Monday, April 18, 2016

Review of The Hunger - A High Fantasy

I have to be completely honest when I say that high fantasy is not typically the reading genre I go for. I tend to like autobiographies, romances, real-life stories etc. I was presented the opportunity to review a new book titled The Hunger, by author Michael D. Young and thought I'd give it a shot.

What I was to review was an advanced reader copy that had not been through final editing so I was instructed to review based on content only, and not grammar, spelling etc. I found that the book ad story line did keep my attention more so than I thought it would. I'm not usually one for stories with giant monsters with swinging blades for arms attacking the main character, but for some reason I found myself continuing to read on.

While it was generally an easy read, I did find it a little hard to follow with the unusual names and found the plot a little confusing at times. Having said that, I can definitely see how, if one is into the high fantasy stories, this would probably be right up your alley.

*I received a copy of The Hunger from Future House Publishing in exchange for an unbiased review.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Sweet Dreams, Sweet Girl

Yesterday we had to say goodbye to our sweet, twelve-year-old Golden Retriever, Bella. I know it hasn't even been 24 hours yet, but I can't get my head around it. She was my mother's dog until she was about five-ears-old when we took her. Our kids wanted a dog and because we knew how good Bella was with children, my mother suggested we take her for a trial run to see if we were ready for a dog. She was with us ever since.

Bella-Wella, Sweet Girl
Back in October I noticed she was struggling to get up and appeared to have a lump on her back right hip. She also had a lot of cloudiness in one of her eyes, and a lump on the left side of her neck. I took her in to be checked out and it was determined that she had degenerative arthritis in her left hip/leg, a fat lump on her neck, and we weren't sure what was wrong with her eye. Armed with joint supplements, anti-inflammatory pills and eye drops we took her home.

Within a couple of days she was walking easier and playing with our other dog, Dixie, again. It was as though a breath of new life had been blown over her. We took her back for her checkup and all celebrated that the course of treatment was working for her hip. (The lump on her hip was determined to be a benign tumor.) Her eye didn't seem to be any better, but she also seemed to be able to see out of it and she wasn't favoring it, so it didn't seem to be hurting her. We changed drops and scheduled another recheck for a couple weeks later.

During that second recheck one of the vet technicians commented on the lump on Bella's neck when she touched it saying "it's so squishy. Just makes me want to pop it." I had noticed that it seemed to be filling with some sort of fluid but was assured that it was harmless and that a dog of her age often got weird lumps and bumps that didn't hinder their lives in any way.

Bella-Wella modeling one of the kid's old t-shirts.
Being a long-haired dog, it wasn't that noticeable unless you touched it. Over the Christmas holidays it started to grow and got so large so suddenly, her fur didn't cover it anymore. Then one day it ruptured and left a trail of old, brown blood all through the house. I was simultaneously amazed and grossed out by all the fluid that came out of it. When we took her to the vet that Monday, he mentioned the possibility of removing it, but also offered the option of an antibiotic first, to see if we could spare her the trauma of a surgery at her age.

After a few days on the medication it was getting worse and by Friday evening she had a fever. Infection was setting in. The next morning I took her back to the vet and he said we would have to remove it, so we scheduled the surgery for Monday morning, Martin Luther King Day. We were told to keep her on the meds and to cover it with a t-shirt to stop her from aggravating it.

Sunday evening we let her outside and she rolled around on it and tore it open about an inch long and an inch deep. Hubs wouldn't let me near it and he extracted a huge amount of puss from it. He cleaned it and put a trauma pad over it, help in place with a large ace bandage. 

The next morning I took her in for the surgery. Everything went smoothly with the surgery and I was able to pick her up that evening at about 5:15 pm. The vet had warned me about the size of the incision, but I wasn't truly prepared. It looked as though she had a head transplant. I was shocked!

Bella-Wella, the day of her surgery.
By Wednesday Bella was having trouble getting up and walking and the incision appeared to be getting infected, even though she was still on antibiotics. We took her in to see the vet on Thursday and they cleaned up the incision, told us to keep her on the antibiotics and anti-inflammatory meds and to keep them posted. On Friday morning my mother went to check on her while hubs and I were at work. The incision looked worse and at this point she couldn't walk at all. She took photos and went to the vet and he told her to bring Bella in and they would try to figure out what was going on.

When we went to pick her up that evening, she had been on IV fluids all day. They prescribed her a stronger antibiotic, told us to stop the anti-inflammatory and put her on a steroid. Basically, they had no idea why her back legs weren't working and were hoping that there was some inflammation somewhere that would be corrected with the steroids. We had to help her walk by using a towel as a sling to lift up her back end.

Over the next four days we helped her go to the bathroom, rolled her over from side-to-side and exercised her legs, all the while praying for a miracle. By day two, I knew the steroids weren't going to work. We were still waiting for the lab results from the mass they had removed.

Tuesday afternoon we finally got the news that the mass was cancerous. While it was considered "low grade" the reality was that it would most likely pop up again, either in the same spot or somewhere else. The fact was we didn't know if it wasn't already somewhere else. She could have already been riddled with it. 

Early that evening we were outside watching the kids play and letting Bella get some fresh air in the backyard when she started vomiting. That's when we knew we couldn't let her keep going in the condition she was in. We called the vet, who luckily was still there, and they said we could bring her in right away if we wanted to.

If we wanted to.

Of course we didn't want, to, but we had to. I wanted to be there with her but had to stay home with the kids. The older kids were devastated and I couldn't leave them like that. I didn't want her to be alone and hubs promised he would stay with her until it was over. 

Bella Wella in the car before hubs took her to
the vet for the last time.
Having the ability to put our animal family members out of their pain and suffering is a luxury not afforded to us when it comes to our human family. Making that decision is one of the single most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. My selfishness made me want to keep Bella here with us so I could love on her and give her treats and not have to endure the heartbreak I am feeling now.

But my compassion and love for Bella is what made me finally say enough is enough. We had the power to end her suffering before it got any worse. The wound is still too raw to say that I get comfort from knowing she is no longer in pain, but I know that day will come. I hope that day will come.

Until then, I will cry and grieve and feel mad at the vet for not catching it earlier, and at myself for not questioning everything more than I did. I will focus all my love for her and add it to the love I have for our other dog, Dixie. I will learn from this and do things differently, should I ever find myself in a similar situation.

To Bella I say this:

You were such a sweet, special puppy. You touched our lives in ways you will never know, and ways we didn't realize until it was too late. You will forever hold a place in our hearts as our first family dog. You will never be forgotten. I hope that wherever you are now, you are no longer in pain and you are running around just like that optimistic, energetic, ever hopeful puppy you always were. Sweet dreams, sweet girl.

Me and Bella Wella.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Eight Little Words That Crushed Me

My youngest, Little L, who is two-years-nine-months old, has always been strong willed. She is incredibly independent and vocal about what she wants. I recently went back to work meaning she had to go to preschool full time. 

Little L had gone through a bit of a rough phase, behavior-wise, that started six or eight months ago. She was in the 18-month to 3-year-old class at preschool and she was screaming a lot, hitting from time to time, and just showing general bad behavior. We kept chalking it up to the "terrible two's". I didn't get it because my other two never went through that phase. 

Towards the end of the summer Little L's preschool director reached out to me and asked if I would be alright with moving her up to the three-year-old class. She said even though Little L was only two-and-a-half, she felt she would do very well as she was completely potty trained and was getting bored in the baby class. They needed the room in the younger class as they had new kids enrolling, so we agreed that would be fine.

Little L's first day in the "big kid class" was also the first day back at school for her siblings. She was so proud of herself. We started to notice positive behavior changes almost instantly. She was flourishing. She loved all the art projects that she was doing, and she loved being able to play on the big playground and on the swings. When she went full time, I didn't think it would be that much of an adjustment as she was already there three days a week.

Apparently I was wrong. Over the last couple of weeks since I started work, Little L's behavior has started to slip again.

We used to have two days a week together, just the two of us. We would go to the park, or go grocery shopping, or just hang out at the house together. Whatever it was we were doing, it was just us. Sometimes we would nap together. I loved that. It was like when she was a little baby all over again. She didn't have to share my attention with any of her older siblings or her dad.

Last night hubs, Little L and two of our other kids went out to dinner. I thought it would be a nice treat to kick off the Thanksgiving vacation. That was a big mistake. Apparently Little L hadn't napped at school and she was a nightmare. She wouldn't sit in her seat and she kept screaming every time we told her to do something. Eventually I told everyone I was going to sit in the car with her, told them to eat and just get my food to go when they finally brought it all out. 

So off we went to the car. 

"Why are we leaving, mommy?" She asked, big brown eyes staring up at me.

"Because you wouldn't sit nicely and you kept yelling and screaming. There are lots of other people trying to eat dinner who don't want to listen to you scream." I responded.

She climbed up into the car, I buckled her into her car seat and then I went and sat in the front.

"Can I watch one wittle tiny Paw Patwol?" 

"Yes, but first you need to listen to me. You can't behave like that when we go out places. You have to listen to mommy and daddy when we talk to you. If we ask you to sit nicely, you have to do it. Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes, mama. I'm sowwy I didn't listen."

And then she said eight words that I never imagined I would hear; "I just miss you every day at work."

Soul. Crushed.

She was holding my hand, rubbing my thumb with one of her fingers and then she turned back to the DVD player and kept watching Paw Patrol.  

I'm not sure how I didn't cry. Maybe I would have if my two older children hadn't come crashing into the car at that very moment.

It was that moment that it hit me. I had been excited to start back at work. I had dreaded it for so long, but once I was out there working again, I was feeling really good. My anxiety had lessened and I was no longer taking antidepressants. I had a reason to get up and dressed every day, and although I was still surrounded by kids all day, I was also having adult interaction with someone other than my husband.

I had just assumed that everything was fine with Little L as well. I sent a text to her teacher to ask if she had napped that day and tell her that lately, she had been very grumpy at night. Her teacher told me Little L hadn't napped today and that she had "been a little stinker at school lately too."

I suddenly felt very guilty that I hadn't even thought about how this transition was affecting her. Not only do we not have our alone time anymore, but her dad is now dropping her off at school every morning. Every afternoon when I pick her up she runs to me screaming "MOMMY" as though she hasn't seen me in weeks.

I know she will be fine, she will adjust, and life will go on, but I still don't like that a decision I made - to go back to work - is affecting her negatively. It is really hard for me to discipline her for misbehaving when the root of the behavior is my fault, and added to that is her exhaustion from a long day with no nap. 

How do I handle that? How do I be firm and consistent with my expectations of her, yet understanding and not overreact when she's simply just tired and cranky?

I guess I will have to spend as much one-on-one time with her as I can and have lots of snuggles and naps with her whenever I can.

Friday, November 20, 2015

EXPOSED - Brian the Foot Man

I first heard of Brian the Foot Man last year when he messaged my page, asking if I would be interested in sharing his message. I posted a status with his offer: get paid $50 for a few pictures of your feet. That was it. Apparently he had pretty specific requests when it came to the pictures, but it was still a free $50.

Many questioned why he would do this. It was simple. Brian had a foot fetish. He would not approach women who had not expressed interest first. My status got a few responses and from what I understand, a few women actually took him up on his offer. Didn't seem too bad to me. There are a lot of women out there who could use some extra money, be it for diapers, groceries or even a pedicure. I considered it, until hubs told me he wasn't comfortable with me doing it.

Fast forward a year or so, and Brian reached out to me again, asking to share his message. I did, and I even joined a secret group he had for the women who had participated, or were interested in participating, even though I never did. At first the group seemed like pretty much any other group - a bunch of people with similar interests sharing stories, memes, looking for advice and support, etc. I basically hung around in the background, commenting on things here and there but never really getting too involved.

I was taken back a little with just how personal some of the women in the group would get with each other. I thought it was nice that they had somewhere they considered safe to reach out to people when things were tough, but they were sharing their most intimate thoughts with a man most of them didn't know. Brian and I had messaged back and forth a little through my Silence of the Mom page, and he came across as very polite, understanding of why my husband wasn't comfortable with the whole thing and generally respectful. Another blogger friend of mine also joined the group and shared the same thoughts on him as I did.

Brian's identity was totally private. His original profile had been shut down, so he took over the profile of a friend's husband. The only clues we had as to who he was, was a shot of his hairline, a picture of his calves, and the fact that he said he was an accountant and was single.

Recently, women started complaining that someone was taking things they had posted in the secret groups and were sharing them in other groups. This was obviously upsetting to some of the ladies who had entrusted us with their deepest, darkest secrets.  A few days after I noticed the first complaint, Brian posted that he was leaving the group and shutting down his account. It appeared that a woman had made it her life's mission to find out the truth and expose him. She posted a blog entry on a seemingly brand new blog, showing screen shots of the picture of his hairline, his real Facebook account, his wife (no, he wasn't single), a Paypal transaction with his wife's email account. Also shared was what appeared to be texts between him and someone else, listing the collateral damage that this woman had managed to bestow upon him, his family and his life by outing him.

According to the snitch, Brian's wife had no idea about what he was doing. I find this strange because it was supposedly her email attached to the Paypal account. What I find even more strange, however, is why was this woman so hell bent on exposing him? What did she stand to gain from it? Was she just hoping for a huge first post on her new blog? 

I am by no means saying that what he was doing was right. You pay women for pictures of their feet to satisfy some fetish you have and you hide it from your wife, that's wrong. Granted, he wasn't molesting children or stealing money from the elderly, but he was being unfaithful. He may not have physically been with all these women, or feet, but he was carrying on relationships that he didn't want his wife to know about, or so the story goes.

Was it this woman's duty to out him? She certainly wasn't doing it for the wife's sake. She blasted pictures of her and Brian all over the internet in her blog post. If the texts she posted screenshots of were legitimate, she had also done irreparable damage to their marriage. Why? Why did she do this? Why did she feel it was OK to share personal information of women in that secret group? Why did she feel she was justified in vilifying Brian and exposing the identity of his wife, who was supposedly oblivious and innocent of any wrongdoing?

I guess I won't ever "get it" unless this woman comes forward an gives an explanation for her actions. Then again, I don't need to "get it", it doesn't affect me personally and has nothing to do with me. I can't help but feel bad for the wife. She didn't ask for a husband with a weird foot fetish, and she didn't ask to be blasted all over the internet either. I also feel for the women whose private information was shared with people in a group that they weren't part of, without their permission.

I wish I had so much free time that all I had to do was go on fabricated witch hunts to expose people I don't even know.

Brian, if you're out there reading this, I'm sorry that biatch decided to out you. I may not like that you were doing this behind your wife's back, but it wasn't that trolls duty to expose you.

To the woman who outed Brian, maybe you should put all that energy into something that is actually productive.

Did you have any experiences with Brian the Foot Man? Weer they positive, negative? What do you think about him being exposed like this?

Friday, November 13, 2015

Back to School, Back to School...

This week I started working at my children's elementary school as a Teacher's Aide. After the birth of our youngest, hubs and I decided to try and make it last as long as possible with me staying home. That was over two and a half years ago. I knew I was going to have to go back to work eventually, but I was putting it off as long as possible. Part of me dreaded leaving our youngest, but part of me knew it was time and was yearning for some adult interaction!

After the birth of my first child, I had no choice but to go back to work when she was 12 weeks old. It killed me. Luckily she was with my ex husband two and a half days, my mother two and a half days and me on the weekends so I didn't have to put her in daycare. After my son was born I managed to stay home for roughly eight months before having to go back part time to help ends meet. I was so consumed with the luxury of being able to stay home with baby number three that I would get teary eyed every time I thought about having to go back to work.

I had been trying to get a job with the school since April. I interviewed over the summer and eventually a spot opened up. I was already familiar with a lot of the staff and the procedures of the school having spent so much time there as a parent. The first week I trained as a volunteer, getting the hang of the office policies, as I will be spending some of my time there each day. I also got to see a little of the classroom, which was what I was really looking forward to! I was officially hired on Tuesday, November 10 and got my schedule and the teacher's who I would be assisting.

So far I am really enjoying it, even though I feel a little out of place, not too dissimilar to Billy Madison. Everyone has been really helpful and kind. The majority of the kids have been pretty gentle on me. There are a few who have tried to get away with things a newby wouldn't know, but I'm pretty sure I haven't fallen for any of it! Some of them I just want to wrap up and take home with me, like the ones who tell me they're still hungry when they've finished their lunches, or the ones who get picked on and start crying.

My least favorite part of the job is definitely lunchroom duty. All the aides have to work it, but as I'm the low man on the totem pole, I have to work the entire two-hours. Wiping tables, opening ketchup, handing out napkins, spoons, and forks. Today was one of the worst. On the menu was tacos and ice-cream sandwiches, among other things. Doesn't sound bad, right? Wrong. There was taco meet EVERYWHERE - all over the floor, on the benches and tables, basically any surface that could be covered, was. The chocolate cookie from the ice cream sandwiches was smooshed all over the benches. It honestly looked like half the kids there had bathroom accidents.

We are considered a "healthy school" because we serve whole grain foods. Problem is, most of it is whole grain junk food. The majority of the kids today had pretzel bites with cheese sauce, an ice cream sandwich and a frozen icee-type of thing. Not exactly nutritious. I typically pack my kids' lunches because they prefer it to most of the food served, and I control what is in there. There is always a sandwich, some form of fresh fruit of veggie, yogurt or cheese stick and a drink. Yes, there is also some form of treat, either gummies or cookies, but it's all about balance, right?

I could go on and on about the food, but I'll save that for another post. I have a feeling I will have lots to write about now. I hope you'll stick around and follow me on my back to school adventure!

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Kelly's Story

Today I am sharing a very touching story in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Please take a few minutes to read Kelly's story. Leave her some words of encouragement and support, especially if you have been through something similar.

I was diagnosed with stage 1 grade 3 breast ductal carcinoma 13 November 2012. I discovered the lump shaped like a squashed walnut 2 weeks before the diagnosis. I am adopted and having traced my birth mother’s records it turned out that she had sadly died from breast cancer at the age of 44, she had had it for 8 years and after bilateral mastectomies her fight ended. I was 36 when I was diagnosed, exactly the same age she was and I was actively looking for lumps.

Before a diagnosis is made there are a multitude of hospital visits to make, appointments to attend and test to be performed. I had a syringe test, the result came back as 95% fatty, I thought although this sounded positive it was an odd percent to give to someone usually you would say 99% so an alarm bell went up. I am a wife to Tim and a mum to boys aged 22,17 and 8. Tim and I decided not to speak to the children about the initial stage until we knew something a little more concrete.  

Four days later I was asked to go in and have a mammogram and although it was uncomfortable it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I asked to see the result, which is not usual, and I could quite clearly see my grey lump with grey threads moving away from it. On the same day I went and had an ultrasound and core biopsy. My husband had taken time out of work so after the mammogram I sent him back. During the ultra sound I asked if the lump was actually a fatty lump and it was then they said ‘no, I think it is a pea size cancer!’ my world stopped. I laughed in a kind of disbelieving way, got dressed and walked out. I tried to walk but my legs felt like they were filled with lead, my heart felt like it had stopped. I rang my husband who came and met me, I asked him to park the car and then told him what had happened. 

We then waited 10 very very long days, I say ‘we’ because Tim was with me 100% the whole way and is my rock. We cried with disbelief, I started trying to be practical in a morbid kind of way, choosing funeral hymns, writing letters to the kids, looking at our insurances, I spoke to work  and started writing a diary so that ‘just in case’ I died everything was in place…When the 10 days were up the surgeon at the Churchill, Oxford called me with the result (I had requested this before the follow up appointment the next week) she told me I had an aggressive cancer and I needed it out ASAP. I went and bought a wig!!

On 8 Dec I had my first operation, a lumpectomy, 2 lymph nodes were removed and I was told there and then that they had got all my cancer. I was left with one 2 inch scar. I had a genes test (blood test) and then in January 2013 I began chemotherapy. I tried the cold cap (feels like an upturned ice-cream on your head and is very, very cold) but sadly it didn’t help retain my hair and 3 weeks later all my hair on EVERY part of my body had disappeared. It was traumatic waking up every morning to a nest of hair in the bed (I had cut my hair to shoulder length). It was initially quite shocking for the kids, we had talked to them all about what was going to happen but remained positive and upbeat. My mum virtually moved in so she could help out and our local church helped with the provision of some meals to make it easier on us all. 

I went to hospital to have a Picc line put in, a painless but slightly uncomfortable line that they will feed drugs into, it stays in your arm for the duration of chemotherapy. The actual chemotherapy took a very long time whilst I was wearing the cold cap but when I stopped wearing it, it didn’t take as long. After each chemo I was given a phenomenal amount of anti-sickness drugs to take plus injections to keep my white blood cells working. I was told that I was going to get sicker before I got better and I was ready for this. At one point when my FEC D chemo changed and I was given a higher dose I was told I would feel like I had been in a car crash!

Tim became a master chef; he worked his way through Jamie’s 15 minute meals, cooking super healthy meals and keeping my calories up. Believe me, anyone going through chemo will need every last calorie. As a result I was never hospitalised. I had been told to monitor my temperature and if it went to 38 degree C I had to go straight to hospital which was quite a scary thought. I made it through 6 sessions every 3 weeks and finished my last one on 1 May 2013. I joked with friends that I would be dancing round the chemo ward rather than the traditional Maypole!

During this time my gene testing had come back, (it took 3 months), and it said that I had a BRCA 2 variant. I made the decision that I didn’t want my life to be spent worrying and checking for lumps and opted to have a bilateral skin sparing mastectomy and reconstruction.

I went to the hospital run reconstruction event to see what types of surgery I could opt for and scared myself silly. I googled reconstructions but it was only when another lady offered to show me her skin sparing mastectomy that I then felt ready to make the leap. I realised I would lose my nipples and most of all I would lose all the sensation in my breast.  I deeply mourned the loss of this sensation, I had breast fed all of my children and realised I would never be able to feed a baby again.

On 8 July 2013 I had my surgery, I showered in the red stuff they give you to prevent infections and then headed to hospital for my 7:30 am appointment. I was drawn on by the surgeon and then I was walked down to surgery. I waved goodbye to Tim and knew that this was going to be a very long day for him. The surgery went well and I was soon back on the recovery ward. I had 4 drains in and was hooked up to pain killers. Initially it felt like a small child was sat on my chest and I honestly thought I would never be able to move again. It is quite restrictive, but the hospital got me up and moving about quickly. I was in a ward with other women but they all had different illnesses and I felt quite isolated and embarrassed because they had all seen me without my hair. I quickly got over this but it wasn’t something I had prepared myself for. After 3 days I was allowed to go home. I still had 2 drains in and a district nurse came round to my house to see me and change my dressings daily.

My scars were keloid and I had some necrotic tissue. I had lots of different bandages some with honey and some with silver to try to heal me quicker but this is not a fast process and I had to learn to be patient.

I went back to work in my pre-school on 4 September 2013. In hindsight it was way too soon but I was getting worried about money and felt it was the best course of action. I also took on an extra day to try and cover the financial deficit. I was tired, so tired. I had been given Tamoxifen to take for 10 years and when I first started taking it, it put me into a kind of menopause – hot sweats. I googled ways of combating these and found Starflower oil to be the most effective.

I battled on and my hair gradually started to grow back. It came back quite curly and fine but it was so nice not to have a cold head. I stopped wearing the wig as soon as I could as it was starting to make my head itch with the extra heat from my new hair. Everything was starting to heal. It was only after all of the above that the enormity of what I had been through really sank in. 

I finally felt like the ‘car crash victim’ that they had described. I was in shock and deeply traumatised by the loss of my femininity. I cried all the time and became a complete wreck. I went to see the Dr and Oncologist Psychologist as I felt really depressed. I was referred to a well-being group run by Breast Cancer Care. I met others just like me and we to this day remain in touch. 

Cancer didn't leave me on the surgery table, it is part of the ‘new normal’ me. I have changed and I have had to accept this and most definitely move on. If I can help anyone along their cancer journey I am happy to help. I have shown my reconstructions to several ladies contemplating this surgery and I hope it has helped them make a decision. 

Every day I thank God I am alive and that I am still the wife to Tim and the mother to my gorgeous boys.

Thank you very much Kelly, for sharing your incredible journey with us!

If anyone finds themselves in a similar situation to Kelly and would like to hear more of her story, please message me on my Facebook page and I will get you in touch. If you know someone who would like to share their cancer story, please direct them to my Facebook page or have them email me at

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

I'm Tired...of Everything

I'm tired. Really tired.

I'm tired of lying in bed not being able to sleep because my husband is snoring.

I'm tired of figuring out what the hell to make for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and then making it.

I'm tired of letting the dogs out, then in, then out, then in again.

I'm tired of my kids talking back and arguing with me about everydamnthing.

I'm tired of juggling which bills to pay out of each paycheck.

I'm tired of running my kids to baseball practice and Girl Scouts meetings.

I'm tired of doing mountains of laundry that never seem to get smaller.

But you know what, I will keep shopping and cooking and and doing laundry and running kids around, and here's why;

Because lying in bed not able to sleep means I have a bed to sleep in and the one I love lying next to me.

Because figuring out what to feed my family means I can put food on the table and in their bellies.

Because letting the dogs in and out means that we have a home and two additional four-legged family members.

Because my kids talk back and argue means they are strong and independent and aren't afraid to stand up for what they want and believe.

Because juggling bills between paychecks means my husband is employed and we have a paycheck to juggle with.

Because I'm tired of running my kids all over town it means they are healthy and able to participate in extracurricular sports and groups.

Because having laundry to do it means we all have clothes on our backs.

I may be tired and frustrated and feeling long overdue for a vacation or some "me" time, but I wouldn't change any of it...

Unless I could get a housekeeper. ;)