Do you ever have a word that gets stuck in your head? For some strange reason, the one word that flies out of my mouth lately, is "perfect". At my daughter's house, she apologized for not having enough pepperoncinis for the salad and my response, "That's okay, everything is PERFECT! " and I meant it too. I looked around at all of the kids, blended together, laughing and playing games and talking at the same time and it was, PERFECT . I have been training a co-worker on various office support projects. She was making an attempt at something and as she finished, she followed it with, "It's really not very good..." My reply to her: "PERFECT" . Using that one little one word, I let her know that I saw how hard she was trying and to me, that equaled  PERFECT . Growing up, I felt like I wasn't perfect enough. It seemed like my older sister did everything PERFECT . I tried to draw, to write, to sing, to dance and yet, the reaction...

I tried...I willed the tears not to fall.  I was being a big baby! The nurse tried to be gentle as she inserted the tube up my nose and then, down my esophagus, into my stomach. I refused to let it get the best of me until the tube got stuck and she had to force it into the other nostril instead. The reminder of what I had dealt with already and what was to come was the catalyst behind the tears that finally fell. The nurse rubbed my shoulder and back as she told me in soothing tones, how much of a trooper I was and how she understood . I smiled through the tears thinking how I would laugh when this was all over. Normally, I wouldn't be showing my "stuff" aka tears. But I have learned to be vulnerable . Vulnerability isn't much to be excited about. In fact, the dictionary describes vulnerability as an open door to being susceptible or capable of being wounded or hurt. I’m sure not close to jumping for joy over being hurt but I am all about being real. We ...

I was Mommy the moment I became pregnant with my very first child. I swelled with pride as she called out for me at 2 am, crying because her bottle nipple was inverted and she needed help. After trudging down the hallway three times, I wanted to throw in the mommy card and just call it a day. But, I didn't. I cherished the quiet times and even mischievousness she brought into my life. Then when baby number two came,  in her quietness, she clung to me, wanting to make sure that her mommy was always close by. I'm surprised I don't have a limp from having her hold on tight to one leg while I walked. I don't know how or when I became Mamasan but to her, I did. We traveled to Oregon together, braving the unknown and in so many ways, she gave me the push to fly again. I yearned for another chance to be a mommy again but divorce happened. Still, God made a way. Even though the relationship failed, I became Momo to Baby Boo. To Baby Boo, I was the singer of silly song...

This may actually be more funny as time goes on but at the moment, I'm not amused. I had an appointment this morning with the surgeon that will be doing the long awaited surgery. This appointment was like gold because it represented the medical nightmares hopefully, finally, coming to a close. I stayed the night at my daughter and son-in-law's house because of the distance of the hospital from my house. When I got to their house, I noticed what looked like mud on my shoe so I took them off and parked them by the door. Heading to the appointment this morning, I slipped on the shoes, to discover that the bottoms of both shoes were cracked and coming apart. Not having another pair packed, I decided to chance it. Walking from the parking lot to the entrance, I began to lose chunks of my shoes. The hospital was gorgeously decorated and clean inside and as I walked, I left brown chunks behind. I checked in and turned to walk to my seat and there were scattered brown shoe debris a...

I got an email from one of my friends who has been a blogger friend for as long as I've been blogging and that's what she said. Who me? Are you serious? I was touched and humbled but I don't feel like I fit that description at all. I mean, sure I do nice things...like at this moment, I'm on an eating strike in solidarity with J who is prepping for a colonoscopy. (I want him to feel like he's not alone in the torture.) But, that's not always the case. In fact, I have some honest confessions to make: * I can get feisty. Ask J. He'll tell you. He calls it being ornery (just a nice way of saying that I'm being a pain in the butt.) * Being a bonus mom has been much more challenging than I thought. I like things neat and clean and the minute the kids leave stuff a mess, then I growl or bottle my frustration up inside, seething as I toss and turn. * I can be a penny-pincher. I would rather save money than spend it. Some people may call that being mi...