Adult Coloring

It used to be a jigsaw puzzle. And I still like jigsaw puzzles. But now it’s a coloring book.

It’s not the coloring book from my past that featured Barbie or TV cartoon characters, but a newly branded adult coloring book with pictures of varied and abstract animals, nature, geometric shapes, and more. With intricate delineations, it begs to be respected by coloring, as we used to say, in the lines.

Back then, the instrument of choice for applying color to the page was a Crayola crayon; preferably from the 64 pack featuring colors like periwinkle, goldenrod, apricot, mulberry, cadet blue, raw umber, and cornflower. Most of these have continued to avoid forced retirement; however, raw umber and mulberry have bitten the dust. The unlikely burnt sienna was saved and is still with us.

My crayons have now stepped aside for the colored pencils - 50 of them - which make me stare and contemplate more than if I only have 8 or 16 to choose from. And when I do choose a pencil, I also use another contrasting or complimentary color because I like the look when coloring small adjacent spaces. Watching the page slowly transform from black and white to vivid hues is like watching the sun rise as life become visible.

So what’s the big deal? I don’t know, but it feels good. Everyone who writes about it calls it a stress reliever; something that makes them relax. For me, it feels more like a creative process - fun, slightly challenging, and a quest for patience. It allows me to join the real artists of the world. As for the relaxation, yes, I’m pretty relaxed, though sometimes when I want a bright picture, as opposed to one that’s more pastel, I bear down with the pencil and that sometimes puts a tightness in my aging arm and shoulder. But when that happens, I just ease up.

During the Thanksgiving weekend I visited my parents and took colored pencils and new dollar store coloring books. (After all, I didn’t know if Mom would want to color or not, so no need to spend ten bucks on one book when I could present her with 3 for $3.00… right?) After we were all stuffed with dinner and dessert, the coloring commenced. I was glad to see my teen-aged nephew grab one of the books because some see this as a girl thing, and it’s not. (Google it.) Pages were torn from another book and shared by my daughters. Mom watched. It was our last day there. We were going home in an hour. Before we left, she said, “Are you leaving my coloring books?"

Yes, I did leave her coloring books. And she’s been coloring - a lot! Whenever she’s plagued with her health issues or trying to help with my stepfather’s health issues and it gets to be time for a time out, she gets the book and pencils. Or instead of giving in to the sofa while watching TV, she sits at the table coloring while glimpsing at the TV. This is turning out to be a nice discovery for both of us. My daughter gave me a nice quality coloring book for Christmas and I can see its addiction potential; like my jigsaw puzzles. “I’ll do one more piece before I go to bed.” And then it’s 20 more pieces. With the coloring, it’s one more leaf, or the shoes, or the eyes...

I sound like an expert, right? Ha! I’m only on my third page.

But… the coloring book is a keeper. I might need it as we board the next bus that begins our travels through 2017 and beyond. Hoping the ride will be smooth so that I will stay inside the lines.

What do you do to unwind? Have you tried coloring?

My daughter, Girl #3, prefers coloring with markers. I'll try markers soon.

Art by Girl #3

Just Me

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

It’s a sunny day in Nags Head, North Carolina – 86 degrees. I’m back at the three-level rental house after spending a blissful morning and early afternoon sitting on my little chair under my beach umbrella on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. While there, I read, completed a Sudoku puzzle, wrote in my book journal, snacked, people-watched, and nodded off. The decompression had started.

I’m here two more days; an unexpected treat. My daughter and her friends are enjoying beach week at this house and wherever else they’re hanging out. While planning a few months ago, they discovered they needed an adult to rent the place and to be responsible for it. After a slew of emails was dispersed among all the potential responsible adults, the six girls agreed to give up one of the four bedrooms to a series of three moms, which was nicely secluded on the third level; hence, my little treat. I’m responsible adult #2. When I leave on Friday, responsible adult #3 will take over.

Anyway, the Decompression…

May and June… Will these months ever calm down?! After my youngest child graduates from college – maybe?  I won’t bore you with the list of things I have to do for my kids, other peoples’ kids (which is reciprocal), friends, my husband, and my parents, but will just say that it happens in abundance in May and June. And this year included two funerals.

Right… the Decompression…

I am so relaxed and content. The beach girls and I are on different schedules and don’t see much of each other, and that is perfectly fine. I’m sure they feel the same.

The Quiet…

I am relishing it. There is no one to take care of. At home, even when everyone’s gone, my sweet little epileptic dog is there: needing a pill five times a day, needing a potty break, needing a walk, needing the ball thrown to her. Here, at the moment, I’m sitting on the bed with my cup of tea on the night table, Ellen on the TV. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a complete show of hers; and actually, not seeing it now because I’m writing this blog post, reflecting on the quiet.

Ping!

It’s a text from my friend back at home.

“What’cha doin’?”

“Sitting on the bed, relaxing,” I text to her.

(Back and forth we text for a couple minutes; she asks, I answer.)

“Are you going to shop, nap, or see a movie?”

(She has suggestions for each activity.)

“Ohhh, I might go to the shopping center that’s close by. But you know I don’t like to shop, so it would be a short trip, just to see the area.”

Then she asks, “Does it feel strange to be alone?”

(I can tell that she doesn’t get it. Maybe you don’t either.)

“No,” I text back, as I laugh out loud.

(I feel that I need to explain my weirdness, so I send another text.)

“I can be such a recluse sometimes,” with a smiley face emoji.

(Actually, I’m not weird. I simply enjoy solitude.)

When I worked for corporate America twenty-one years ago and beyond, I joined my co-workers in taking personality tests and playing personality games. One game had us walking around to each other to write on paper that was attached to our backs; a word that we thought described the person’s personality type. Once the fun chaos was over, we pulled the paper from our backs to see what others in the group thought of us.

Initially interesting, eventually annoying, these tests were supposed to aid in improving our work environment, career development, and company productivity. I understood the intent; however, it always seemed to end with people sizing each other up. I learned to reject labels on myself; too confining.

But recently, a personality book caught my attention. It’s called, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain. I liked the inclusion of the words power and quiet in the title, along with introvert, a word that seems to have a negative connotation. These words together and the contents of the book, made me reconsider my ban on personality tests and literature. I doubt that I’ll ever take another personality test; however the book is multifaceted and enlightening.

I never thought introvert was a bad label, but I didn’t readily embrace it. This trip and things that I’m reading in this book, however, are telling me to own it! I’ve confirmed that introvert and shy are not necessarily synonymous. And I’ve realized that I don’t have to apologize for not missing my husband or children if they’re away or if I’m away. (This little trip might inspire me to pack my bags more often.)

I am an introvert… most of the time.

Epilogue:

In addition to beach time, I visited the sand dunes at Jockey's Ridge State Park. Ever since I saw a picture of blog friend Abby's trip to the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado, I've kept the fascinating image in my mind. Who knew that I'd have the experience in North Carolina! I also spent time at the Wright Brothers National Memorial, another nature-girl thing to do.

Sand Dunes at Jockey's Ridge State Park

Wright Brothers National Memorial

Care to share things about your personality or temperament? Do you spend time alone?

Friends

 

I've written about single friends, blog friends, and even pushy (ex) friends. This is about the ages of my friends.

I suppose our personalities dictate our social habits--at least that's one aspect. Never the life of the party, my pattern was that of having a best friend to hang out with as a child and teen, a few treasured friends as a college student and during my twenties, and then back to a best friend at twenty-eight; however, seldom losing any of the treasured friends along the way. Marriage and children changed things. The single friends became fewer because they had time and I didn't. The pushy friends had to go; they were not a good usage of my time. Ahhh, but the rest of the bunch... I'm happy to have.

During my younger years, my friends were within four years of my age. I went to school with them which stands to reason why. When I began working professionally, I met people who were older, and then younger as I became older; however, the friends who I spent time with were still closer to my age.

Having a child opened doors to new friends. I hurried through the church halls with them as we dropped our infants and toddlers off at the nursery. I would eventually spend many years with my younger neighborhood friends in the classrooms of the elementary school. While this was going on, I'd notice women my age on the tennis court or getting into their cars, dressed in heels and cute skirts, going off to work. Our timing was different. Their kids were older.

As the years came and went, do did the seasons of my life. All three kids were in school. I was in my late forties, that time of life when women want to be more than what they've been. I acted upon that need which resulted in connecting with those women who were on the tennis court and elsewhere when I had toddlers. I walk with them. I do Book Club with them. I have lunch with them. Some are younger than me; some are older.

I appreciate them all.

With my few, young, "still-making-babies" friends, I respect this time in their lives; a time devoted mostly to the needs of their families. I know that they are at the play groups and in a teaching/nurturing mode all day long. From them, I am able to pull up happy memories of my kids as babies, and also to feed off of their youthful outlooks as they plan bright futures for themselves and their children. Funny, I'm old enough to be their parent, yet we share the bond of being mothers who have children at home.

From my friends who are a mere decade behind me (give or take a year or two), I keep up with the happenings of my children's peers; i.e. at school, church, around the neighborhood, on facebook, etc. I learn of "kid" opportunities to take advantage of and of situations to avoid. I exercise with these friends, have fun with them, and carpool with them; they are my village. Like the youngest group, though, they are not yet seasoned.

Which brings me to the last group of friends--the veterans who are in their fifties and sixties; the wedding planners, the grandmas, the travelers. From them, I can forget I have kids for a while... if I want too; even when they talk about theirs. Our topics of conversation have the widest range: from frivolous to funny to serious; and when challenging issues arise in their lives, they are calmer than my younger friends. I am one of them, too.

Eventually, I will spend time with friends who are over seventy because I will be closer to seventy, and I will enjoy them, too.

Do your friends vary in age? Are they women, men, or both? Who are you most comfortable with?

Why Do You Believe What You Believe?

I was born into a Catholic family; water poured on my tiny, infant forehead in a Sunday baptism ceremony.

I entered first grade at the downtown Catholic school and had my First Holy Communion at the church next door. Outfitted in a white dress, belted at the waist and poofed out below with a crinoline slip; along with white Mary Jane patent leather shoes, lace trimmed ankle socks, and a lace veil, I received the Sacrament with other little girls and boys. I was beginning my life as a Christian.

But then the divorced happened. Dad remained a Catholic; Mom, ultimately, did not. She had custody of my brother and me. We moved to Michigan where our church going routine went awry. Fifth grade was my last year of Catholic school.

However, the seed was planted. I believed in God.

Later in life, I began to believe because of faith rather than what I’d been taught.

* * * *

I woke up one morning, stressed; worried about being able to accomplish the long list of things to do. My first thought: ask God to help me throughout the day.

And then I wondered – What do people do when in need of mental or physical relief? How do people handle a tough time, like a life or death situation involving themselves or loved ones? Where do they find comfort?

And, who do people thank when it all works out?

As a Christian, I have a “thank you Jesus moment,” like the lady on the commercial who won the millions in the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes…well, not e-x-a-c-t-l-y like her.

When blog surfing, and just reading in general, I find info on many celebrations – some that are religious, like Diwali. I Googled it and learned that it is a major holiday celebrated by Hindus.

With all the holidays celebrated around the world, I am reminded of the many different beliefs, and unfortunately, all the conflict surrounding it, which I believe will always exist. Religious wars have been fought since history has been recorded.

Nowadays, people criticize each other with words like: gullible, cult, naïve, stupid, heathen, violent, thief, weird, lost, etc.

I’ve seen bumper stickers with the word “coexist” (written with religious symbols), which is what we have to do, but I see nothing wrong with healthy and respectful debate. Educate yourselves and defend your beliefs, because sometimes in the process, you may help someone, or, you may discover something you’ve been missing that someone else has. When you have peace in your heart, you’ve probably hit the mark.

Connections to the Past

My seventy-six year old mother has no pictures of her father who died of tuberculosis when she was three years old. Her widowed mother struggled with five children and lost many possessions during a few moves in the following years; pictures included. Mom has pieced her dad’s face together by looking at herself and her brothers and sisters, and by hearing them and her mother describe him.

Fortunately, my parents took pictures of my brother and me as we were growing up, and they managed to hold on to the tattered scrapbooks filled with black and white photos taken in the late fifties and early sixties. How exciting it was for them to be introduced to color soon after.

Because I treasure those old pictures and memories, I’ve inherited an appreciation for pictures, and also for video, letters, and journals. I have several photo albums, lots of video, and the recent addition of digital photos stored on computer hard drives.

My personal journal writing has been on hiatus for five years, but occasionally I write in three journals that I have for each of my daughters. When they were born, I started making entries – not many – just when I thought about it; mainly during bouts of insomnia when I was in my mid-forties.

I tell them how cute they are, about new accomplishments, habits, and difficult times, too.

No insomnia now, and I haven’t carved out time to write to the little darlings much. The last entry was in September, 2009, and prior to that was November, 2008. Still, I enjoy reading the journals; reminiscing.

I know people who run from the camera. (There are days when I do, too.) It may be during a special occasion or just an ordinary day. Sometimes I think, “We’re not here forever. Somebody is going to want to remember what you looked like, what you were interested in, how you felt.” So have pictures taken, write letters, step in the view of the video, leave a journal – don’t let your life have to be pieced together.

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Do you have pictures, video, letters, and/or journals from your past?

Cookie Jars

The first Santa cookie jar arrived in 1994. It was filled with the best home-made chocolate chip cookies ever, baked by my mother-in-law, Ruby. Little did we know - it was the start of a Christmas gift tradition.

For the next few years, we took Santa for a visit to Ruby’s house, where he’d get a fill of the delicious cookies, then return to the kitchen counter of his sweets-loving owners. (One of us has since reformed.)

After a few years, Ruby (now Grandma Ruby) filled and delivered a new cookie jar - a sophisticated, top hat wearing snow man.

One of our annual Christmas season visitors is Jim. He’d seen the first Santa displayed prominently every year, and decided to give him a companion, a snowman with a stylish blue and white matching hat and scarf.

Jim is Italian, so he named the snowman Tony Torrone and filled it with Italian candy - I think it was Barone’s or something like that.

Unbeknownst to each other, the two snowmen showed up the same Christmas.

A year or two later, Nutcracker Santa arrived carrying his candy cane and his bag of gifts, but most importantly, the nut-filled chocolate chip cookies.

It was the last cookie jar from Grandma Ruby. She died in 2003. The cookie jars are one of many things that give us daily memories of her.

Jim (now Uncle Jim) continued the tradition. Two more Santas would join the family in recent years.

The gold ball on the end of Santa’s hat had a little accident, but thanks to super glue, his outfit is back to perfection.

The array of cookie jars began drawing attention and remarks from our holiday visitors. One of our young visitors, Nirali, gifted my daughter Hayley with a penguin cookie jar. It was black and white with a yellow beak, until Hayley decorated it with colorful markers included in the package.

On two other Christmases, Uncle Jim broke the trend of the more common Santas and snowmen, by switching over to a moose and a reindeer. The reindeer has a big red nose, perhaps in honor of Rudolf. The moose is missing an antler. Hayley’s pitching arm was a little “off,” which caused the moose’s antler to break “off.” Maybe we’ll super glue it back on before it hibernates until next December.

Check out this snowman from Jim; isn’t he regal?

A couple of years ago, Uncle Jim began to fill the cookie jars with butter balls, made with his mother’s recipe.

My husband and Jim kinda have this “guy thing” going on. Each Christmas they give each other a gag gift. This year we received Maxine into the family. She came from an antiques store, so she’s peeling a little, but she’s welcome too.

The latest Uncle Jim cookie jar is our “Twas The Night Before Christmas” edition. It was an attractive centerpiece for our dining room table during our New Year’s Eve dinner with family and friends.

Hope you enjoyed the cookie jar tour!

p.s. In memory of my husband’s alma mater, another character cookie jar existed with the school’s emblem on it, but met with its demise, caused by yours truly. Oops.

What do you have “a lot of” that people notice when they come to your home?

My post titled "Passion" received heartfelt comments and was said to be one of the most thought provoking. Read it (the comments, too) to see what comes to your mond. Add it to the post if you'd like.

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Grandparents and Snow Boots

(Warning: clicking on "Shoe Carnival" has volume.)

I’m in Shoe Carnival, desperately seeking snow boots for my two youngest daughters. The snow is predicted to arrive within hours – six to twelve inches of it. This store is my last stop. The mad rush on boots, waterproof gloves, and snow pants by the residents of the town has already occurred. There are none; well, none that are fake-fur-lined and waterproof – not even rain boots.

As I’m foraging the aisles for an alternative, a salesperson sees me and zooms in for her “aha” moment – "another parent that I can sale fake-fur-lined 'suede' boots to, and some handy-dandy waterproofing spray!"

I buy the boots - two pairs - but not the spray; already have a can at home.

In the checkout line, a couple walks up behind me. It’s my girls’ piano teacher and her husband. She runs the studio where they’ve taken lessons for years. Jean is around sixty-five, and Dennis is a little older. We’ve become friends during the nine years I’ve known them.

One of them is holding a shoe box; the other, some miscellaneous kid stuff. The boots inside are for a grandchild. We begin the “snow discussion” about the urgent need for boots so that “our” kids will be able to play in the snow.

Yes, they consider the grandkids, “their” kids. I’ve seen Jean at their school activities, having a treat with them at Barnes and Noble, and picking them up from school; just a few of the many things they do with them, and for them.

Seeing them gives me a sentimental feeling; an appreciation for grandparents. I think of my mother, and how much she loves my children. I think about her being in another city and not having weekly contact, and I feel a little envy.

So this is a tribute to you, grandparents - those of you who do so many things for your grandkids. You baby-sit. You display their pictures on your blogs and in your homes. You feel the pain when the kids have health issues. Some of you are raising the kids.

And for those who are away from the grandkids - like my mom and step-dad - you are just as appreciated for sending the birthday cards, for talking to them on the phone, for coming to visit whenever you can, and for welcoming them any and every time they visit you. Thank you.

Many blessings to you all!

Because I had my children much later than the average age, I will be an older grandparent. My prayer is that I’m healthy and still young at heart, so that I can enjoy mine, too.

Are you a grandparent?
When you were a kid, did you have a relationship with your grandparents?

Continue to comment on my post titled, "Passion," and read what others have said.

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Rain

The sound of rain splattering on my roof and driveway, and hitting against my window, was a pleasant addition to my sleep during the night and early hours of morning. It was like rhythmic music – a soundtrack to my dreams.

When I woke up, I looked out my bedroom window and felt gratitude. Attracted to the beauty of the rain, I found myself outside trying to get a picture that would capture its essence.

Usually I prefer the rain to happen in late evening or at night, but today when I saw it, I thought of grass, trees, flowers, food – everything that grows; how the rain is replenishing it all.

I thought of the four seasons in Virginia, how the temperature ranges from twenty degrees to one hundred degrees; how, just as boredom with a season creeps in, it changes. (Still LOOOVE the sun, though!)

I thought of how people retreat (if they can) when it rains, and that song, “Rainy Days and Mondays” [always get me down]. Sometimes I give into that too, but not today. Just got my umbrella, raincoat, and camera, walked barefooted down the driveway to the curb, breathed in the crisp morning air, snapped a few pictures, picked up the newspaper, and came back in.

It was refreshing, and it started my day off on a good note.

How does rain make you feel?

Family Time at the Football Game

University of Virginia

Cavalier Mascot

http://www.virginiasports.com/

I was presented with a big decision: go to the first UVA football game of the season with my husband and three girls, or stay home alone (well, not totally alone; Layla the dog would be with me). You may wonder, “Why was that such a big decision?”

If you’ve followed this blog, you will recall my post about losing thirty minutes of solitude (July 13, 2009). Yes, I’m a girl who likes to be alone sometimes – in my house; not out on an errand! As a stay-at-home mom, that scenario does not happen often during the summer. When my husband told me he was taking the girls to the game, I had immediate visions of uninterrupted reading on the porch, a meal of my choice without anyone ogling it (except the dog), and completion of a household project.

But then…I was struck with GUILT!

Only a day or two before, I had just lectured my daughters about our lack of “family time,” partly because of circumstances beyond our control this summer, but also because we haven’t planned much, and that we need to get better at it.

And then, what happens? We get an opportunity for all of us to do something together. It took a couple of days for the words, “I’ll go” to come out of my mouth, but it did. My husband was pleasantly surprised at my decision and the girls were happy.

The five of us, and Aunt Carla and Uncle Adam, loaded into the SUV and off we went. I don’t see our friends much, so I found it enjoyable to socialize with them, too.

UVA lost the game, but it was a fun outing. The weather was great and the pre-game show was entertaining. Paratroopers floated through the sky above the stadium where they eventually landed. Soon after, the Cavalier mascot galloped onto the stadium on his horse. No big deal to the faithful who come to all the games, but a thrill for me as I have recently become a fan of horses. (See my post dated August 9, 2009.)

We stuffed our faces with concession food, as the team sunk further and further into defeat. I varied my interests by watching the sky turn into a cloudy midnight blue, the color of a Crayola crayon. It was beautiful.

Family time that includes everyone can be challenging for some households, so think twice before passing up an opportunity.

How does your family rate at spending quality time together?

I Love My Screened-In Porch!

the porch

a view from the porch

Of all the spaces and places in my house, the screened-in porch is my favorite. From my kitchen, the room where it seems most of my time is spent, I can take a break and step out onto the porch to experience the peace of the birds flying from tree to tree, the heat from the sun, the flittering of butterflies, and the sight of tall, luscious green trees with a perfect cloudy blue sky as a backdrop.

During the five or six months of warm weather and sunshine, I sit on the porch as much as possible; only my busy life prevents me from being there more.

Reading on the porch is very relaxing. I pull out the leg rest from under the chair, position a pillow at just the right spot behind my back, give the dog a chew toy or bone, and then attempt to get totally absorbed in a book. This works well when it’s just the dog and me. During the summer, that’s not often. The girls always have a reason to interrupt – but they’re okay – as long as I don’t have to listen to any whining. Sometimes, one of them may get a book and join me. They, too, are part of the complete picture.

In addition to good reading time, my other reasons for loving the porch:

---Lunch or dinner on the porch is like being at an outdoor café. Sometimes I’m joined by one of the kids or my husband or all of them.

---Conversations with my husband are always good when we’re sitting on the porch.

---The sofa on the porch has provided me with some of my best Sunday afternoon naps – the kind that don’t give me a headache as I’m waking up.

---Talking on the phone is more fun on the porch. There are no dishes staring at me waiting to be washed, or any other domestic chore. I laugh a lot during these conversations.

---It's a great place to have a morning cup of tea while listening to sounds of nature.
---During a summer storm, I stand on the porch a minute or two listening to hard, pouring rain – until the lightening sends me in.

I haven’t always had a screened-in porch. As a teen, my equivalent was a roof covered porch on the front of the house. After waking up on a “don’t have to be anywhere day,” I’d go outside to the porch into the slight coolness of the morning to “wake up my face.” My mother would say, “Wait until you get my age – you won’t be able to wait for your face to wake up. You’ll have to PUT it into place!”

Throughout the years, a porch of some sort has been a must. Before I moved into a tenth floor apartment in 1984, I had to check out the balcony to make sure I’d have my serene, outdoor space, even if it was overlooking the parking lot, accompanied by the sounds of traffic on I-395. I still got my “fresh” air!

It’s nice to have a place (or two) in your home to veg out.

Where is your special place?

Post-Thanksgiving

The house is quiet. My husband is at work. My three daughters are at school. Even the dog is gone; she's at the groomer's. I am devouring the last of my Wendy's Spicy Chicken Combo (complete with french fries and a chocolate Frosty), a self-indulgent treat after experiencing a happy, but noisy five days.

This year we spent Thanksgiving at my parents' home with them, my brother, and my nephew. Next year we will spend it locally with my husband's parent, siblings, and offspring.

We arrived on Thanksgiving Day to the usual feast of turkey/gravy, stuffing, sweet potatoes, potato salad, corn pudding, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, collard greens, ham, rolls, pistachio pudding, cakes, pies, sodas, and whatever else I am forgetting - a good ol' southern meal. My mom was the typical humble host, commenting that she always makes the same thing and asking us if we'd like something different on future holidays. As we were stuffing down the loads on our plates, in between chews we managed to tell her that it was all delicious, that we don't get this combination of food often, so sticking with the same menu is still a treat. She smiled, but then said, "You'll eat anything when you're hungry."

On Black Friday, the "girls" of the family ventured out to the mall. At the tender age of seven, my nephew has already learned to decline a trip to the mall with a vehement "NOOOOO!"

The shopping went well. Mom was relieved to check off five or six Christmas gifts. The children were willing to try on clothes without whining. And I had the wisdom to feed everyone at the mall eatery before starting our mission which was to find needed items ON SALE. With bellies full, we lasted over five hours without any growls, tears, or threats.

Upon our return to mom's house, my husband marveled at the fact that we had only been to one mall; "Surely, I thought you all had been to at least two or three malls in six hours!"

I'm looking at the computer clock. Child number two and child number three will be coming home from elementary school in twenty minutes; therefore, I will stop and figure out how to post this blog. It appears that I just have to click on publish post.

This is the first of the beginning of a new outlet for me - blogging. The entries will vary, but it will all speak on some facet of my life as a multi-dimensional woman and mother.

See'ya