On...

If life is a game of cards, I go all-in, every time. What does this mean? Well, it means that in different facets of my life: parenting, family and friends, work and play, I fully invest. Does it mean that I'm perfect? Nope. I'm definitely not. As much as it would make me happy to be so, I'm human and humans aren't perfect. Does it mean that I don't make mistakes? Nope. I have made, and probably will make, a ton of mistakes. What counts isn't that I make mistakes, but how I respond to and learn from them. Does it mean that sometimes I'm dealt a lousy hand. Yep. Clearly, being in an accident, and more importantly, having Emily in the accident with me, was a lousy hand to be dealt. That's okay. I've made the best of lousy hands (and so has Em), and do what I can with the cards I've been dealt. Is there risk in going all-in? Absolutely. You don't really know what you're getting into, until you actually get into it. Sometimes, it ...

I went to visit my grandmother the other day. Recently, she had a fall,  and this resulted in a huge gash in her head, and subsequently, nine staples to put it back together. I mentioned to her that she really should ask for help rather than risk hurting herself. As I spoke these words, I saw the light bulb in my mind turn on. Reality is, I totally get why she doesn't ask for help. I don't ask for help either.  I think this realization allowed me to connect with my grandmother on a deeper level - I acknowledged how hard it must be for her to have to ask for help, to not be as independent as she once was. And, I told her that people want to help her because we love her and we want her to be safe. To say that I am fiercely independent is probably an understatement. I grew up with the belief that I could do it myself, and I pretty much always did.* For that reason, the thought of needing help, let alone actually asking for it, makes my skin crawl. Don't get me wrong, askin...

I did not see a "white light." Nor did family members, having passed before me, appear to me and tell me it wasn't my time. My life did not flash before my eyes. I didn't experience any of the things that you hear of in "near death experiences." It isn't that I don't believe that this might happen for some people, but I can say that it did not happen for me. Perhaps, though, that was because it never occurred to me that I was going to die.   I can't say one thing or another was my inspiration to survive. I'm sure my children had a lot to do with it, but mostly, I think it was my mindset. I just didn't think I would die, or that I wouldn't be okay (even if that took a lot of work). So, I sort of willed myself to stay alive, to be okay (or at least to work hard until I was).   What does that say about me? Well, perhaps it says I have unrealistic expectations (rainbows and unicorns anyone?) Or, maybe it says that I have a stro...

A few months after I got home from the hospital, maybe late March of last year, I was in bed, ready to go to sleep, when I noticed a soft squawking. Interesting... it seemed a little early for baby seagulls to be hatching, and wow, that nest must have been really close to my condo for me to hear them, but, seagull nesting patterns are not something about which I know. (Note to self - Google seagull nesting patterns). I didn't really think much more of this, except that I heard them each night and wondered if they've gotten any bigger, or what baby seagulls actually look like. Several weeks later, I spent a day at my parents' house. And in a quiet moment, I heard baby seagulls. Strange. Well, my parents also live on the water, so I guess it is possible that they, too, have a nest of baby seagulls somewhere near their house, but wow, what are the chances? And then, I heard baby seagulls in Target. What?! Baby seagulls WOULD NOT be in Target! My next thought - Oh... M...

I had an interesting conversation with my almost six-year-old daughter, today. It was one of those conversations that made me pause... Not because of what she said, but because of how I responded. As per usual, in my house, and probably in most houses with young children, the idea that one could shower and get dressed without an audience is just laughable. That being said, today, during the getting dressed phase of my morning, the youngest audience member walked in. The conversation went like this: Alli: "Mommy, why are boobs inappropriate?" And here was my first pause... Why would she think that? Me: "Uh, Alli, boobs aren't inappropriate, they're just private." Alli: "Why are they private? All grown-up girls have them." Me: "Yes, when girls grow up, they get boobs. And, well... boys and girls have different parts. And those parts are the ones we cover up and are private." Second pause... Wow, I just told her tha...

Sundays are my melancholy days. Not every Sunday. But, if I am going to have a melancholy day, it generally is a Sunday. Sunday is the day of rest. People feel like it is the time to slow down, to not do much of anything. I am horrible at not doing much of anything. A Sunday with nothing to do can feel like punishment to me. For my introvert friends, Sundays feel like relief, but for me, Sundays can be lonely. Sundays make me feel like I want to go home. What? I am home, right? Yes, literally I am at home. However, being in the place you reside doesn't necessarily feel like home. So, this Sunday, in the midst of my melancholy, I decided to reflect on what going, or being, home has meant to me over the years. I grew up in a lovely home, with parents who cared (and still care) about me, in a fantastic neighborhood, where we had neighbors that took an interest in the lives of my parents, as well as mine and my brother's. I started, at a young age, understanding that home ...

I had a conversation the other day with friend. In that conversation, I might have mentioned that I love Taylor Swift. He might have said something along the lines of, "but she's kinda cheesy." So... maybe, but I don't really think so. And, to date, she's sold 4 million copies of her latest album (yes, I bought it the first day), so a lot of other people don't think so either. It could be argued that Taylor and I, in the grand scheme of things, have lived vastly different lives. Certainly, the point she is in her life is not the same as mine now. Yet somehow, in the details, she's lived my life. People (I) love Taylor Swift because she is relatable. Think back - you know those times in your life where you (in your mind) were the only  person to have ever experienced such a thing? Well, she makes those times feel normal. She lets you feel not quite so alone, even if it's in hindsight. So here's my life (and perhaps every girl's life) in T...