This Piece of Time

I have a friend who does The Gypsy Mama's  5 minute Friday posts.  The goal is to take 5 minutes and create a word picture.  No perfect writing.  Just 5 minutes.  This weeks theme is "Home".  I've never tired this before but the topic intrigues me, so let's give it a try. Home..... My parent's house on Lopshire Drive with a church pew and swing on the porch.  The home that holds nearly all of my childhood memories.  My dad's cologne.  A smell that relaxes my soul and warms my heart. My mom saying "Is that my favorite girl?" when I walk in the house. Laughing around the dining room table on a Sunday evening. The stillness of three sleeping children. The strong arm of my husband wrapped around my shoulders as I rest my head on his chest. STOP.

I have a  friend  who does a weekly post of the crazy things her kids say.  While I am not committing to do this on a regular basis, my little's have had quite a few good ones lately.  Maybe this will add a little sunshine to a rainy day. Me: Are you excited to go to the beach next week? Brooklyn: No. Me: Why not? Brooklyn: The crabs. (Leaving the park in a rush after it started raining) Paige: Mom, is it hard to take care of three kids? Me: Why?  Does it look hard? Paige: No. Emerson: Me a boy. Me: What is mommy? Emerson: Mommy a girl. Me: What is Daddy? Emerson: Daddy a monkey! (Brooklyn was watching me clean out the seeds of a cantaloupe) Brooklyn: Ew! That is a gross job!  Will I have to do that when I'm a mom? If she only knew the grossness that lay ahead!

I have often said that when I had Brooklyn I joined a club and I can't get out.  Apparently, having a redheaded newborn is cause for every person who has ever known, seen or dreamed of a redhead to stop and tell you all about said person.  This is always followed by the oh so popular "Where did she get her red hair?"  I have been tempted on more than one occasion to dye my hair a similar shade just to end the nonsense.  Why can't they just assume her father has red hair and leave it at that??  I digress.  My sweet freckle faced girl turned five yesterday.  She had a tea party today with eight of her closest friends.  There were actually twelve on the list, but I made her cut a few.  That may be the theme of her life.  This little girl LOVES people.  She always has.  Brooklyn is sensitive, sarcastic, artistic, ticklish, talks incessantly and hates being alone.  She loves unicorns, butterflies, rainbows, ...

Last week Adam and I went on a date.  The night didn't require expensive tickets, outrageously priced food or fancy clothes.  We have had those nights, but this wasn't one of them.  This night took us to Target, Walmart, Best Buy and a steakhouse with peanut shells strewn about.  It was glorious.  I didn't take anyone to the restroom during my meal, the seat in my shopping cart was occupied by only my purse, and not once did I have to move boxes off a shelf to remove disobedient children from crawling behind them.  Halfway through our evening Adam looks at me dumbfounded and says "I am having a really good time!"   Resisting the urge to reach across the table and knock the shock right off his face, I inquire gracefully as to why he seems so surprised.  He goes on to say that this had been a stressful week at work and he just hadn't realized how much he needed to decompress.   I have spent seasons of our marriage waitin...

If you had told me at the age of twenty that I was not prepared for motherhood, I would have laughed in your face. I had been babysitting for years.  I cared for 10 infants every day for a year in a daycare.  I was a nanny to a newborn while pregnant with Paige.  I could do this in my sleep.  Kids were my thing. Motherhood didn't shake me at first.  It took a year or two to realize how far over my head I was in.  Apparently, I'm a slow learner.  The truth is, all the things I thought I was going to "be" as a mom are so much more challenging than I could have imagined. On occasion, I will have a friend comment on my "amazing patience" or call me "supermom".  Upon receiving such a compliment, I suggest we spend more time together.  Clearly I have given them a faulty impression of myself.   In an attempt to level the playing field, l...

On the way home from soccer, the girls and I were talking about school and when they would go to college.  The conversation ended something like this: Paige: So you went to college to be a mom? Me: Well, they don't really teach how to be a mom in college? Paige: So they just didn't teach you anything? Not exactly, but some day's it sure feels that way!  Take today for example.  The morning started with Paige refusing to get in the van because she didn't feel well.  By the time I convinced her to move, Emerson had not only stepped in dog poop but had smeared it all over his socks and jeans.  After a quick cleaning of the shoes and grabbing extra clothes to clean the boy up, we left for school only to realize that I had failed to feed anyone breakfast.  Lovely.  Paige hates breakfast, so she was not disappointed to be missing a meal, but my Brooklyn is a Farmers Platter kind of girl and Emerson was already begging for a drink.  Starbucks to th...

You know him as Adam.  I call him Neil.  He calls me Liz, which is better than Taco.  Trust me.  We've been there. Our story goes back 20 years.  Two thirds of my life.  I did the math.  It blew my mind.  I was the mother in our 4th grade play of Peter Pan and he was my youngest son, wearing red long john pjs with a butt flap.  The following year, I crossed him out of my year book and wrote "emenies" next to his picture.  He was excellent at spelling.  Me, not so much.  This may have fueled my hatred. I have no memory of this boy through middle school, but in high school he caught my eye.  Or should I say, someone guessed that I liked him and after a few seconds of consideration I decided to go with it.  Before that moment, the thought had never crossed my mind.  I was 15.  My reasoning skills hadn't exactly matured. Little did I know that one moment in a chemistry class would impact my life forever....