Friday, February 25, 2011

Squirrel dress

When Olivia was around three, and into age four, she had just a few items of clothes that she would wear. Mind you, her closet and drawers were filled, but there were only a few pieces that she would actually wear. One outfit was a powder blue bodysuit, with a tutu attached to it. She wore this with rainbow striped tights, and red sparkly shoes. She wore this to the supermarket, to the library, while eating meals. She loved it. She even wore it to a museum and everyone smiled at her, thinking that she had dressed up for the occasion. Little did they know the battle that would have ensued if I had dressed her myself.

Then there was the squirrel dress. A hand me down from my sister. It was a denim jumper, with patches on the bottom of it of a squirrel, and acorns, and oak leaves. When Olivia laid eyes on this dress for the first time, it was love at first sight. The tutu ensemble was cast aside. The rainbow tights and sparkly shoes replaced with "big girl" patterned tights, and hot pink cowboy boots.

I had to make sure the squirrel dress was ready to go each day. This meant getting it off of her at night, and doing laundry after she went to bed. Not really what I felt like doing at the end of the day, but it made her happy. Such a simple little thing made her smile each day. Why wouldn't I?

Charlotte had the infamous pink skirt. It was a long tiered prairie style skirt. She literally wore it until the elastic started showing through the waistband. She insisted on it still being part of her repertoire, even when it was leaving red marks around her middle. My friend Nichol used to laugh each time she saw Charlotte in it. You would have thought she had no other clothes. She loved it. And I loved that she loved it.

Those days seem like yesterday, yet the memories are starting to get grainy. Replaced with current day to day life. Bigger girls. Bigger wants. Bigger needs. It becomes more complicated to make them feel that pure happiness. The kind that the squirrel dress brought. Or the security of the pink skirt.

Things are not so complicated socially, yet, with Charlotte. Not so much with Olivia. She calls me into her room at night when she has a problem. I love that she does this. She is me. She needs to get it all off of her chest. She waits until the time is right, and confesses. These days, it's girl trouble. I remember it well. The awful start of cliques, and mean girls emerging and heading the pecking order. Olivia told me that she was mean to her friend the other day, at recess, because some other girls thought it was a good idea. It made me angry. It made me feel so sad that all my hard work was wiped away at the mere suggestion of some nameless, faceless girl. It also made me feel sad. Gone are the days of everyone just playing together, and having fun. It becomes more complicated from here on in, and it breaks my  heart.

She told her friend after recess, that she was sorry. Thank goodness she has a conscience. She asked her if they could still be friends. Her friend said yes. She came home and confessed, and cried, and cried. She said that she just wanted people to like her, and she didn't want to be alone. I just wanted to cry for her. I just wanted to put her back in her squirrel dress, and cowboy boots. I wanted to take her back to the days of rainbow tights, and tutus, and eating breakfast with a tiara on. We were in such a vibrant, rainbow shimmered, soap bubble. All protected from nameless, faceless people. Where whatever I said, was gospel, and everyday was easy, and filled with simple happiness.

I feel like Olivia's time in our bubble is morphing into something else. Like all soap bubbles, the rainbow swirls on the skin of it disappear, and turn to black and white swooshes, just before they pop.

She was up all night throwing up last night. We have had no sleep. Yet in the quiet of the night, after she was done dry heaving, and the temporary wave of feeling better washed over her, we sat quietly together. Her, on the bath mat. Cross legged. Her hair back in a bun. I thought to myself how much older she looked. What a young girl she is turning into. With worries, and insecurities. But also with confidence, and joy in all she does.

Today, I will let her drink soda. I will feed her crackers. And maybe some soup. I love feeling needed this day. It is my simple happiness. And it brings a smile to her face. It is pure, and easy.

Today, we are still in the safety of our bubble. For just a bit longer.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011


$2.99 for 2 pounds of wild caught mussels. I got 4 pounds. Sauteed up some shallot and scallions, and garlic, in beautiful butter. Added some beer, and steamed them up. Served with bread, and an arugula salad with shaved locatelli, and lemon and olive oil. Some black pepper and sea salt. Even Molly was dipping her tiny pieces of bread in the briny broth.

We had a nice meal together to celebrate David's birthday. Homemade cards, and more cupcakes.

I hope we are here next February.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


Today is David's birthday. He is 41. We had a little dinner for him over the weekend. I made linguine and clam sauce. We had cupcakes. The girls love birthdays. Today, after Olivia's dentist appointment, we will have another birthday party. The girls would never let the actual day go unrecognized. Olivia wished us a Happy President's Day yesterday, so today must be celebrated.

Today I will be dropping off our proposal to the lovely counselor, at the Credit Agency. We had to write what we are hoping the mortgage company will do for us. I guess from there, they can counter offer, or they don't have to do anything at all. We looked up home prices in our neighborhood, with the same amount of bedrooms and bathrooms, and square footage. We were shocked by the low prices. The de-valuation of our entire area is staggering. The inflated price that we owe for this house, due to late fees, plus legal fees, not to mention the obscene amount of back mortgage payments, thanks to our mortgage company dragging the "trial period" of our never to be modification on for far too long. It is disgusting. It is greed.

So we proposed that the mortgage company short sale us the house for the current market value, which is around $83,000.00. They are willing to sell it for less than that, to a stranger.  Citimortgage...allow my family to avoid foreclosure. Keep us in our home. Accept some sort of payment for this house, instead of letting it sit empty for years, and rot, and need repairs. I say, it will cost you far less in the end, to keep us in our house, instead of kicking us out of it, and allow it to sit, and fall into disrepair, like all of the other countless empty homes in my neighborhood.

There is a house that has been empty since we moved here, almost 8 years ago, down the street from us. It was purchased last Spring. I was talking to the woman who owns it, at the bus stop on Thursday. She said they purchased it as a foreclosure, for $52,000.00. It has one more bedroom, and bathroom, than my house. It sat empty for over 7 years, only to be purchased for $52,000.00.

In a few years, when the market rebounds, we can sell this place, and you will get all that you invested in us back.

 Because we are a good investment. I promise you.

Fingers crossed that Olivia has no cavities. I have to decorate the house for our family party tonight, as I do every year. Mussels for dinner tonight. And some crusty bread. Maybe a movie.

Happy Birthday David. I love you to pieces.

Thursday, February 17, 2011


I had to read the paragraph twice, this morning. My eyes were still sleepy. It was from my friend Nichol. Her baby, born to soon, has apparently suffered some damage to her brain. She will be both physically and mentally disabled. The doctors are unsure of the severity.

Oh my friend Nichol. My heart is broken for you.

Memories of a hot summer day. You dancing in my living room to old Bruce Springsteen. Rosalita. Drunk from an evening of drinking margaritas. You twirling, and your skirt spinning in a circle beneath you. Your face smiling. Your terrible voice trying to keep up with the song.

Mornings of coffees, and long talks. Some of the best talks of my life. Phone calls from across the ocean. Two and three hour long talks, not wanting them to end.

Holidays, and dirty diapers. Birthday parties, and trick or treating. Waking, after having Molly ,to you standing there with a pile of magazines, and you laughing at my snoring.

Last week, my girls wished upon a star for your baby. Tonight, we will call upon them all.

I miss you. I love you.

I wish we could go back to that summer day.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


Last Friday, I had lunch with an amazing group of women at my girls old, and soon to be Molly's new, preschool. The women who teach there are all mothers. They have young, and grown children. There ages vary. Some of them are battling cancer. One lost a husband too soon, and has a child, and a future that seems so far from what she planned. These women all work together, and I have known some of them for years. They make it seem like you are walking into someones kitchen, instead of a workplace. Each time I am there, I am made to feel so welcome, and warm, and loved. They are a beautiful bunch of girls.

I started talking to some of them, as we sat around small preschool tables, on tiny chairs, eating together. I started telling them about my own family's share of problems, which really are not problems at all, compared to most. At the mere mention of finances coming up short, and my home being in foreclosure, it was as if there was permission in the room to share about this hush hush subject. Everyone had a story. One friend told me that her husband had not worked in three months. Another told me they were months behind in their mortgage. Still another feared losing her home.

Each woman effected by this time we are living in. Each woman representing a family she is a member of, trying to keep them all afloat. I left that lunch feeling both comforted and alarmed. I kept thinking over and over again as I drove home, that this "thing" that is happening, is bigger than me. It is bigger than my family. I am but one, of far too many. It made me angry. It made me worried about friends, and families, and people I don't even know. It made me feel sad for those suffering through this, and too ashamed to talk about it.

I can't stop talking about it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't help but feel like people's hard times are causing a ripple effect in their lives, that they may very well be unable to ever recover from. I think that stinks. Actually, I think it sucks.

I don't have an answer, or even a suggestion on how to help anyone. I just know that I see too many empty houses. Too many families on public assistance. Too much worry. Too much fear. I read something yesterday. It was from the New York Times, from Christmas Day. It was discussing how the HAMP program (Homes Affordable Modification Program) laid out by the Treasury, has been largely ineffective. It states "As of mid-December HAMP has processed almost 520,000 permanent loan modifications. The panel estimated that by the time the program is finished, it will have prevented only 700,000 foreclosures over all-quite a contrast to the three to four million modifications that the Treasury anticipated when it rolled out it's plan. Up to 13 million foreclosures are expected to have occurred by 2012, the panel said".

13 million. That is a lot of people. That is a lot of families. I am no expert, but I bet all those people will cost tax payers way more money post- foreclosure, that maybe if they had gotten a wee bit of a break pre- foreclosure.

But who am I? A mother, seeing far too many empty houses. Reading about far too many families receiving public assistance. Having far too many conversations with hard working people, getting jerked around by their mortgage companies, and being powerless to stop it. Who am I? After all...I am in the middle of losing my home.

 But you see, this "thing"'s bigger than me. It's bigger than most.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


Yesterday,we had our meeting with the credit counselor who is in charge of the mediation we are going to have in March, with our mortgage company.

Speechless. No words that I can type here, could possibly describe the person we were forced to sit in a room with for almost three hours with. But...let me try.

She was judgemental, cold, mean, awful, spineless, condescending, defeating, discouraging, pessimistic, nasty, rude, dark....I could go on and on. As soon as she came out of her office, we both knew. She looked like she was right out of central casting. The casting call was for uptight, mean, sour, lady. She didn't even say hello to David and I. She called us in, and there began the most torturous three hours of our life.

At points, I felt compelled to fly across the desk, and place my hands around her neck. She would ask us questions, and type our responses into the computer, and she rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes. She suggested, at the end of our meeting, that we could make some cuts in our budget. She actually said that if we go on spending the way we have been, we will not be able to make a mortgage payment. Spending the way we have?? I heard my voice rise in her office. I actually said that I had to laugh at that remark. She then scrunched her face up, and raised her voice at me. I felt my heart race, and my neck and cheeks get red. She then suggested that we could make cuts in our food budget, and had we thought about food banks.

Mind you...this process we are involved in, is voluntary. Meeting with this credit counselor is a necessary step, in order to go to court with our mortgage company. No one is making us try and save the roof over our heads. We have chosen this route. So technically, we are this woman's "customers". She treated us like derelicts. We have to write up a proposal to the mortgage company. She actually asked us if we knew what a proposal was. There was such a pregnant pause after she asked that question. I was unsure how to even respond to her. David and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.

She then proceeded to take out a book about budgeting, and with a red pencil...I kid you not...began circling things in the book, and suggested we get a steno pad, and write down all of our spending.

I was done. I turned my ears off. Hot tears stung my eyes, and just flowed. She glanced at me once, and didn't even care that an emotion was happening right before her eyes, on the other side of her desk. Ironically, she had a "Love" sweater on, and a heart pendant, in honor of Valentines Day.

We left the meeting, both feeling discouraged, and down. She offered us no hope, and in fact told us that we were going to have a hard time finding affordable housing for a family of five, if we eventually have to move out of our house.

Thanks Carole. You made our day.

We had a night of Valentine card giving, and conversation heart eating. Pink and red cupcakes were served. We all told each other we loved one another. It was nice. It made the day seem like a distant blur, but there was an underlying icky feeling.

We checked the hummingbird camera. We have been checking it every other day or so. Watching the baby birds growing, and practicing using their delicate little wings has been so amazing.

Yesterday, they fledged. The nest is empty. The camera was off the nest, and now pointed to a new one, being made, by the same hummingbird mother. Her babies left at 10:30 yesterday morning, and by lunch time, she was halfway through with a new home.

The hummingbirds name is Phoebe.

She is beautiful.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


I see this place. I see beauty. It is quiet, and you might not notice it outside of your car window, as you pass by it, but I see it all around me.

Where some see nothing special, I see character. The character of a place that I call home. The place where we became us. The place where I learned what "in good times, and in bad times" truly meant.

On Valentines Day, David and I are going to our meeting to prepare for our mediation with our mortgage company. We will fight this until we are forced to turn on our heels, and begin again, somewhere new.

Together. Fighting for us, and what is ours. What we have worked for.

I could not think of a more romantic thing to do.

 There is quiet beauty in it.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Above is a link for a blog written by the parents of a little boy, that I do not even know, who is sick with cancer. He is undergoing surgery today in a last shot effort to save his life. He is beautiful. He needs all of our prayers. Even just a positive thought thrown his way.

I was up most of the night with Molly. She is sick with something. I hate this age, when they can't tell you what is wrong. She was delirious with fever. She was roasting. I took her clothes off of her as she slept. I smoothed her matted, sticky hair off of her face.

 I could not imagine having a child so sick, and so weak, and on the verge of dying. I couldn't stop thinking about that little boy. I couldn't stop thinking about his parents, and how powerless they must feel. They must be terrified.

He deserves just a moment of every one's day today, of prayer and hope, as he has this operation today.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


When we first moved into this house, Olivia was only a little over a month old. We moved all of our belongings here, in the back of a U-haul. David and my Dad unloaded the whole thing. I thought my Dad was going to have a cardiac arrest. I couldn't help very much, as I had to have a C-section when I had Olivia, so I was still recovering.

I watched in horror, as the boxes just piled up. I had no idea we had so much stuff. It was a sea of mess, in each and every room, and I had this tiny baby who I had to care for, and nurse constantly, so it became quickly overwhelming for me. I wanted to have my house all set up, and just concentrate on the baby, and I had no idea how everything was going to get unpacked. It was a lot. On top of moving to a place where we didn't know a soul. And did I mention the newborn? Never have a baby, and move to a strange place, ever. Ever.

David had to do most of the errands in those early days of our family. He went to Target one day, because we needed a toilet paper holder, and a garbage can. I remember being very anxious about him being the one to pick these items up. I didn't think he would do a good job, and this was, after all, our first house, so I wanted everything to be perfect. And wouldn't you know...he came home with exactly what I would have chosen. I was thrilled. He looked relieved. I was so hormonal and suffering from such post partum yuck, and I think he knew if the choices were not quite right, he would have seen me reduced to tears in a matter of minutes.

He also came home with an orchid. It was in full bloom. It was purple. It was lovely. I put it on the mantel. I felt like a grown up. I had a house, and a husband, and a baby. All within a year. And now, an orchid. I had officially grown up.

The orchid's blooms slowly faded. They dried up and fell off. The long, sleek, delicate stem turned brown, and became a stick. I watered it, here and there, and finally, moved it onto the bookshelves. It remained there for years. Never dying, never blooming, just there. Big, green, waxy leaves, that some days, required dusting. I thought it was a dud of a plant. I wondered why it never bloomed again. David and I used to bicker about the orchid. He wanted to toss it constantly. Yet I had faith in it. I thought, if it bloomed once, it had the potential to do it again.

It literally sat, for years. Until a few years ago. We put a wrap around deck on our house. That Spring, I put all of our house plants outside to dust them off, and water them, and live outside in the abundant sunshine. I overlooked the orchid at first, but then thought, why not. I put it on the ledge of the deck.

And slowly, I watched it happen. It sprouted a new leaf right away. And then, some more roots, and then, a stem began to emerge. It grew every day. I swear you could hear it growing. And then one day, there was a bud. The girls were so excited every day. They couldn't wait to see what the flower would look like. I told them that the orchid is such a beautiful, intricate flower. I told them how shocked they would be by it's beauty. They wouldn't be able to believe that nature could even come up with something like this.

We were all stunned. Most of all, David. He couldn't believe that after years of nothing, here was something. It was something. It lived all summer, and into the fall. And when the Fall came, I took it inside, and put it on the glass shelf, beneath my kitchen window, and there it has bloomed, year after year. This year it has bloomed twice.

 And as I write this, there is a long, sleek stem, and on it are seven buds, poised to open.

Monday, February 7, 2011


After two cups of coffee, and a few hours spent researching this matter on the Internet this morning, I have calmed down. I was ready to change the name of my blog, and still may have to, but I am questioning the whole legality of this e-mail I received. It wasn't even on proper letterhead, and who knows who really wrote it. I also read a misspelling in the e-mail. This is a little bit of a red flag for me, or at least enough of one to make me sit on this a bit. I am in no way infringing on Prada's business. I am not stealing their loyal customers, or tarnishing the brand name that they have worked so hard to achieve. I write. That is it. I whine, and complain, and question. I am not selling anything, laughing all the way to the bank, thanks to the Prada name. I am not pretending to be Prada. I am me. I am one woman. A mom, a wife. Like I have stated in my profile, I met my true love, got married, and moved to Pennsylvania. We are happy, and broke. Period.

I question everything. Even my own foreclosure situation. It is constantly on my mind, as not having a home for my children would really loom over your day to day life. I question the legality of this aggressive step our mortgage company has taken. I wonder why they would nickel and dime David and I, because that is what they are doing. We have begged, and pleaded with them to lower our mortgage payment just a few hundred dollars a month, which would enable us to stay in their home. Just a few hundred dollars. Not thousands. Hundreds. It is the difference between having a roof over my family, or having no where to go. I don't understand this, in the time we are living in, and the countless amount of empty homes. Empty homes, sitting, and rotting. For years.

We drove around yesterday, and I snapped a few pictures of some of the homes on my block. Literally, all within a two block distance. I neglected to take one of the house right across the street from me. My neighborhood is full of them. One after the other. They make me sad. I used to see families that lived in them. Now they are gone. I always wonder where they are now. What became of them. Are they OK. I think of my house sitting empty. For years. All because my mortgage company nickel and dimed us. All because they offered help, and then decided not to. All because they based my husbands salary on the 60 hour work weeks he was killing himself to do, just to play catch up.

All because they can. Because no one is stopping them. No one can afford a lawyer, and be in the middle of a foreclosure process. Two weeks ago, I went to the mail box, and there was, addressed to me, a credit card offer. It was from the very bank that is currently foreclosing on my home. I laughed.

So sue me Citimortgage. Sue me Prada. I have nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming need to stand up, and say, this isn't right. This is criminal. Putting families out of their home, who are begging to stay in them, and want to make a payment, is not right. None of it is right. My mortgage company would short sell this house for $75,000.00 to anyone else, and take a huge loss on it, yet it won't come down in our monthly payment, just three or four hundred dollars. Let us have it for $75,000.00! We sleep here, and eat here, and love here, and laugh here, and hold our babies here, and fight here, and stress here. We are a family here.

But they don't care. Soon, my house will be dark. It will sit here, for years, and fall apart, and rot, and be uncared for, because we got nickel and dimed.

Because they can.


I had been planning a subject that I wanted to write about today, over the weekend. I took some photos yesterday, and had a general idea about my message. I woke up this morning a little before six a.m. and received an e-mail that has changed what my blog is about today, but the message is the same. Corporate bullying.

The e-mail was from a lawyer in Italy, representing Prada. The e-mail was very straightforward, and in a lot of legalese, stated that I was to cease using the title of my blog, and I have 10 days to do so, or I will face the wrath of their legal team, and will have to pay any and all damages to Prada, as apparently, they fear I might be profiting from their name.

And so, without stating the irony here, and without going into how I really feel, and without laughing too much out of sheer frustration, and anger, and just WTF???, I will simply say to Prada, and all of it's brands (Miu Miu) etc....I have not profited in any way. I am not getting rich writing this. I suppose I chose a poor name for my blog. It was a name that fit what is happening in our life, in a tongue and cheek, humorous way. I try and find a little humor in even the most inappropriate situations (just ask David, who I had cracking up in a funeral parlor some years ago, during a eulogy)

In short, I must change the blog name. Along with doing that, my URL will change, and I will have to export my blog in it's entirety to a new URL, and I am spitting that information out because I just read it on Blogger help, and I have a feeling I will lose things, and followers, and photos, and feeds. Ugh. My tech support and I (David), I fear, will be battling it out trying to figure this all out.

I will keep you posted, and notify you of my new address. I will also take any and all suggestions for a new blog title. I have some in mind, but I really am at a bit of a loss.

So thank you, Mr. Fancy pants, in Milan. You probably have never even read a word of what I have written here. You started my Monday off with a bang. I can't even pay for an attorney to file for bankruptcy, and to fight foreclosure. I certainly can't take on your fashion house.

You win.

Friday, February 4, 2011


The snow covering the ground is hard. It is ice. It looks so smooth. Like a lacquer coating on everything. It shines.

Food shopping was done early this morning. The refrigerator was completely empty before I left. Now it is full. That makes me so happy. Lot's of fruit and vegetables. Plenty.

Basil seeds are planted and growing. My lemon plant is growing after I re-potted it. The coffee plant is getting bigger and bigger. Charlotte's avocado plant is turning into a small tree.

 This weekend, I will plant some rosemary, and flowers. I have poppy seeds, and cosmos. Daisy, snapdragons and zinnias.

 There is a tree outside, coated in ice. But if you look carefully, there are tiny buds. Something is stirring out there.

It is Friday. Molly is napping. My house is clean. The girls are at school. David is at work.

It is still, except for the occasional crash. Icicles are falling off the house like daggers. 

 I have some things on the proverbial burner. Some pots on simmer.

I feel good.

Thursday, February 3, 2011


The girls have a two hour delay today. The roads are a bit icy still, but they are going to school, and I could not be happier. I feel my own mother's scowl upon my face some days, when I spend too much time with the girls. I actually heard myself sigh like my mother used to, when I was a kid. We actually referred to it as the Darth Vader sigh when I was little. It was awful to hear. My mother would just about be at her wit's end, and when you heard that sigh, it was time to steer clear of her. I hated the sound of it, and used to make fun of it, behind my closed bedroom door. I did it the other day. I felt the corners of my mouth curved down, just like hers. I made myself snap out of it.

I ran into a friend of mine at Christmas time, in the drug store. I was picking up some last minute things, and she was there making prints of her kids Christmas photo. She has four children. Two boys, and two girls. All under the age of 6. She is extremely religious, and speaks non-stop of God. I think that is why I let our friendship sort of fade away. I just couldn't listen to every other sentence peppered with talk of Jesus, and the Blessed Mother. It was too much, and some days, I felt myself pretending to be more religious than I am, just for the sake of conversation.

She home schools her kids. All of them. Ironically, they live right across the street from one of the quaintest looking, elementary schools you have ever seen. It is on a tree lined street, filled with old homes. I often think that it must be torturous for those kids, when all of the children are out and playing on the jungle gyms at recess, and they are in their house with their siblings.  

I asked her if she was still home schooling. She smiled, and said she was. I said that I didn't know how she did it. How she could spend day and night with her kids, and be their teacher as well. She replied, "I just couldn't imagine being away from them".  I left our conversation with hugs, and promises to call. I walked to my car, and strapped Molly into her car seat, and felt bad about myself. I felt like something was wrong with me. I felt like maybe I was missing something. Maybe I didn't love my children enough. Maybe I never should have had any of them, since they seem to annoy me a lot. Was I not supposed to be a mother?

I put it out of my mind. I disregarded the thought. But every now and then, mostly at those moments that I just don't want to be around my kids for another second, I thought that my patience and my ability to really be nurturing are just not always functioning at full power. They seem to run hot and cold. It makes me sad for my kids. It makes me feel terrible as a mother. It makes me want to change myself so much, but I find it impossible to do so. I just can't fake it.

Some days, I go to bed, and give myself a gold star, and a pat on the back because I had some pretty good moments with the girls. Some days, I feel like I don't suck, and that my girls will never hear the dreaded Darth Vader sigh out of me. Some days, I go to bed and hear Olivia's voice in my head, recounting a story from her day, and in the middle of it, asking me if she is bothering me. She can tell. She can see the scowl.

These few snow days have been  tough, here, all stuck at home together. They have been long. I find myself looking at the clock after dinner, and really looking forward to their bed time. And then there are the moments that make me wonder why they all love me so. Why they want to be close to me. Why they look to me for approval. My job here, tending to them all is so overwhelming at times. The damage I could so easily do, just with a glance or a sigh, is irreversible. I wish I could be supermom. I wish I could be that mother that wants to home school them, because I don't want to be away from them. Or at least find some more patience. I would take that. Some more patience.

Olivia just wished me a Happy Chinese New Year. I suppose before they leave today, we should celebrate it.

Time to make myself snap out of it.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


Second snow day in a row. Spending lots of time indoors, looking out. David woke me up a little after 7:00 this morning. The groundhog would be emerging momentarily, and everyone was gathered around the computer, waiting. We cheered when we heard it would be an early Spring. I then had to tell the girls that Winter would be just as long, despite what Phil said.

February is short. We are already closer to March than we were yesterday. The days are getting a little longer. Day light stretching out just a bit more each day.

February is also filled with "holidays". Olivia informed me of this, after looking at her calender. There is of course, today, Groundhog Day. Presidents day is coming up. And of course, Valentines day, a favorite around here.

 Tomorrow is the Chinese New Year. The girls were excited about that. They make me smile when I least expect it.