky.

Enough is enough. The sunshine in my heart is being squelched.

Getting older

Turning 40 last year was a milestone, and caused an inventory-taking look at body, mind, soul. Here's what I came up with so far: 1. Doing the job you were put on this planet to do is important. How do you know what it might be? Try reading the bible, spending time *alone* with God, and asking him to speak with you about said path. It's still not crystal clear, but I'm a little dense. Still, I'm beginning to see a light here and there. 2. My children are my heart. I love them more than I love anyone else on this Earth; I love every single thing about them, right down to the mole on their second toe, their crazy shenanigans or their gentle, caring spirit. Every day is spent taking care of them, not as a chore, but in such a way that they know that they know that the know how much I love them. Parenting with intent and purpose ~ it's a good thing! 3. My dear, sweet, funny husband got let off the hook this year. He rescued me when I was a single mom with two babies, looking at a subsidized apartment, along with other government assistance, all while working a full time job and being a full time student. Missing those early years of my childrens lives would have been devastating to me. I held him to the standards of a savior, a God even; he *did* save me, after all. This year, I decided to let him down from the pedestal, and join the human race. Happily married doesn't even begin to cover it. 4. Move more, eat less, or you will turn into the tiny, round Italian meatball all of your dad's family has either had to fight or become. This doesn't mean a casual stroll downtown to have lunch. It's pavement pounding, sweating-til-you-smell running, every day. Every . Single . Day. 5. Look at everyone through eyes that see their soul, seeing past any rough exterior or pretend personality. Love them all, even the bad ones, for they are the most desperate for it. That covers the basics, I've also learned that asparagus and broccoli are ok (it only took me 40 years to come to that conclusion), but I still have to fight my carboholic tendencies.

Jeepers, Creepers!

Kensley has always had uh-MAZ-ing eyes. From the moment she was born, they peered back at everyone in milky blue perfection. Alex nicknamed her Fishy-eyes the day they met, and her father worried about the fact that I'd let him bring a little tree frog in to play with a few days earlier. He thougth it had 'marked' the baby, and she was destined to look like an amphibian. This kid had some remarkably large peepers, set into a teeny little face; a few months later, she grew the most lovely dark, long, brown lashes to frame them.

I've always taken such great delight in her sparkling, beautiful eyes. Having everyone make the most wonderful compliments to her made it difficult to remain humble. I had been the manufacturer, after all. Then...it happened.

She perfected 'the eyeroll'.

Now, anytime I look at her sweet face, I stand the chance of seeing them roll skyward. These beautiful eyes, the ones anyone could get lost in, have turned into the ultimate mom-weapon. My deep, relaxing breathing has improved significantly since she learned her new trick, and I go to my happy place so often, I bought my own condo there. It's pink....