Grandma Nancy

7/52

Five years ago this weekend my grandma, Nancy, passed away. Even though I only saw her once or twice a year, I still miss her very much. So, this weekend I decided to take a trip down memory lane and remember all the things that made her so wonderful to me.

Grandma was a product of the generation that survived and thrived on their thriftiness and determination. In her frugality, she almost never threw anything out. For my bridal shower she wrapped my gift in wrapping paper she saved from my parents wedding shower 21 years earlier. In an effort to try and save money she would dry her clothes on the line rather than use her dryer, even in the winter. We all laughed when she seemed offended that the night air had dared to freeze her load of towels. Ironically, her outdoor freezer was her most prized possession. She believed hat freezing food gave it a shelf life of forever and that in turn saved her more money. She once froze left overs from Sonic and a near empty bag of Doritos for my cousins and brought it back out when they returned for a visit, 6 months later. "Waste not, want not" was her mantra. We once caught her eating moldy cheese, because it was perfectly good in her opinion and we often joke that it was that cheese and the rusted Slim-fast cans (which she was content to wipe "clean") that did her in.

I have fond memories of all of us sitting around playing cards; her, with her special egg nog, smirking over her cards and giving my dad knowing glances across the table as they tried to cheat. Even her chiding us for putting our hands on the walls or elbows on the table is sweet now. Not only did hands and elbows have proper places, but so did most everything else. She hung and shook her head at me when I said that the toilet paper went over the roll... or was that under. We even dubbed her the "Camp Nazi" after we had a camping trip to celebrate her birthday. She was ordering everyone around and remarking on everything from how to properly sweep a campsite to how much homemade Kahlua should be added to her coffee. She took to her nickname quite well. And even though she was a tough, no nonsense woman she was still brought to tears as she looked at all her grandchildren around the campfire and thanked us for such a wonderful birthday gift.

In many ways I am like her. Although I am way too practical for white carpet, I love architecture and one day hope to design and build my dream home, like she did. I have an affinity for black and white. I'm stubborn and I'm pretty strict when it comes to making my kids clean their plates. and I don't mind it at all when my parents jokingly refer to me as Nancy, after all she was beloved by her family.

I still get sad to think she missed the birth of her first great grandchild by 9 days. I had been pretty sure that as we drove away from her house that last Christmas and I watched her standing by her mailbox in the rear view mirror, that it would be the last time I saw her. I held out hope that she would make it till my due date and even though Levi showed up 5 weeks early, it wasn't soon enough for her. Five years later there are 6 great-grandchildren and one more on the way, and she won't meet any of them. But we will tell them all about her. How she made the best canned apricots, always had a jar of Maraschino cherries in the fridge, put shredded carrots in her Jell-o, wore a sea foam green, chiffon, toga dress to my wedding, gave her dog a queen sized bed, and loved all things Chinese. We'll tell them about our summers on the lake, boating and sea-dooing and the conflicts over running the AC when the low was in the 90's, about the glitter in the popcorn ceilings, the times she realized she should stick to giving us kids cash instead of clothes (I got a fabulous cat sweatshirt, complete with glittered whiskers, when I was 14) and the dollar bill she would send each of us on every holiday. These memories and so many others will continue to keep her alive in our hearts.

Love and miss you Grandma!

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

6/52

1 week prior to the cut

After the birth I my oldest, Levi, I lost so much hair that I freaked out. Both my hairdresser and doctor reassured me that the hormonal changes I was experiencing, causing my hair loss, were quite normal. However, because of my post-pregnancy gall stone, it was almost impossible to eat anything for a while, and it only made matters worse. Within a few months you could see my scalp two inches back from my hairline when I put my hair up. This made my beloved, utilitarian ponytail embarrassing and having my long hair down all the time with an infant just wasn't practical. So, I cut it short, donated my long braid and hoped the new growth I was seeing would catch up faster that way. This time around I had hoped that being healthy and able to eat after Autumn was born would be enough to stave of the shedding. Alas, my hopes were dashed.

I don't know if there was a final straw when it came to cutting my hair this time. Maybe it was how many strands I was pulling out of my kids clean clothes. I began to worry I would have to rush one of them to the ER after inadvertently creating a hair tourniquet and amputating a finger or worse, a penis (you laugh, but I've heard of it happening...poor boy). Or maybe it was how much time I spent pulling hair off my hands while washing it. It literally was coming out in hand fulls. I finally started keeping a brush in the shower to collect it all and you couldn't even see he base of the tynes when I was done, even though I cleaned it out every time. I tried really hard to keep what the brush didn't get from going down the drain, using the walls as a canvas for my hair. It actually helped pull the strands off my fingers and it doubled as a tile scrub when I gathered them together at the end of my shower. Despite my efforts, though, my shower is gathering water in the bottom. And I'm now suspicious that my hair is also behind the two days it is taking the downstairs bathtub to drain and the water sitting in the bottom of my dishwasher. I'm pretty sure they collectively drain to one pipe somewhere. Maybe it was the strand that floated off my head and clung to the side of a pot on the stove, which, of course, scorched as soon as the flame from the burner was lit. I mildly panicked, until I was sure it wasn't trailing back up to the rest on my head. And even though I have an obscene amount of hair, my hair line is receding again. Besides, Autumn has a death grip. So, off with my hair.

My hairdresser is great. I've been going to Wade since I was 16 and this is the third time I've had him cut off this length of hair, or more. And it probably won't be the last. I think my cumulative total is around 45 inches now. My hair grows super fast. The first two times I donated it to Locks of Love but this time I'm going to try something different. A friend told me about www.thehairtrader.com (thanks Mel!), a website where you can list your hair for sale. I've been told all my life people pay good money for hair like mine and while I think they meant they pay a lot of money to make their hair look like mine (thank you 1980's perm popularity), now people might actually pay good money FOR my hair. So, I'm going to list it for the month and see what happens. If it doesn't sell in a month, I'll donate it again. But if it does sell, the proceeds will go toward paying off the laser hair removal I'm having done on my bikini line. I thought it fitting and ironic that the blessing/curse of having tons of hair should help pay for removing what I don't want. You can check out my listing at here.

It's weird to think of my hair being implanted onto someone else's head or made into a wig, but I have plenty to share, even after loosing nearly half my volume. And it will grow back, eventually. And eventually I'll vacuum all the hair out of our rug, stop finding it in my food, and maybe I'll even get my drain unclogged. Until then my husband can enjoy 24 hour access to the back of my neck (ok, I will too) and I'll enjoy the longevity of the Costco-sized shampoo and conditioner I just bought. Going from 1/4 cup to 1 tsp of conditioner is going to save me so much money! Hope you all enjoy the pictures from the cut yesterday.

Wade giving my hair one last wash

There it is, coming out in the comb

Here we go!



Four ponytails!

Wade begins sculpting

Autumn came along for the ride

9-16 inches!!

Thanks Wade!

See ya later!


The new me

What kind of Jesus?

5/52

This past week has come and gone with out a blog post and I had to realize that I would come up with a million reasons why I didn't get to it; poor Internet connection, too many appointments, went to bed early, the Olympics began (I'm sure to have a post about them), blah, blah, blah. So, I've picked something that has been rattling around in the recesses of my brain for the past week or so. I call it "What kind of Jesus".

A couple of weeks ago I was in my Wednesday night book study at church and our leader said that everyone has a different picture of Jesus in their minds. When he pictures Jesus he sees Him picking up a child into his arms and giving a bear hug. And knowing what little I do of his childhood it's not surprising. Immediately after he made his statement, I began daydreaming and pondering how I and others view Jesus and what that says about my or their relationship with Him. I missed what happened the next ten minutes in our class, but I had a better understanding of who Jesus is to me.

I assume Mel Gibson pictures Him on the cross, revering his savior whose passion for the world lead him to self sacrifice. I think my dad would see him as the father running to his prodigal son, relishing in the offering of unconditional love, forgiveness and second chances. I wonder if Billy Graham sees him preaching on a hillside, awed by the droves of people coming to Him. Who is Jesus to you? How do you envision Him? I see Jesus walking on sea. The God of the impossible, calling me to get out of the boat. And I, like Peter, want desperately to experience the thrill of walking on the water. And, like Peter, I often get distracted by the waves around me, but I'm ok with that. I'm human, after all, and He is still right there to steady me or grab me before I go under. I've seen him perform miracles, equivalent to hydroplaning, time and time again. And I anticipate there will be many more in my future. I pray that each time I hear Him call my name that I will not hesitate to swing my legs overboard. I hope that eventually I'll kick the habit of panicking in the midst of what He is doing. But even if I freak out everytime until the day that I die, I'd rather be a wet, believing Peter than a dry and doubting Thomas anyday.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Mila Hope

4/52

February 3, 2006
2:30 AM
Ontario, CA

An ambulance arrives at San Antonio Community Hospital. Inside are two children. One, a 13 year old girl, the other is the 1 lb. 10 oz., 13 inch baby she just gave birth to. When the ambulance arrived at the young girl’s home, minutes earlier, she told them she didn’t even know she was pregnant until her water broke in the shower. The baby girl was not breathing, her eyelids still fused. The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit would have their work cut out for them.

Four years ago today this is how my oldest daughter entered the world. What do you call it when a child survives a beginning like this? When they survive a grade 4 (of 4) brain hemorrhage, blood transfusions, seizures, bleeding in the retinas, a MRSA infection, Respiratory Distress Syndrome, 53 days on a ventilator, feeding tube, 144 days in the NICU, 1 ½ years in a nursing facility, 8 months in a temporary foster home, leg braces and eye surgery? I call it a Miracle. And that is exactly what her name means; Mila, from the Spanish, milagro. Her past is a miracle and her future has a hope. Mila Hope Grunau has beaten the odds and turns 4 years old today.

Even at four she bears the physical, mental and emotional scars from this traumatic start. She looks like she is two, and acts about the same. She has made huge strides in the year and a half she has been with us. When we got her at 2 ½ she could barely walk, had 2 words and depended on formula for most of her nutrition. Now, you’ll find her racing around the house in her braces and launching herself onto the couch, singing her favorite songs, and scarfing down a bowl of cereal or plate of pancakes all by herself (although she is wearing a good portion of it). We are making progress!! Its hard to say if we are making up any ground at this time, and while that frustrates me on a day to day basis, I occasionally have to step back and remember where we have been. In 2 weeks Mila will have been with us longer than she was with anyone else and I hope that it will be some sort of tipping point for her, that as our work and love becomes the most steadfast thing in her life, she, in turn, will be more stable in and of herself.

Of course, even this year with us hasn’t been the most steady. We’ve moved twice, she is at her second school and she has a new baby sister. While it’s safe to say we are settled in our new school, home and enjoying baby Autumn, I can’t help but wonder if she is still anticipating another major change. It’s hard to know what are realistic expectations for her at this point, considering all she’s been through. And while I have specific goals for her, (I am a long term planner, big picture person) I have to stop myself and remember what is REALLY important. I have to remember that if she isn’t mainstreamed by 1st grade, it’s ok. If she doesn’t exit Special Education by junior high, it will be all right. If she never passes the California High School Exit Exam, we’ll live. Even if she grows up and doesn't appreciate all that we have done for her, as long as she knows one truth, everything on this long and tiresome journey will be worthwhile. As long as she remembers…

Jesus loves her, and this she knows
For the Bible tells her so
Little ones to him belong
She is weak but He is strong
Yes, Jesus loves her
Yes, Jesus loves her
Yes, Jesus loves her
The Bible tells her so

That’s what REALLY matters.

Happy Birthday Mila Hope!

Baked Potato Soup

3/52

Well, I started a post this week about women and our self image. But I had so much to say and it needs too much revision to post it now. It will be my work in progress. So, the recipe I developed for Monday night's dinner will have to do for this week.

Disclaimer: I am a very spontaneous cook. I read cook books for fun, but I only follow recipes if A) I have all of the ingredients B) everyone in my family likes all the ingredients C) If I have time and D) If I feel like it (you can guess how often that happens). I guesstimate measurements and season to taste regularly. So, if you are brave enough to try any recipes I post here, just remember that they are totally flexible and the measurements I list are only estimates. Just make it your own...dawg.


Baked Potato Soup

1 lb bacon
1/2 cup onion, chopped
5 Large bakers potatoes
2 cans chicken broth
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese, plus more for garnish
1 package frozen corn (optional)
milk
sour cream
chives

Cut bacon crosswise into 1/2 wide pieces. In a large pot, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp, remove bacon. Drain all but 2 Tbsp. grease. Add onion to pan and saute till very soft, 5-10 min., scraping up the brown bits. Wash and scrub the potatoes, set one aside. Peel and thinly slice (I use a mandolin) 4 potatoes. Add sliced potatoes, broth and 2 broth cans of water to the pot. Cover and simmer 10-15 minutes until potatoes break apart easily with a fork. Meanwhile, dice remaining potato into 1/2 inch cubes, leaving skin on. When potatoes are done simmering, transfer soup to a blender or food processor in batches and blend until smooth or use an immersion blender to puree the potatoes and onion in the pot (My favorite, fewer dishes). Return the soup to a simmer, add cheese and corn. Stir until cheese is melted, add cubed potato. Simmer another 15 minutes, until potato cubes are easily pierced with a fork. Add milk to thin to desired consistency. Serve with bacon, shredded cheese, sour cream and chives as garnishes.

This soup is great on a cold, winter day! Enjoy!
If you have any suggestions for this recipe, let me know.

Yes, my child is the reason they closed the play area at Chik-fil-A today

Here is the one that started it all. The day motherhood drove me to writing. I know it's long, but as my friends who have read it can attest, it's worth the read. Enjoy!

Post: 2/52

******Written September 16, 2009******

This tale is not for the squeamish, faint of heart or germaphobes. It may prevent anyone with children in diapers from trying to potty train, or anyone without children from ever having them. If you find yourself gasping out loud or gagging, just be thankful it was me and not you. If you find yourself laughing or reminiscing, then may I count you among the tried and true parents who will take pity on my ever-loving soul? This is the wretched story of why Chik-fil-A closed the play area this afternoon and why all the parents who go there this afternoon and have children wailing and bemoaning their lack of playtime fun, will curse the name of the parent who’s child caused such grief.

As many of you may have read on my Facebook status yesterday, I was ready to throw in the towel, when it came to parenting. It just seemed to be one thing after another. Two of these incidents were inconvenient potty accidents (is there really ever a convenient time for a child to have an accident?) that just frustrated me to no end amongst a list of back-to-back errands, snacks to make and naps to take. I was overwhelmed and exhausted from the time I woke up. So, today I roused with a renewed sense of purpose. I will rejoice and be glad in it. I quoted Nichole Nordeman on my Facebook status, “Your mercies are new every morning, so let me wake with the dawn. And when the music is through, or so it seems to be, let me sing a new song, old things gone.” It would be my mantra for today. I would sing it silently in my head, quietly under my breath or scream it at the top of my lungs with the van windows rolled up, if need be. I was going to have a good day, period. And it started out that way.

There were no major fights or screaming matches between my children giving me cause to race downstairs and separate the two. Breakfast was uneventful, peaceful in fact. Mila told me she had to go potty and promptly pooped when I put her on. Even the little piece that fell on the floor, as I put her on the seat didn’t bother me. She had told me, after all, and I didn’t have to change her underwear. I could handle a little poop on the floor. Levi’s favorite shirt was clean and he didn’t protest getting dressed. Mila didn’t struggle or run away when it was time to stretch her feet and put on her braces, rather, she and Levi happily counted to ten for each stretch. Man, I’m on today. Mila again said she had to go potty and went fairly quickly after I seated on her throne. I might actually have a chance of keeping her dry all day! We made it to occupational therapy on time, Mila did all her exercises without protest and Levi was content to play with his racecar and give me the play-by-play. Now was the true test, shopping.

We made it to Michael’s safe and dry. As we shopped, the kids didn’t fight, pull each other’s hair, or threaten to bite. Not bad. “Potty” she said. My heart jumped. Could I make it across the store in time? If I did, would she actually go? Or would I find myself sitting on the floor of a public restroom trying to keep her on the seat and begging her to go. Go. We maneuvered our cart around boxes and end caps of Halloween and Christmas décor. Christmas? In September? Really? Whatever. I hoisted one in each arm, pinning them to the their soon to arrive sibling, out of the cart and ushered them into the bathroom. She was dry! She wasn’t fighting to get off but she wasn’t going either. Patience. “ ‘Old McDonald had a….. farm!’ That’s right! ‘E-I-E-I-O!’” We sang through the verses as customer after customer came and went in the stall next to us. Wait…could it be? Is it? It is! “Yay, Mila! Good girl going poo-poo on the potty!” I triumphantly went back to shopping and ignored Mila’s subsequent attempts to get out of the cart by claiming “potty”. As we left the store, a sigh of relief swept through my body. The shopping had been a bust, but we were on a potty roll!

Jo-Ann’s was next. Mila continued to ask to go potty. She is due to pee…. what do I do? I’ll kick myself if she has an accident. Here we go again. Of course this time, the large stall was in use so I crammed the three of us into a tiny stall and we went through the routine again. “Old McDonald…”. No luck. Crap. Sigh. This is just part of the deal. Oh well, at least she is dry! The shopping was a bust again, but I had found a $20 in my pocket and after having such a great morning with the kids I was feeling generous and hungry. Chik-fil-A was close and before Levi resorted to crying and carrying on about the cow, I announced we were going out for lunch. We, amazingly, had a pleasant lunch. They ate all their food with minimal prompting. No crying, spitting, or throwing of food. Success. They had definitely earned some time in the play area. How quickly I had forgotten Mila still had to pee. We weren’t in there more than 5 minutes when Mila gave me that look and stood awkwardly. I saw a drop pee hit the ground between her braced feet. NOOOOO! Dang it! I scooped our two drinks and her backpack up, grabbed her by the hand and ordered Levi to come. We made it to the far side of the restaurant with out any more dripping, that I could tell. Both stalls were in use. But there was a changing station. When opened though, it would block the person in one stall from leaving. Do I risk it? How fast can I do this? Go. I lifted her up and as fast as I could stripped off her shorts, plastic cover, and WET chonies. At least she got it all out of her system. The door to the stall opened. “Sorry!” I apologized. Thankfully, it was one of the employees. I say “thankfully” because Chik-fil-A has some of the most polite, genuine employees. She patiently waited in her bathroom prison while I donned dry chonies, plastics. On the bright side, Mila had managed to keep her shorts dry through the ordeal and I was able to re-use them. The employee and another patron again patiently waited as I gathered our things and managed to wash our hands before heading back to the play area.

As I rested my aching back and 34 week prego-belly on the bench in the playroom, I exhaled. Relief. My kids were playing nicely. Mila was scampering up and the steps and down the slide all on her own. I don’t know that Levi ever found the slide, silly boy. As I continued to watch Mila come down the chute, head first, feet first, and sideways I thought about how far she had come, barely walking when we got her a year ago. My daydream was interrupted when Levi announced, “She’s poopy”. I doubted it. He often accuses her of such behavior and rarely is it true. She came down the slide again and as she turned to her belly and lowered her feet to the ground, I saw it, something brown on her shorts. Is that ketchup? She was wearing those shorts at lunch. Maybe she sat in some in the highchair and I just didn’t notice it until now. I moved in. Looking in the leg of her shorts, I was horrified to find her baggy, gaping chonies full of brown, stanky, mush. I looked to the slide. Was that a streak of poop? Maybe it was a rubber mark from some kid’s shoes? I didn’t go any closer. I knew what it was. I frantically grabbed our things and headed for the registers. I humbly apologized to the employee for my daughter and myself. I did not envy the person who would draw the short end of the stick and be stuck sanitizing the play structure. Nor would anyone, who would see me in the parking lot in the next 10 minutes, envy my job.

Thankfully, I had a primo parking spot right outside the door and there would be no traipsing across the asphalt dragging a clumsy, poopy girl or a protesting boy to the van. 3 times in one day? Is that really necessary? Mila was in no mood to stand still or stand, period, by this point. And I soon realized that laying her down wouldn’t work either. Poop was already falling out and onto the carpet. Why are cars carpeted anyway? have you ever seen car carpet without stains? It seems something wipe-able would be more practical. But I’ll take that up with the Big Four another time. So, with one hand I held her up under her arm and kept her from falling to the floor as best I could. I leaned my head against the front seat to balance myself and with the other hand I removed her shoes, braces and socks. All while trying to keep the debris field to a minimum. I looked up to see a mother and two boys leaving. I felt horrible, I knew they hadn’t been able to play after their lunch. I reached for the wipes in her bag. Do I have enough? How many times did she go down the slide after she pooped, it’s everywhere? What did she eat? Raisin Bran. Blast that raisin bran she loves so much. The flakes were everywhere. Wipe 1, full. Wipe 2, for the car seat she kept leaning on. Wipe 3, for the carpet. Wipe 4, the back of one leg. Wipe 5, the back of the other. Wipe 6, her back. Wipe 7, there is no wipe 7. And the flakes weren’t cooperating. Re-use wipes 2-4. Crap, what do I do now? “Levi, can I have your cup of water, please?” I didn’t even bother to remove the ice. I didn’t really care at that point. I’m sure the man whose car door I was blocking thought I was being cruel. I just smiled and shut the front door so he could leave. Bringing her brown, buck naked body down to the ground and still holding her by one arm I began to wash her off amidst protest. There was now a puddle of water and poop in the parking lot, but still there was more. How about a piece of random tissue paper lying on the floorboards? Sounded good to me, still not enough. Anything else lying around here? Not much, as my husband keeps our cars pretty clean. Oh look, a sock, that’ll work… I think that does it. I looked at my hands, I didn’t have to bring them up to my nose to smell the aftermath. What do I do now? I have no wipes, no hand sanitizer and the kids are buckled in their seats. Now I know what all the people who don’t have children or haven’t been parents very long enough are thinking, “Surely, she wouldn’t leave them to wash her hands.” and all my sistas in the back holla, “Hell yes, she would!”. I said, “I’ll be right back” and locked them in the van. I hoped the CA highway patrol officer who had eaten lunch in the restaurant was long gone by now. So sue me. I hung my head on the way out when I saw the notice posted on the playroom door. I just wanted to get home.

Home. The ride home was uneventful. But now I had the unpleasant task of washing out the pile of poopiness laying in the back seat. I knew there was a pile of wet and or dirty chonies sitting in the utility sink in the garage. Yes, we just throw them in there until there is enough for a full load. At least now I could get a load done before the end of the day and be restocked. As I rummaged through the sink, separating grocery bags from the malodorous undergarments and the soiled clothes they contained, what did I find? Not one, but TWO pairs of underwear with poop still inside! Are you kidding me? How long has this been in here? Who left the poop IN the chonies? For the love of all that is holy, is it too hard to at least shake the poop into the toilet before bagging the underwear!?!?!? Not that it really mattered at this point, I just needed to get the washer going and get the kids down for a nap. After using several of the, now empty, bags like a glove to scrape the chonies clean and rinsing what remained down the sink, I was finally able to close the door to the garage the entire experience for that matter.

I returned inside to find the kids watching The Cat in the Hat, and Mila still dry. I took her potty only to have her squirm off the seat. I promptly put her in a diaper in preparation for naptime. After hustling the man-child upstairs and getting him settled in, I came back and tried to take her potty one more time. Wet. Are you freakin’ kidding me!!!! I scolded her for not going when I took her and not telling me she had to go. I thought about spanking her for willful disobedience, but I just sat there defeated. Let's try this again. Diaper number two went on and she went down for a nap. And I sat down to vent on paper. And it has been cathartic, I think. Because even when Charlie Gibson closed the news with his usual “Good night, and I hope you had a good day.” I thought, Today wasn’t THAT bad. I felt much worse yesterday and I didn’t even have a pooptastrophy. Whether it was starting with the right attitude or a therapeutic mind dump onto the page, I survived today. I survived when Mila woke up wet from her nap and I survived when I couldn’t get her out of the high chair and to the potty fast enough at dinnertime because I stepped, barefoot, into the pile of rice she dropped on the floor, as pee streamed off the chair. I survived when she stood up in the bathtub tonight and said she had to go potty while simultaneously peeing into the bubble bath she was sharing with her brother, minutes after sitting on the toilet. I will survive the unseen number of accidents yet to come while I potty train her and this next baby. Why? Because “His mercies are new every morning, and I will wake with the dawn. And when the music is through, or so it seems to be, I will sing a new song, old things gone. Everyday is new, He makes all His mercies new. “

New Year's Resolution

1/52

This New Year's Eve was a little different for me. Not sure exactly why, maybe its because I'm getting to the age or stage in life when I'm not taking as many risks or challenges as I used to. Or maybe I'm scared I'll stop taking them altogether if I'm not intentional about it. After all, I have 3 young kids under the age of 5. It's pretty easy to get wrapped up in taking care of them and neglect my passions. And having a newborn makes it more difficult, nursing every three hours really limits how much I can do outside of the house. So, as I pondered this stage in my life on December 31, 2009 I settled on a New Year's resolution. Thanks in part to the recent film Julie & Julia and a note I posted on Facebook a few months back, I decided to create a blog and write something once a week. As you can tell, I'm already behind. Maybe not procrastinating should have been my resolution...hmmmm. Anyway, I'll try and catch up.

This blog is going to be a bit of a hodgepodge. I'll touch on whatever I'm experiencing, contemplating, or find amusing. Mostly, I'll just be pouring out my thoughts as a therapeutic mind dump. I already have a couple topics I've been mulling over for a while. Of course, I'll take suggestions too, if you care for my take on it.

Writing has always been something I enjoy and I think I'm pretty good at. I love crafting words that can make people laugh, cry and/or give pause. But I didn't realized how cathartic (hence the name of the blog) writing can be for me until this past September after a horrific day in motherhood. I''ll be posting the story of that day in the near future (is that cheating if I use that as one of my make-up bogs?). Until then, God Bless.