Category: parenting

humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

For The Boys

mimijk

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  When my mom was alive, this was a day feted like few others.  Dad would have it no other way, for he knew how much it meant to her.  We’d stand by her bedroom door waiting for her to come out, give her a cape made out of a sheet, a scepter (which in actuality was one of our batons) – even the dog had a ‘Happy Mother’s Day‘ sign around his neck.  Coffee first – always.  Then gifts and cards (she felt cards were a critical component of the whole thing).  In retrospect, we took the Hallmark holiday to almost ridiculous levels.  As teenagers, Deb  and I would roll our eyes at the theatrics involved – Dad reminding us repeatedly to make sure that she not be disappointed by any failure of our memories, the Queen for a Day spectacle expanding in scope as we got older.  As dad’s health began to fail, we just celebrated her as much as we could – though nothing really compensated for what she was losing.

I come at this though from a different place.  Boys perhaps are different – more muted in their expressions, though arguably more consistent.  And this is really about them.  Whether they read this or not is moot; it is for them in absentia.

If it wasn’t for the boys, I wouldn’t be one of those women for whom Mother’s Day is intended.  My boys.  Really, the appreciation should be directed their way.  They are not perfect; I have no illusions.  They are however the perfect sons for me.  They each came equipped with unique characteristics that amaze, delight, occasionally frustrate and always, always reinforce my wonder that I got so lucky.  So blessed.  I wish I could still hold them in my lap, yet I also love hearing their expanding world views.  I can touch their heads and remember them nestled in the crook of my neck, and then blink and re-focus on a conversation about work, current events, the Stanley Cup.  I crave them – I aways have.  And though I knew from the time I was able to toddle that I wanted to be a mom, I never knew I would be a  mom to men who I like as much as I adore.   Their love is nutritious – even though I’m  not sure what the RDA is.   All I know is that when I’m with them, I am the better part of me.  I look at them with occasional disbelief – these men, as boys were mine.  These men allowed me to be a mom.  And as convoluted as it may sound,  Mother’s Day celebrates them.  They are my greatest treasures, my heart, my soul.  They are my history and I am watching them travel into their futures.  And to take a line from my dad, “more loved [they] cannot be”.  Thank you for being the sons I always wanted, and becoming the remarkable men that you are.

photo-5

 

anxiety, discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting, work life

The Relentless Drops Of Water

mimijk

 

870b5ca0eebbfaad5ea5cb3cf791b4db

“Water is the softest thing, yet it can penetrate mountains and earth.  This shows clearly the principle of softness overcoming hardness” — Lao Tzu

I love this quote.  I love thinking that relentless softness can erode what appears intractable and immoveable.  The visual of solid ground acceding to the dampening of the earth, redefining its crags and layers of stubborn solidity by the insistence of water, becoming a rivulet and ultimately a stream.

And then there’s the old water torture visual (drops falling rhythmically and slowly on one’s forehead) which is far more reflective of my state of mind at the moment.  And may I say?  The drops aren’t particularly doing much except making me feel like I’m getting a dent in my head.

Over the past two years, I’ve been contacted by executive recruiters asking about my interest in C-level positions – law firms, professional service firms – and I’ve never considered pursuing the inquiries.  Last week I did, and yesterday I withdrew my candidacy.  It was the drops you see.  The persistent drops – “Do you have the chops to do this again?”   “You don’t have the chops to do this again”  “Do you want to do this again?”  “Wanting is irrelevant – what if they find me too old (that’s illegal and I’m way too immature, but…), too irreverent, too out there, not out there enough”  “But do you want to do this again”  “I want parts of it and I don’t want parts of it”  “That’s no answer, Mim”  “Can you repeat the question?”…and so on.

And so it went until I was desperately seeking a xanax or at least someone to turn off the faucet.  Oh, did I mention that I have a skosh of a problem calling a plumber when I really need one (figuratively speaking of course)?  “My family will think less of me for walking away”  “They will not, you doof”  “Yeah, they will”  This is ridiculous.  I am ridiculous.  Full stop.

I write Andy and the boys, send an email to two of my dearest friends.  Aaron writes back first – “You’ve earned the right to be whatever you want to be…therapist, elephant hygienist..” (I love that kid).  Paul chimes in next – “I think you should get re-accredited to be a therapist”..and paraphrasing here, ‘so happy you will pursue what you want’ (I love that kid too).  Andy, oh Andy – with his platitudes and deft application of the cliché, rejected both and just reminded me that who I am makes him proud enough.  ‘Do what you want, and if you don’t know what that is just yet, that’s ok too’ (I don’t feel that it is, but may I say that he’s a rock star).  And my friends..”I’m so happy you said no;  I didn’t want to have to share you with that many people” (she’d never have to).  “You made the right decision – besides, I think you should write a book!”  And here I sit, with a different type of water – the kind that traces down one’s cheeks, gracing each wrinkle, tickling my jaw as they meander down my neck.

How bewildering to be in my renaissance and discover that I am still arguing with these voices of doubt?  How breathtaking to realize that with a little effort, I can change a path that has been shaped by years and years of the drip, drip, drip, drip of my own design?  I am changing the flow, I am going to try to be more purposeful with this one life I have.  Remember my passion, follow my fascinations, remember that it was my sense of integrity and what I believe to be right that prompted my decision to turn around and re-route.

There’s a place for me – little, idiosyncratic, idealistic, sometimes-savvy me.  I’m not sure where just yet, and I have to be okay with that for now.  For with absolute certainty I can tell you, within me there’s a river.

th

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

It’s Tradition

mimijk

“The family – that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our innermost hearts ever quite wish to.” — Dodie Smith

I love traditions that endure.  They may morph, become slightly diluted, be maintained while slightly deluded – it matters little.  Traditions add dimension to the family construct, providing the shading and nuance that help complete the picture.  It informs our history and clarifies elements of our future – what do I hope my children will choose to carry forward?  What elements of their history and our traditions will they value and hold?

As I watched my father-in-law preside over the Seder on Monday, I was struck by the simplicity and complexity of family traditions.  The delight in hearing the youngest children ask the four questions.  The enthusiastic negotiations that ensue once the Afikomen has been found.  My father-in-law beamed with pride, while still maintaining an air of amused gravitas.  Each child kissed and congratulated for their detective work.  Parents smiling so broadly – some relief undoubtedly mixed in with all that love.  The miracle of generations sharing the secret recipe for creating the perfect olio that makes each family unique, its traditions singularly their own.

And as my brother-in-law referenced those who were not in attendance – his daughter and her family in LA, his mom, my mind secretly wished that my parents were still here, that there were more traditions still to be had in their home.  And though this isn’t about them, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that there were memories that shone in my mind’s eye with primary-color-like clarity.   I saw a picture my sister had posted with our family’s seder plate in the middle of her table, and my reaction was visceral.  Can a heart turn upside down and still beat?

As I looked around the table though, I was also struck by that which was not seen.  The dynamics that are tested, the hurt that only family members can inflict upon each other with or without intention.  The fibers that are being stretched too thin, the ones that are in the process of being rewoven with such care to ensure they are stronger and more pliable than ever before.  Each person’s story as it related to the others, replete with love, frustration, an intractable wish to be understood.  These are traditions too – and though arguably not those which we choose to carry forward, they move forward with us nonetheless.  Our conscious choice is what we do with them.  Family dynamics are rarely enviable – they’re too complex, too imperfect, too full.  At some point, we decide which elements are worthy of retention – the good and the not-so-great – the aspects that will comfort, delight and nurture us and those that may always move us to tears.  These I suppose are the traditions of the heart, the way we pass on the concept of family.  It is part of our legacy, so I would suggest that we choose well.  It becomes our imprimatur, our tacit approval for what will become critical elements of our family tradition.  May it always begin and end with love.

care-family-hands-heart-love-Favim.com-201857

friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Are We There Yet?

mimijk

“I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, and so I’m on my way home.” – Bob Dylan

‘Home’ – the definition in and of itself is intriguing.  It implies something stationary, yet I think it moves and morphs frequently.  When I was little (until the sixth grade), home was an apartment with a hallway that I thought was a mile long, the dotted linoleum in the bedroom I shared with my sister and the kitchen.  It was the night table I scratched my name into while I was talking on the phone with my dad during one of his trips to California.  It was the elevator button that I couldn’t reach when I was five and decided to run away.   When we moved to a larger apartment,  home became both safe haven and hell – as only home can be when you are an angst-ridden adolescent.

When the boys and I went out on our own, we moved a lot.  So much so that I would assure these two toddlers that home was anywhere we were together – whether we were in the car, at the supermarket, in our beds, taking a walk.  As long as we were together, we were home.  I remember feeling that I was saying this for myself as much as for them;  our various rentals somehow didn’t offer an accurate definition or image of what I wanted our home to be.  I had migrated so far from who I was, I’m not sure any four walls would have felt like a comfortable representation of home.  In a very pure way, the only home was truly where the boys were, for they were really all I was sure of, my touchstone, my heart.

So it should follow that if ‘home is where the heart is’, our address should also change (figuratively) with some frequency as we find our comfort with who we and where we are.  Where our love lies, where our being is at peace, where we can cocoon and soar, happy dance and hold on for dear life.

We’ve lived in our house for twenty-one years.  And I’m not the same person I was when we first moved in.  The walls don’t show the dirty fingerprints from little people who in principle would not use a banister.  There are echoes in some places where voices used to be.  We talk about moving and can’t move ourselves to do so.  For over time, the house was able to adapt itself to whoever I was at any given time, holding me tightly and with safety when at my most vulnerable and unsure,  and willing to open its arms when I needed room to explore and roam.  It has given me different rooms to settle into depending on my mood and greets me with comforting noises that are reflective of our ongoing conversation.  This house knows me well.  I’ve always been a little reluctant about long-term relationships, and our house let me fall in love in my own time.  It kept my children safe-ish (they did some pretty crazy things when they were younger), it held us all together until we could define ourselves as a family.

I get Dylan’s point – and I also realize that I have traveled far to arrive here.  My family is my heart.  My house after all this time, is my home.

IMG_0073

 

anxiety, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

When There Are No Answers

mimijk

“Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all” — Emily Dickinson

Some days need to be subdued.  In the silence you can hear your thoughts – jumbled though they may be, scatological and spontaneous, making sense maybe, perhaps not.  Maybe it’s the mind’s way of trying to integrate contradictory stimuli.

Is it the phases of the moon or just the stages of life that bring four of my cherished friends to the ragged edge of loss this weekend?  Remarkable people who have never met, marking anniversaries of loss, experiencing the passing of a beloved family member, and/or finding themselves staring straight into the sea of frightening inevitability which we deny for as long as we can?  And why does life’s corollary have to be so untenable?  I have no idea.

I don’t know if there’s a heaven; I have a hard time conceiving of hell.  I think I’m very faithful, for I believe in many things that I can’t see – and for me, it is the simplest way to embrace something as indescribably huge as faith.  And love.  And hope.  I know that when we have to let go, we never really do.  One of my friends was relating the conversation she and her brother had with their dad, telling him that they were okay, that they would be okay…My sister and I had similar discussions with our parents when they were arguably between two worlds.  And yesterday I thought to myself that sometimes the idea of leaving is untenable because we don’t want to leave our children with no barrier against mortality.  The thought that they have to assume a different and arguably scarier position when we are no longer physically here.  The mere thought is anathema to me.  Life – that is all that we want our loved ones to embrace.  How dissonant to suggest that our abdication requires their assumption of a new place in line?  Perhaps one of the greatest acts of love is hanging in there if one can, with the invisible, powerful hope that we are still protecting those we love beyond measure.

I believe that some souls come into our life for a brief time, and leave indelible imprints on our hearts, our approach to each day, etc.  Some remind us that we are loved, when we doubt it; others nurture us when we have forgotten how to do this for ourselves; defiantly protect us when we are emotionally over-exposed.  Are they angels?  Their miraculous arrival and elusive departure suggest they could be.  Is there a better way to define a lifeline when it is provided and holds you together with unshakeable confidence and purpose?

I know the canned answer is that the experience of sorrow somehow makes the moments of joy all the lovelier.  Loss underscores our appreciation of that which we have.  It sounds good enough to become a cliché, though like most trite comments, it doesn’t necessarily resonate in the heart.  Hope however, has wings.  Hope that forever is a place, that love remembered is a blessing and love extended is a gift.  I wish it didn’t have to hurt so damn much.  I wish that tears weren’t necessary.  The daffodil shoots are stubbornly insisting on breaking through the frozen ground – indifferent to the reality that greets them when they appear.  They persist – with faith.  They will flourish in the spring – with hope.

273241902361595291_sjav1YcK_c

friendship, humor, inspiration, leadership, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting, Uncategorized, work life

I’m Listening – What Do I Hear?

mimijk

Russ Towne (russtowne.com) who pens the glorious “A Grateful Man” was prompted by a friend to respond to a question that grabbed my attention.  “What do you know for sure?”  His responses were pure Russ, written with candor and beauty, simplicity and reflection.  And I began asking myself the same question – and would submit that it’s a reasonable query to pose to ourselves from time to time.  I will admit that my answers didn’t arrive with the same eloquence or confidence; nor do I know if this represents an all-inclusive list.  Nonetheless here goes..

– I know for sure that I still love loving my husband.  I also know for sure that he drives me crazy sometimes, while I on the other hand, I never affect him in that way.  I know for sure that he is the anchor to my kite and were it not for him I’d probably be getting stuck in the trees like a wayward balloon.

– I know for sure that my adoration of my children knows no bounds and I know for sure that they know it and probably don’t fully get it.  I know for sure that parents screw up all the time, and children grow up in spite of us and not because of us.  To reflect tremendous self-congratulatory aggrandizement for their successes as fantastic people is folly and a little narcissistic.  This is their time.  And I am grateful to be along for the ride.  Let’s remember that I’m the sap who cries when we say good-bye to each other despite living ten minutes apart.

– I know for sure that at different times in my life I have let disappointment and anger have more power over me than I realized at the time.  And the only person who suffered from its toxicity was me.

– I know for sure that my life continues to be enhanced by the people who enter my world  – and also those who exit.  Some people need to stay for a little while, and that’s ok.  Some people will be here forever and that’s a gift.  Last I looked, one can’t suffer from having too much love in their life – for however long.

– I know for sure that I’m at a point in my life where I’m wondering what my next contribution will be.  I need to listen harder to my heart, for it’s definitely speaking.  We don’t spend enough time paying attention to its messages.

– I know for sure that if there hadn’t been a black-out at the Super Bowl last night I wouldn’t have fallen asleep and missed the best part of the game.

– I know for sure that the silence that announces the arrival of snow always makes my eyes fill.  It is one of the most peaceful calming sounds in the world.

– I know for sure that I want another puppy (honey are you reading this?).

– I know each day offers me the chance to say ‘Thank You’ – for the ridiculous number of gifts that are in my life.  And I also know I don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.

– I know for sure that for all the articles about leadership, for all the seminars I’ve led on management, motivation, employee engagement, etc – none of it means a damn thing if a person loses his/her character.  Save the HBR studies for another day – as you shimmy up the food chain, hold tight to your sense of integrity and honor.  You will be remembered for little else.

– I know for sure that I can out-happy dance anyone I know.  Not because I’m such a good dancer, but because I have lost enough, found enough and love enough to know how to celebrate all of it.

And finally, I know for sure that there is nothing I can be sure of – except this moment in time.  And this moment in time – in the quiet soft rhythmic beating of its longing – is perfect.

 

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

When The Heart Just Hurts

mimijk

“Life will break you.  Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning.  You have to love.  You have to feel.  It is the reason you are here on earth.  You are here to risk your heart.  You are here to be swallowed up.  And when it happens that you are broken or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit under an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps wasting their sweetness.  Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”   — Louise Erdrich

th

I  had different plans for this post – we attended my daughter-in-law’s graduation yesterday, the day before was a banner day at the barn.  I can’t get there right now.  My heart returns to the unfathomable shock of yesterday’s disaster in Newtown.  I can’t turn away for to do so would diminish the feeling of being inconsolable.  I pray that these families tasted abundant sweetness and that they are enveloped in love and support.  My tears drip on the keyboard – I can’t write about the loss of life itself…one can plan I suppose, though arguably it is better to hope.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music, parenting

Home Ec.

mimijk

“Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel”

Good advice, though I can’t sew.  I can’t even loosely baste a seam.  I failed sewing in the seventh grade, for the teacher didn’t consider it fashion forward to have the armhole of my jumper positioned at the hip.  I didn’t do much better at home economics (yes, they had courses such as this – let’s save the shock and awe for another day, shall we?), though I excelled at pudding.  And passing notes.

Which retrospectively suggests that I had my priorities straight even then – as long as you had good people around you, everything else would follow.  Take care of the ones you love.  Pass the notes, hold the secret, righteously defend (“Mimi would be an exemplary student if she were a bit less social”).  Ah well.  It is with this limited skill set that I have built my house.  Ultimately I bought the drapes and learned how to cook.  And though no one would mistake me for Martha Stewart, I’d say this is a pretty awesome home.  People curl up when they get here, they nestle in.  Shoes come off, defenses are shed, talk is uncensored, silence is religious.  There is nothing more transcendent than this.

Our Thanksgiving plans got derailed by my little surgery a few days back and we’re staying here instead of heading up to New Jersey.  The kids will be with their in-laws.  And as much as I will miss the noise, the laughter, the hugs – I am fortunate enough to have all this love around me every day.  The air is filled with “I love you’s”,  each room holds secrets told in whispers that repeat as favorite lyrics co-written once upon a time, and there is comfort in the sighs of the couch as I settle in to listen to the stories of home.  When I feel the sun on my back and I find magic in this very moment, I know that my bounty is as massive as my gratitude.

So as many of you head points north, east, west or south – travel safe.  Eat a lot, laugh more, grab a nap.  Take a walk, give out hugs.  Share your love.   Enfold these moments in your heart, for they will become the most gorgeous aspects of your home.  They become the most treasured parts of you.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music, parenting

A Magical Moment

mimijk

I hesitated to post this video – primarily because so many people may have viewed it already.  Yet the more who view it the better – for the way it makes you feel your heart beating,  for the glimpse of beauty for which language has yet to adequately evolve, for the chance to feel that you are witnessing a magical moment.  Happy Friday all..

[youtube.com/watch?v=QX-xToQI34I]
inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

A Really Good Man

mimijk

“You don’t raise heroes, you raise sons.  And if you treat them like sons, they’ll turn out to be heroes, even if just in your eyes.” –  Walter Schirra Sr

 

See that gorgeous baby?  Today he turns thirty-one – at around 10:47AM.  As much as he will shake his head with disbelief and some embarrassment that I am writing about him today, he can be comforted with the knowledge that he remains anonymous to most who will read this.  Truth is, it’s his birthday to celebrate; it is mine to remember.

I’ve assumed many hats in my life, and played at many roles.  We all do this – it’s part of growing up.  The one hat that I always wanted to wear was that of  ‘mom’.  I couldn’t wait.  I would admonish my six-year-old peeps if they were rough on their stuffed animals (my theory being that all these toys came to life once we slept, and their retribution would be fierce).   I was a maternal kind of friend before I could spell ‘maternal’  – or even knew what it meant.  Whatever I became professionally was serendipitous; becoming a mom was my touchstone.  If I became nothing else, so be it.

Memory blurs years together which must be why they pass so quickly.  One moment a baby is born and from that point forward time accelerates, making it impossible to isolate and hold each moment.  I can still remember holding and bathing him, the smell of his neck…I thought his baby toes were replaced with ten little pearls.   He squinted like Mr. Magoo, the lights were too bright.  So I’d squint back at him and dim the glare.  When he was nine months old he spent an entire night pulling himself into a standing position and then plopping down on his butt.  The next morning, he held on to a chair as he rose and wobbled into the dining room.  I was on the phone with my mom while I watched in disbelief – he had only crawled for four days!  Where were these days going?

We developed our own language and as awful as it sounds, I reluctantly brought him for speech therapy.  I wanted him to be able to converse with everyone; I wanted him just to talk with me.  He had one of those baby laughs that bubble up from the belly and just erupt into the room.  His grandmother’s toes were a real hit, don’t ask me why.  I couldn’t get enough of this child – I still can’t.

He is of course now a man – a really, really good man.  I respect him tremendously, though I love him more than that.  I love his heart – he will dismiss this publicly and appreciate it privately.  His sense of the greater good, his relentless work ethic.  He’s loyal and highly principled.  I love how much he loves his wife, how close he and his brothers are.  He’s very handsome.   I appreciate that he asks for my opinion though I fully expect him to do what he thinks is best.  I understand that I had to let him go into his life, and he understands that in many ways it is impossibly hard to do.  I keep trying to get that balance right.  My sons have grown into heroes in my eyes – not because of me, but in spite of me.

There are days when I just want to stop time and make cookie pizza, hold one on my lap and the other under my arm and repeat the chorus from “Horton Hatches An Egg”.   I want to watch a high school baseball game and learn secrets that most moms don’t get to hear (I am very very aware that I wasn’t told all of the secrets by any stretch).  It’s okay to want all of this, but time has its foot on the pedal and is driving this train.  So I’ll savor today and celebrate his birthday,  from his first breath to the man he has become.  May each day bring him all that he wishes for and may he wish for all that he has.  I love him all there is – Happy Birthday..

humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Re-entry Isn’t Easy…

mimijk

It’s good to be home – with too much laundry, too little food in the fridge and a whole lot of warm fuzzies in my heart for this remarkable family o’ mine.  The delight of feeling cool air on my face,  the awesome humility that one feels when looking at the silhouette of mountains which stand boldly reminding me of how inconsequential I am in the phenomenon known as the world.

Seeing the boys in the morning as they would arrive in the kitchen for coffee, still bearing a resemblance of the little guys they once were – hair messed, eyes puffy, faces still soft with sleep.  Tender silence and soft chatter about the plans for the day.  They’d go off to golf with Andy while the girls (women really, but everything is relative – pun intended) and I lagged behind, holding on to the morning without the requirement of tee times.  A trip to the gym, a morning at the spa…blackberry picking and wine tasting, time for some reading and napping and talking.

Later in the day, I’d lie down in our room just to listen to the banter of these six amazing people, their laughter like music on the air.  The back-and-forth of their teasing – relentless though it seems to me, a pleasure for them.  We’re as dysfunctional as any other family – with regrets and memories that still itch under the skin – and love that can both soothe and singe.  And when we parted with whispered “I love you s” there remains the unspoken comfort that wherever they go, we are all together regardless.  Fiercely protective of each other, defending our family craziness with defiance and moving forward with the certainty that there will always, always be us.  And I cry as always, for my body can’t hold all this love and there are no words to explain the tears.  One will hug extra hard, one will tease me until I laugh and one will email me later to check in with the crazy woman they have for a mother.

“This is part of what a family is about, not just love.  It’s knowing that your family will be there watching out for you.  Nothing else will give you that.  Not money.  Not fame.  Not work.”  — Mitch Albom

And for my boys and their loves, for Andy – I love you all more than my heart can possibly hold.  Welcome home.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music, parenting

In My Dream Last Night

mimijk

I think I’ve mentioned that I used to sing to my sons each night after stories and before bed (and before they would start goofing around with each other, climbing up and down the bunk bed, “Mommy, he won’t stay in his bed”, “Tell him to be quiet”, “Mommy?  Mommy? MOOOOOOOOM!!!”).  They typically picked ‘When You Wish Upon A Star’ or ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’.  I dreamed about this last night.  Their bedroom was decorated in a way that I wish I could have afforded, the lighting was different than the reality.  But those boys?  They looked as magical as little boys do, smelled of Johnson & Johnson shampoo, and were fetching in their He-Man pajamas.  I woke up with a wet pillow that I was holding so tightly I didn’t recognize at first what it was.  But I’m very glad it wasn’t a kid – I would’ve smothered him (or awoke to some serious screaming).

When Aaron and Theresa married last year, he and I met on the dance floor for ‘our’ dance.  And he whispered in my ear, “Mom, I’m gonna get you”…He did, he does,  he always will..

Wishing you a tranquil kinda Tuesday…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9b3_1CcXtY&feature=player_detailpage