The Great Boob Tube Fascination

Well folks, it's that time of year again. Yes, you guessed it, it's almost time for prime time shows to return in all their glory. After a long three month hiatus, it'll be good to deal with someone else's problems again because at least theirs get solved nicely in an hour. After being a loyal viewer for a few seasons, your favorite show characters become good friends and it's nice to reunite with them after a long, hot summer filled with reruns and  too much reality television. (How many seasons of The Bachelor does one person need to have in their life anyway?)

But it's not enough to have the old shows come back. Noooo, they have to introduce new shows in their ever constant quest for the next tv show to hook millions on. They have to fill the slots of their previously retired (and sometimes tragically cancelled) brethren. Honestly, there hasn't been much out there in terms of new shows that make me want to tune in and waste more time in my life. Hello?! I do enough of that already.

Until this year.

I purposely didn't watch any previews for upcoming shows because of all the past disappointment. Either I try a new show and it sucks, or I try a new show, love it, and they cancel it in a few months. Usually before resolving the huge cliffhanger episode they left it on. So to say I'm a little jaded with "new" shows is a gross understatement.

But I don't live in a cave. I do occasionally watch television in the summer, even if my beloved friends are still on vacation. I watch stupid things like "America's Got Talent" and a ton of HGTV and the ever popular food network. So I see things. Like previews for the 2013 fall tv schedule.

I tried to avert my eyes but those bastards reeled me in with their compelling 60 second enticers. It started innocently enough with just "Ironside".  A new spin on a cop drama with a captivating main character. Ok, ok, count me in.

Add one Michael J. Fox sitcom because hey, who doesn't like Michael J. Fox? Such a brave man for living through Parkinson's disease and returning to prime time. Well, I might as well check out "Sean Saves the World" with that guy that was in Will & Grace because he was just a riot. Plus it's on the same night, the same channel, and right before (or after?) Michael J. Fox. Oh, and a co-worker tells me that Robin Williams has a new sitcom coming to CBS. Well, he's Robin Williams! There are not enough words to describe his comedic genius. I have to check that one out. Then I keep seeing some dramatic previews for a show that stars James Spader in one of the most creepy character portrayals I have ever seen. Even as it gives me the heebs, I kind of want to watch it just for his evil villain-ness.

So it's at this point that I'm going to have to buy a second DVR just to hold all these shows. Where I expect to find the time to watch them all is another story. Maybe I need to invent a life remote to pause the real world while I catch up on the television world.

Although just my luck, I'd accidentally switch them and pause the DVR and fast forward real life. And wouldn't that be a sticky wicket?

The Five Little Piggies That Live in My House

I have certain standards when it comes to my house cleaning. I hate having dirty dishes in the sink when I go to bed (other than maybe a glass or two). The bathroom needs to be cleaned at least once a week. And with an 85 pound black lab who sheds all year long, you can NEVER sweep the floors enough.

Having said that, I'm not one of those fastidious people who clean their houses constantly. If you look you'll see the dust bunnies that live under the beds and the cobwebs that no one can see because who looks up in the corners anyway? But one place where my family starts looking like we're hideously gross, disgusting trolls? The refrigerator.

I always feel like a million bucks when I finally get around to cleaning the fridge. Most often I'm too busy cooking and pulling things out of it to stop and actually look at it. I'm not even great about remembering to check and chuck the leftovers. (I had some pineapple that was fermenting into....something. And it was something gross smelling. Ick.) With a 6 year old who can't ever get a drink without first standing with the door wide open for 5 minutes first and a dog who has to come sniff everything while said 6 year old has the door open, it's a miracle anything stays clean in there.

So every few months (give or take a few months) when I notice the dog hair accumulating on the sticky mystery liquid spill that no one could wipe up because Not Me was the one who did it, and I give in and attack it with Clorox. Because that's exactly what it is, an attack. I wage war on this thing, usually gagging at the amount of dog hair that comes out from underneath the vegetable crisper drawers. Yes, everything likes to pool there and I have yet to ever know what the hell I'm cleaning up but it grosses me out. Every. Single. Time.

While cleaning this disgusting cold box, I have been known to mutter things like, "How the hell did so much dog hair get into an appliance that spends 90% of its time with a closed door?" and "What the hell is this? Apple juice? We haven't had apple juice in 6 months! (gag) Nope, not apple juice!" I scrub, gag, rinse, and repeat enough times until I don't feel like CPS is going to take my kids away from my slovenly refrigerator habits.

And for a few months it's good. Until the kids want a drink, a yogurt, a cheese stick, an apple, another drink, some grapes, a pudding, milk for their cereal, another drink......and the dog has to sniff the progression every time and the opening and closing blows that shedding dog hair in under the crisper drawers and Not Me spills not apple juice again.

Sigh.

Has anyone invented the self cleaning fridge yet? Because it should be on someone's to do list. Seriously.

J Lo's Got More Than Just Junk in Her Trunk

Have you heard the story about the man who was stalking Jennifer Lopez and was caught in her house? But hold on, that's not the best part. He was found after SIX DAYS. I had to look up this story because when I heard it, my first thought was, "How the hell big is her house that someone can live there for 6 days and she doesn't know? Day-um, I want this problem! How awesome would it be to have a huge ass house that you could actually lose people in?"

Upon further research, it was discovered that the stalker merely lived in her Hamptons vacation home's pool house and J Lo was not in residence at the same time. Okay, this is still a problem I want to have. Alright, maybe not so much the creepy dude living on my property but definitely the having a house in the Hamptons part. I could say snooty things like, "Please pass the Grey Poupon." and "Caviar is so plebeian. Everyone knows that goose pate is the new caviar." (A short side note: Be careful when you spell check. I always forget the second e in plebeian and when I right clicked to correct it I clicked too fast and it corrected it to lesbian. Funnier? Hell yes. But not what I meant.)

My question is: How did this guy know where J Lo's vacation house was? Well, I guess that's probably part of the whole "stalker" thing, right? You have to be good at your job to go from creepy-peeping-tom status to crazy-stalker-willing-to-live-in-your-vacation-home status. I just don't understand how that thought popped in his head. Was he thinking about going on vacation and just couldn't pick somewhere so he said, "I know, I'll break into Jennifer Lopez's vacation house and score myself a free vacation." Okay, okay, that part is admittedly a little brilliant. On a budget? Borrow someone else's vacation home! They'll never know you used it if you leave it just the way you found it. Oh, and as long as they aren't super famous (even if you can't figure out why) and have security patrolling the grounds.

This is a vacation house? It's like 4 times the size of my every day house!

Upon seeing the images of her vacation house though, I'm a little bummed that it's unoccupied most of the time.  Surely she knows her fame isn't going to last forever and she should be taking steps to ensure that her financial future is set. My idea is this: Rent out the Hamptons house for a week at a time and not only could it get used as often as this beautiful estate should be, but you could pacify those crazy people out there who love to blow money on dumb ass things like staying in a house that J Lo once occupied. Take that money, put it into savings, and call it your rainy day fund. It's a win win situation.

Meanwhile, it's almost vacation time and I think I'm going to look up if there are any nearby vacation properties for the Jolie-Pitt crew. C'mon, anyone with that many kids has got to be crazy and fun, right?

My First World Problem

Have you heard of first world problems? Basically, you take a third world country's problem (war, famine, poverty) and put a rich, spoiled American spin on it (my maid is on vacation, my spa is out of my sparkling water etc.). Want to know my first world problem? My washer died and I had to go to the laundromat. GASP!

For many years pre-house, we did the whole laundry shlepping thing every Saturday morning. I always wanted to get it done early, not to mention have prime pick of the available machines. Now, having had a washing machine in my own home, I find I am spoiled and way too good to drag my pampered ass to the laundromat. Yes, I know that makes me sound uppity. I'm sorry. Get over it.

I miss my carefree laundry days. I could do a load of laundry on a Tuesday night or a Saturday morning. Monday after work or even a Sunday evening. I had my pick of options! All I had to do was cart the laundry basket down the hall and voila! Laundromat in a house.

The worst part? I took those carefree laundry days for granted. My washer was hard at work cleaning the filth off 5 people's clothing and did I once appreciate all the hard work it was doing for me? Not until it just up and died in the middle of a white load. (Which I had to wash again because it quit before the rinse cycle dammit.)

So now we're scouring Craigslist for used washers because, like any middle American household, we're pinching our pennies so tight they're screaming. If you've ever looked on Craigslist for anything, it's completely frustrating. People never take the damn listings down so you're basically looking at a list of things that were available. Now it's a list of sold items. No, really dude, I totally wanted to see something that I cannot ever have because you already sold it. I just like seeing what other people own that I do not. To covet from afar if you will. It's an awesome hobby of mine.

So far the only bonus I've found is that the entire household worth of laundry is done in 3 hours. Ok, I admit, that part's not so bad. So, if you see me panhandling for quarters, it's because those damn money sucking machines at the laundromat are wiping me out.

Serious Sappiness in Mayhemville

Oh. My. God. I wonder if this is how Brad Pitt's mom felt when she saw him shine in his school musicals. Did she think, "My goodness, where did all that talent come from? Must be my side of the family because his father's side has zero acting abilities." Did she have an inkling that her son would grow up to be shamefully ogled by gaggles of young girls and bored housewives and one day have so many children that he could live in a shoe? (Of course, with his money it would be a really high end show, like a Ferragamo or something.)

As you know, I've been picking on my son the ass (donkey). He's been working hard since July to perfect his side kick quips and punchlines as Shrek's second hand man. The first performance was on Friday night and a bunch of us gals, both friends and family, made a girls night and had dinner and a show. Now, being his mother, I'm extremely biased about how good this kid is. And yet he still completely blew me away.

My son was Donkey in Shrek.

As I sat there, mesmerized that this child of mine had perfected this role, I truly began to understand what it was to love acting. He has worked so hard to hone his craft and it shows. I could not be more proud than I am at this moment. After the first performance, I decided I wanted to see it again. All the shows were sold out. I was torn between being sad and being thrilled that my baby got to perform for a full house every show.

I get teary eyed every time I think about it.

After the show, all the actors go out in the lobby so that people can meet the characters and have their pictures taken with them. It was at this  point that a heart warming moment occurred and forever seared itself into my memory. As I stood congratulating him, I noticed a little boy waiting to talk to him. He couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years old. I pointed him out because his "fans" were way more important than his boring, old mom. My 6 foot tall boy knelt down, gave him a high five, and chatted with him. The little boy smiled and, after a small hesitation as if he were getting up the nerve, ran and gave my boy a hug. Seriously. I can't replay that moment in my mind because I turn into a giant sapfest. Cue the waterworks!

So, my ass is huge! Wait, I meant, my ass is a huge star! Oh, hmm, that doesn't sound good either. Okay, my son is a fabulous young man with tons of potential, great acting skills, and the ability to melt his mom's heart still. Cue the waterworks!

The Day I Became A Social Leper

So, it seems like this is the week I have finally turned into a social pariah. Yes folks, we all knew the day would come, but no one could guess that it would happen at such a young and tender age.

Okay, I might be exaggerating. A little. But three out of four of our social invitations have fallen flat on us. In one week. It's truly enough to start giving me a complex. Lord knows with all my mom neuroticism (I made up the word spell check. Deal with it.), I really don't need a social stigma heaped on top of it all. That just screams HOT MESS. I'm perilously close as it is but being anal retentively organized has kept me on the good side of the line. Probably somewhere between "She's a slacking" and "Dayum gurl".

It started with an ice cream date with my girl friend. She's pregnant with her first baby and we haven't had many chances to get together lately, what with her creating new life and all. Two weeks this was in the works and then she tells me the other day that her doctor had to re-schedule her appointment. To our girls date time. Sigh. Okay, I can't be mad at that without being a total asshole (But I am allowed a small jerk moment, right?) so I get it. I'd totally blow her off if it meant checking on the well being of my unborn fetus. Blah blah blah.

Ok, and if you want to get technical, the second doesn't qualify as a get together, unless you count in my mind. (Seriously though, some cool things happen there so it should totally count.) I had planned to bake a yummy treat for my office girls to celebrate the fact that we made it to Friday. Sometimes making it through the week can seem like an extreme accomplishment. Then I found out that 2 of the 3 were taking Friday off. Well, I can't really be mad at that either since no one realized my imaginary plans could very well become tangible plans and that their invitations got lost in my mental recesses. Completely fair.

Tonight we invited my parents to come have ice cream with their adorable grand children. It was a spur of the moment, spontaneous hang out with the family for an hour kind of thing. But apparently my parents have more of a social life than even I do and weren't available for some snickity snack time with the kids. (Ok, I know I'm not often spontaneous, but does this show you why? Geez.) Now, this is the third time in under a week I've been turned down and I'm thinking that the universe has deemed me unfit for public consumption.

Well, don't tell the Universe but tomorrow night I'm sneaking out my window and meeting up with the girls to see my son make an ass of himself. (Yes, it's time for Shrek: The Musical!) What the Universe doesn't know won't hurt it.

The Mommy Slacker Strikes Again

Every June I tell myself that I'm going to be prepared and organized and, well, in essence, a Super Mom. No more of this harried, frenzied Mom with bugged out wild eyes and a mouth like a sailor. I'm going to print out their supply lists, have everything done weeks before school starts, and have all their shiny, new sneakers lined up in a row on the mat, awaiting the first day of school. I will win this year.

And I always start out great too. I remember to look in the Sunday flyers for what's on sale, comparing it against the lists to see what I need. I pick up a few things here and there, casual and organized. This year was great in that I already had most of my daughter's list (extra stocking up from previous year's good sales) and the few things that she needed were on sale the second week. The high school never likes to give lists so I bought duplicates of what he used last year to start us off.

Look at that! I'm organized! I'm in charge! I'm...still looking for stupid large glue sticks and wipes. Yes, the elementary lists like to throw us parents those curve balls in the form of those items that we're pretty sure are fabricated for the pleasure of watching parents scramble around like mice in a a maze, or something extremely specific. Which irritates me more than the items that don't exist. Why? The items that don't exist (or that I've tried 3 stores and couldn't find and gave up on) can happily be substituted with something else. The items that are specific are the ones I CAN find, I'm just irritated by. This year there are two annoying items on baby boy's list: 3 Large glue sticks (.77 oz, even though the list lost the decimal point and could really confuse some parent looking for 77 ounces of glue stick) and "a donation of wipes is appreciated".

The glue sticks piss me off because the large ones are NEVER on sale. The small ones? Fifty friggen cents from like July til September. My question is, would she mind if I just sent in 6 of the smaller ones? And if she does, do I care? It's friggen glue for cripes sake. I have absolutely no issues with sending in the wipes (I remember how grimy and germy those little hands are at this age.) but the whole thing just stymies me. Does she want  a travel size wipe container to keep at each kid's desk? Or a larger container to keep at her desk? Baby wipes or antibacterial? Personally, I thought baby wipes were great for sticky hands and faces but are these six year old kids going to be offended by using BABY wipes? (They're pretty sensitive about their old age.) There are too many questions. Even an additional 2 words could have cleared this matter up. A donation of antibacterial travel wipes is appreciated. See how easy that was?

So now there's just over 3 weeks (23 days, but who's counting?) until school starts and I realize two things: I still need to finish baby boy's supply list and oh yeah, they still need sneakers. And socks. And pants. And probably a new shirt or two. So much for organized, right? Next year I'm going to start in March. Surely that will give me enough time to get my act together. I hope.

My new nemesis.

Friends, Family, Food, and.....Farts? Aunt Joan* was that you?

*Names have been changed to protect stinky bottomed aunts.

Yesterday we had a family gathering with some family that lives out of town. Since they aren't local, we don't get to see them as often. We had some gorgeous weather for an outside summer picnic, complete with a lovely 80 degree warm pool and a boat ride on the river.

But the main attraction? Well, duh, the food!

Why is it that any sort of gathering always revolves around food? And we get pretty excited about it too. We ask what we're having ahead of time so that we can prolong our pleasure in the experience. We find out that one relative is making your favorite salad or another is bringing your favorite dessert and you can literally think about it for days leading up to the actual event.

Once you're actually there, you have to sample all the goodies (And usually more than I really need to eat!) so that you can have an educated opinion when it comes up in conversation. And it will come up in conversation. It starts with a compliment, then a remark about how easy it was to make, followed by requests for the recipe. (Not that we actually will end up making it, just that we are enjoying it so much at that moment we are willing to consider we'd actually attempt the recipe ourselves.)

Aunt Joan: "This cheesecake is amazing!"
Susie: "Oh this old recipe? I got it out of a better homes and gardens magazine years ago. It's super easy to make."
Aunt Joan: "Would you share the recipe?"
Susie: "Absolutely."

After a few years of these family gatherings, you find that certain relatives have dishes that they're known for. If you like these foods, you'll start salivating more and more as the hours leading up to the party creep closer. No? Never happened to you? Hmm, odd. At any rate, if a relative strays from their allotted dish at any point, they can expect some disappointment. I myself have been subjected to this the first time I strayed from bringing my coveted no bake cookies. Because I love to bake, and no bake cookies are not, well baked, I wanted to make something else. Only to hear multiple cries of, "You didn't bring no bakes?" with a crestfallen look on their faces. (Luckily I have quite a few aces up my sleeve in the form of orange drop cookies, brownie torte, and carrot cake that have allowed me some culinary freedom. Although I'm still expected to bring no bakes occasionally.)

So sure, I might be a few pounds heavier today, but I'm also full of family love, laughter, warmth, and priceless memories. And really, you can't ask for more than that. Well, okay, maybe that cheesecake recipe too.

Can You Smell That Smelly Smell?

I'm slowly losing my mind. Is it my kids? No. Well, actually yes, but no more than usual. Is it my husband? No. Well, again, no more than usual. It's a smell. A strange smell that I can't seem to figure out the origin of or, more importantly, how to eradicate it.

Of course, I'm the only one who can smell this smell.

So, apparently, at some point when my head was turned, someone came and sprinkled some cray cray dust on me and a smell was born. Because my kids look at me like I have two heads when I tell them it stinks in here. My husband, having lived with his crazy (but lovable!) wife all this time at least gives a dutiful walk around, sniffing for the offending odor. But I know he thinks I'm imagining things.

The worst part? When he asks me to describe it, I can't. It's unlike anything I've ever smelled before. It's like a plastic-y, chemical-ish type of underlying stink that makes me want to hurl. It's that offensive. Well, to me at least. I've always had the bloodhound nose. I'm pretty sure the rest of my family could live in squalor and not notice a difference in the air quality. It just doesn't seem to bother them. Me, on the other hand? I probably sniff the air more than our family dog. (And that's saying something since he's never not sniffing.)

And just an FYI: Air deodorizing spray never really takes the smell out of a room. It just blankets it. So now you have two offensive stinks, the original one and the one made from combining it with air freshener. Considering my sensitivity to scents, this makes me want to live outside for a week until my sinuses regain some semblance of normalcy. If, however, you want to see something really amusing, come over and watch me try to find this nefarious fiend of a smell. I'm sniffing objects on counters and opening cupboards and walking from room to room to see where it has permeated the most. Because surely the stinkiest stink would contain the cause of said stink, right?

So, if I suddenly have no hair, it could very well be that I snapped from the sheer lunacy that is my nose trying to find the smelly smell that's making that smell and yanked it all out while incoherently babbling. As long as my pretty, padded cell doesn't have any stank on it, I'm sure I'll adjust to my new surroundings in no time.

The. Biggest. Day. Ever. (Until The Next One)

It's here. The big ONE SIX. That's right people, I'm officially the mom of a 16 year old. This gave me a little cause for concern and made me question some people (read: everyone who came in contact with me today)  if I looked old enough to have a 16 year old son. Luckily, they were all polite enough to lie and tell me no. Thanks guys!

Because he's a strapping, working lad now, I scheduled his check up today, his birthday, so that he could renew his working papers. Sixteen year olds can work longer hours. I'm giving myself a pat on the back for the foresight and efficiency I've displayed in making the appointment on his actual birthday. He didn't seem to care. Until we went to the appointment.

Now, I was just there last week with my daughter, doing the same "before school starts they need a physical" visit. We were out of there in under 30 minutes. Today, I look at my watch and I see it's been 50 minutes and he isn't out yet. I'm thinking up scenarios of why he could be delayed with my fabulous overactive imagination running wild. (It ran the gamut from they found something concerning, or he's sexually active but can't tell his mom and now there's a drip and burn sensation, or worse, he's telling them I abuse him because I'm so strict and they have to call CPS to investigate the claim and won't let him leave the exam room until they come talk to me. I know, I know, I need to stop watching so much tv.)

Finally, he comes out and calls me into the room so the good doctor can talk to me for a minute. At 16, it's recommended that they get a Menactra shot. Okay, well, considering the things my imagination just came up with in the waiting room, I don't need to add Meningitis to the list so, " Yes, please!" And the doctor makes some comment about how mean of a Mom I am to make my son get a shot on his birthday. "I'M BEING EFFICIENT DAMMIT! AND HE NEEDS HIS WORKING PAPERS!"

Ok, so I didn't yell. Or say dammit to the doctor. But I wanted to. Now that I'm feeling the sting of Mom guilt, I restrain myself from picking on his spider man band-aid. Again, I wanted to. (C'mon, a six foot tall 16 year old wearing a spider man band-aid? That's funny. Admit it.) Luckily, the way through any male's heart is through his stomach and I pacified him with "Birthday Pizza".

Somehow though, I think years from now I'm still going to hear: "Remember that time you made me get a shot on my birthday?" I'll just have to make sure I have plenty of pizza on hand. And maybe a spider-man band-aid or two.

One Down and One More To Go

Well, it's August. That means half of the summer is over. I always have mixed feelings about August. This year, I can't decide which emotion is winning: elation that we're halfway done or sadness that soon my summer warmth will fade to a memory. So I made a pros and cons list to help me decide:

PRO: It's a birthday month for my biggest "baby".
CON: He's turning 16. He'll expect to get a license. My car insurance will expect a crisis and charge accordingly.

PRO: We are one month closer to the kids going back to school (which Mom and Dad desperately need).
CON: That's another month of entertaining them. Now that the weather's cooling down , no one's happy with an impromptu, "Let's go swimming!"

PRO: Another month of no schedules and being able to fly by the seat of our pants.
CON: Did I mention another month of entertaining the kids? We're at the bottom of the barrel and coming up with things like, "Who wants to pick weeds in the backyard? Doesn't that sound like fun?"

PRO: There's one more month of (possible) eighty degree temperatures.
CON: If you're out after dark, it feels like fall. Pack a sweatshirt. Yes, I know that it's 82 right now but as soon as that sun goes down, wolves start howling and you'll wish for the comfort of a cozy sweatshirt.

PRO: We're one month closer to apple picking!
CON: Fall very quickly turns the reins over to that S.O.B. winter.

PRO: The kids will get back to a regular schedule next month.
CON: School shopping this month. For a teenager. And an almost teenager. Shudder.

PRO: One more month of picnics with grilling out and potato salad!
CON: I'm so full of cookout food that I'm starting to crave winter stews and casseroles. Lasagna anyone?

PRO: Going back to school will stop the bickering among the kids. They love each other, but not enough to spend endless days together.
CON: As the parents, Hubby and I get to be the ones to referee the fights. And we don't even get those cool stripey shirts.

PRO: I get to cross items off supply lists. I love crossing off items on lists!
CON: There's always that one item that you are certain a teacher made up just to mess with parents because it is not available anywhere within a 30 mile radius.

PRO: At least summer gets replaced by a pretty season, with those turning leaves and crisp fall days.
CON: Fall turns my husband into a "fan-iac". Sundays bring THREE televisions to my living room. (Yes, I agree, I really should win the most awesome-est wife award. Pass it on to the Hubs.)

It looks  like it's pretty much equally PRO'ed and CON'ed. I guess it means that this will be a bittersweet month of preparing for school starting and saying goodbye to our family's favorite season. Alas, parting is sweet sorrow or some such crap like that, right? Viva la summer!

Is That Momma's Little Girl I See?

Just when I've started to prepare myself for the menstruation train that's surely chugging its way closer and closer, my daughter does a complete 180. I think its just to keep me on my toes. Or to keep me confused. More than likely its to divert my attention from other nefarious plots she's hatching. (Yes, I'd like to be less cynical about my children and their motives, but I have three of them. They're ganging up on us.)

She's a worldly 12 now. And 2 months away from being crowned Princess of the Teenagedom. We've begun having fashion disagreements. (As in I think she needs to have many more layers on her person before leaving the house and she disagrees.) She wants to wear makeup and I want her to be happy with chap stick. Then a few weeks ago she asked me if I would tuck her in.

Now, it's been quite a few years since I've tucked her in, having outgrown the need for mom to cover her up and wish her sweet dreams. So you can imagine my surprise when she asked, out of the blue, for me to tuck her in. Inwardly, I'm doing cartwheels and jumping for joy. Outwardly, I said, "Sure, honey."

I've been struggling this year, watching the kids getting older, getting closer and closer to leaving the nest. So to have the chance to snuggle my "baby" girl again seems like someone upstairs might have been actually listening to my desperate pleas to slow down this carousel we're on so that I can enjoy them more. (However, I really wish He would have heard the ones about worrying about my kids financial futures and how winning the lottery, hint hint, sure would help a lot with those money woes!)

So I get to look forward to the nightly ritual again and this time I vow not to take it for granted. I've been granted a reprieve in her adolescence, a re-do moment if you will. And I think that it's even more bittersweet because this time, when she outgrows the tucking in phase, its only to be replaced by some eye rolling, exasperated sighing female creature. One that used to bear an awfully good resemblance to my daughter. For now, I have to brush up on my best blanket tucking techniques.

Sweet Dreams Mayhemville!