A Promise to My Sons

This is a repost from 2011, shortly after I found out our fifth child would be our fifth son.

I didn't want to look at the screen during my recent 18-week ultrasound.  This was the big one, the one where the doctor would check for any physical abnormalities.  I didn't want to look because, the last time I checked, my degree is NOT in prenatal medicine and I would have made things up as I looked at the grainy ultrasound images.

I also didn't want to look because I didn't want to see that telltale genitalia that I have seen four times before.  I wanted to hold out a little hope that I could have a girl...and that she would be healthy.  Instead, I searched Hubby's face as he watched the screen, watching for any telltale frowns or delighted smiles.  Instead, he had the stone cold expression of...well, a physician.

It was excruciating, as the ultrasound student went over every measurement, every area of the baby's body twice, even three times.  God love my doctor, when she came in, the first thing she said was,"The baby looks just fine."  She has delivered three of my babies and helped me with two of my miscarriages; she knows me, and I'm glad.  I guessed that the baby was a boy based on something Hubby said to Doctor, and I was right.

And I was so not surprised.

And I was a little sad and disappointed.

Hubby called me later from work and asked me how I was feeling about the news.

"I'm so relieved that the baby looks good!" I responded in an overly cheery voice.

"Not that news, the fact that it's a boy."  Damn.  He can always see right through me.

I admitted my disappointment.  I admitted that I had accepted not having any more babies, and to have to start over only to get the same thing was...disappointing.  But, as I thought more and more about it, more about how he is looking healthy, more about how my boys say the sweetest things to me and love to cuddle, I got more and more excited.

My plan for the past 18 weeks had been for a girl, and this little girl was going to make me a better mother, a better woman.  I needed her for that reason.  There are way too many things that I have slacked on in my life, in my womanhood, in my mothering.  This little girl was going to save me from being a complete failure, because, after all, I couldn't set that kind of example for her.  I couldn't eat poorly and fail to exercise, or let my appearance go to pot.  I couldn't have low self esteem and use that as an excuse for not going after my dreams or even having friends.  No, I needed to be the stellar example of health, pride, beauty, and confidence so that my daughter would grow up with those qualities as well.  After all, I have wanted to start a blog for years, and only did so after I found out I was pregnant.

So, why can't I let my sons see that?

I am a stay-at-home-mom.  They are with me more than anyone else.  They learn from me and my example more than anyone else's.  Why can't I offer the same promises to them?

There is a "repost" going around Facebook that starts out, "My promise to my kids..."  It says, in part, "I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you crazy, be your worst nightmare, embarrass you...hunt you down..." and it claims to be all in the name of love.  I've never been a "reposter,"but it did prompt me to think of my own promises to my boys:

1. I promise that I will keep myself healthy, to be a good example to you, to have the energy to play with you, and to be around to see all the important events in your lives.

2. I promise that I will not nag you, but rather teach you to take care of yourself, so that you can, and so that you know all women are not nags.

3. I promise that I will learn how to change a tire, mow the lawn, fix something mechanical so that you know that women are strong and can take care of themselves.

4. I promise that I will always kiss your boo-boos, fix your favorite food, and buy you clothes that you like so that you know that women love you in a special way that treats you like you are special.

5. I promise I will never let you hit me, push me, or talk down to me so that you learn how to treat a woman, how to treat any person.

6. I promise I will have and let you see that Daddy and I have a loving, respectful, fun relationship so that you have an example to follow in your own relationships.

7. I promise to let you try sports that may seem dangerous or instruments that are annoying because I believe in you and your talent.

8a. I promise that I will let you quit the above sports or instruments before you get too frustrated or down on yourself.

8b. I promise that I will not let you quit said sport or instrument if you are simply "having a bad day," because I know you are not a quitter.

9.  I promise to be proud of any man you grow up to be.  I may expect you to be a doctor, an astronaut, a scientist...I'll be happy for you if you love what you do, follow your passion and try your best.

10. I promise to try to like something about every girl you bring home. If you like her, there must be something good about her.

The promises are potentially endless; but in the end, I think my biggest promise should be to promise to keep my promises. Because, after all, isn't that what our children expect?

Is It Monday Again?

I have often said I am a Monday person.

Cheated on my healthy eating plan? I’ll start over again on Monday.

Fell off the exercise wagon? I’ll go back to the gym on Monday.

My house is a mess and I’ve been crabby with my sons? I’ll clean up and do better on Monday.

Didn’t write anything all week? I’ll post something on Monday.

For me, life has been an endless series of Mondays. Until Tuesday comes, that is.

Tuesday is when . . . .

 . . . Head on over to Mamalode to continue reading "An Endless Series of Mondays."

 

 

 

A 12-Step Plan for Surviving Weekly Mass with a Toddler

The squirming, the hitting, the running, the shouting, the laughing, the crying, the utterly chaotic activity confined to a three feet by one foot area. . .

Church-going parents will recognize that I'm talking about Sunday mass with a toddler. There is nothing that strikes fear in the minds of parents more than this hour of the week.

And yet we keep going. Something about atonement for one's sins or Catholic guilt or whatever.

The guilt is what keeps me going back week after week despite the fact that I haven't heard a word of the mass for the past nine and a half years (I didn't even know about the changes to the mass until last week!).

After one hour - just 60 minutes - of time spent confined to a pew with my toddler, I am left a harried, frazzled, mussed-up, nervous, mortified, embarrassed wreck.

Why? Because he runs out of the pew and attempts to ascend the altar no less than a dozen times per mass. He screams in a tone approaching that only dogs can hear approximately 32 times. He wants up and wants down every 2.3 seconds. And he breaks at least one piece of jewelry I am wearing or snags my outfit with his kicking feet.

This is the 2-year-old who is a sweet angel the other 167 hours of the week. But like clockwork, the minute we bow and enter that pew, the devil horns come out.

Always a woman with a plan, I've come up with a 12-step plan to make life easier for those 60 minutes a week.

1. Pack a drink and a snack. Not just any drink and snack, mind you - this has to be carefully considered. No crinkly bags to open, no bowls that can be dropped and spilled. Snacks must be placed in a plastic bag, or better yet, an environmentally friendly spill-proof snack container. And for the love of all that's holy, woman, bring the one sippy cup that doesn't leak!
2. Sit among other families with children. This is kind of a no-brainer. That way, you won't get the sideways head turn, glance-over-the-shoulder, judgy look. No one knows where the chaos is coming from. If a kid screams in a crowded area where other kids are screaming, and no one can tell whose kid it is, does she really make noise? Plus little kids are entertained by each other. That buys you at least an extra 6 minutes of quiet time.
3. Bring some quiet toys and books . . .because you know the snacks will be gone after the first two minutes. Markers and paper are probably a no-no (see: being "asked" to volunteer to clean the church pews), but a writing tablet would work. No books with paper pages that he can rip (like the missalette). Only sturdy board books, preferably with lift-the-flap pages to keep his hands busy. Matchbox cars make too much noise when being driven over the architecturally alluring stone floor. Choose cars with big, soft chunky wheels instead, like a monster truck. Your fellow worshipers will thank you.
4. Plan to get up at least twice - once for a potty break and once to take money up at the children's collection time.
5. Kick yourself for getting up at all. Now all she wants to do is GET OUT OF THE PEW! She had a taste of freedom, and she's not going back!
6. Utilize the grandparents behind you. Encourage him to smile, shake hands, and play peek-a-boo. This will last until the next prayer.
7. Continuously mouth "I'm sorry" to the bald man in front of you. Your toddler can't keep his hands to himself. His head is just so shiny and smooth.
8. Pick her up and let her play with your jewelry. You put on the cheapest, most interesting necklace you have. Let her play with it. You can always go back and get another one from the clearance rack when it breaks and falls into your rack..
9. Go stand with him in the back of the church. It's only a few minutes until communion. You can distract him by looking at the stained-glass windows. Ooo, pretty!
10. Communion time - chug that wine!  Does this one need an explanation? Only one more song until freedom!
11. Busy yourself by collecting all the snacks, sippy cups, books, and toys that you brought and are now scattered all over your pew and the four surrounding ones.
12. Run like hell after the final blessing. This way you will avoid all the pity comments from fellow worshippers such as, "Kid's a screamer, huh?" or "Rough morning?" and my personal favorite, "Enjoy it now because they grow so fast."

Hopefully with these tips, the worst hour of your week will be de-escalated to the status of every other chaotic, busy, adorably embarrassing hour of your week.

12 reasons I hate to be sick

Last week, I did something to my neck. I woke up one morning sore as hell on one side. By the end of the day, I was having neck spasms equivalent to those horrible leg cramps you get in the middle of the night when you're pregnant.

Yeah, it hurt that bad.

Bad enough for me to take myself to the ER looking for a solution (okay, so my mommy drove me).

Three hours and two prescriptions later, I was back home having little relief. Regardless, I strapped on a Thermacare heat wrap and went about my business.

You see, I hate being sick or incapacitated in any way. And here's why:

Reasons #1, 2, 3, 4, and 5: My family. My kids really aren't old enough to take care of themselves yet. 7-year-old Knox can be very helpful when he knows Mommy or Daddy don't feel well (especially if you bribe him with a fiver). But the 9-year-old is too much of a space cadet to attend to any task for any length of time, and the 5- and one-year olds still need lots of attention. Then there's Hubby. The poor man can only do so much after working all day, you know?

Reason #6: The laundry. Last time I checked, the laundry pile wasn't getting any smaller. It was only multiplying like pet store bunnies right before Easter, and Hubby doesn't do laundry.

Reason #7: The mess in the kitchen. Yeah, that doesn't seem to take care of itself either. There must be something written in the male DNA that believes that the dishes are done if they are put in the sink and out of sight. Same with crumbs: if they are shoved far enough under the overhang of the cabinets, it's okay. Out of sight, out of mind, you know?

(Let me just interject a minute. Yes, I have heard the saying, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life." But, I think that phrase was just made up by someone who hates cleaning her house and wants to make the rest of us look bad for cleaning ours rather than playing Candyland with our toddlers all day long. My mantra is "Organized house, organized mind." Sorry, but I get crabby when my house is a mess; and therefore, I yell at my family. That's just me. Judge all you want but keep your sanctimommy comments to yourself. *See, pain makes me crabby.)

Reason #8: People need to eat. Including me. Hubby is actually super helpful in the kitchen, and he will cook quite often. But unless I want my family to have an all meat and dairy diet, I gotta get up and throw some veggies in the microwave.

Reason #9: The baby. There are times he just wants me. And I'm kind of a sucker for that.

Reason #10: I get bored. I have been constantly busy since 5:25 p.m. on December 31, 2003. Yes, it's nice to just lay around sometimes. But after a day of that, I start to go crazy. "Just laying around" is really not all it's cracked up to be.

Reason #11: I get depressed and crabby*: I don't like to be sick. I'm not used to it. Plus, I have been struggling for almost four years over whether Lexapro actually makes me a better mommy. And I really think it does. But when other outside influences are thrown in there, like being sick or miserable or in pain, it just makes me crabby and short with my family, and that depresses me. I don't need anything extra to make me snap at them.

Reason #12: I just have shit to do. And it's much easier if I can just do it myself. Right, moms?

The fact of the matter is that life doesn't stop just because Mommy is sick. In reality, I don't think Mommies are meant to get sick. I think it only happens when there is some blip in the space-time continuum that allows whatever is watching over mommy to fall through the cracks.

Or maybe it's when St. Anne, patron saint of mothers, has slipped out for a glass of wine. Who knows? All I know is that I hate getting sick. So that bitch better start watching my back - or in this case my neck - a little more closely.



Come back on Wednesday when I'll be at Her View From Home detailing my plans for feeling better. Hint: it involves acting more like a kid.

My View

I've written two posts for Her View From Home this week. My first, on Monday, was a personal piece about my struggles with depression.

The issue is a double-edged sword. As more women move toward blogging and therefore talking about everything, there is still a stigma attached to depression and particularly the use of anti-depressants.

I'm not sure if I'd be so freely talking about it if Joey's illness had not prompted me to seek medication in the first place. Maybe I would, I don't know.

But I'm glad I have, as so many women are willing to share their struggles and triumphs and offer helpful advice and encouragement (at least on MY Facebook wall - THANK YOU for that!).

You can read Confession: I'm a Mom on Meds at Her View From Home.

My piece today is yet another admission of parenting imperfection called 10 Things I Swore I'd Never Let My Kids Do (And why they do them anyway).

Isn't it funny how life is so much different than you ever thought it would be?

I really want to thank all of you who comment here, on Facebook, and on Her View From Home. Feedback really means a lot to those of us who put ourselves out there. And it means even more when you are willing to listen and comment thoughtfully and respectfully. I have read at least four comment streams lately where women were just so judgy and downright mean to each other.

I really try hard to be a fence-sitter. From that vantage point, I can see both sides. I know which side I would jump to if I had to, but if I landed on the other side, I could at least make my way. Understanding is the key to peace in this crazy world, and I thank those of you who at least try.


On your way over to Her View From Home, check out and "like" their Facebook page for other great posts, recipes, crafts, and giveaways.

 

20 things your toddler wants you to know

Baby E turned 20 months this weekend. His language has simply exploded! It is so freaking cute to see him interact with us and hear what he has to say next.

Regardless of the language explosion though, there are still times that both of us get frustrated because he knows what he wants to say, and I guess at what he wants to say, but don't quite get it right.

Here, I am sharing with you some things that I just know he means to say if only he had a few more words in his vocabulary:

1. Please don't ask me if I've been good while you were gone. I'm not even sure what that means. If it means emptying out the cupboards so the babysitter can see where everything goes, then yes, I was very good!

2. I really don't like it when you tickle me. Even though I laugh and that makes you laugh, it is miserably uncomfortable for me. So please stop doing it.

3. Stop freaking out about the messes I make. I am just so excited about everything! In fact, I wish you'd play with me more often.

4. I like all of your stuff. Seriously, all of it. I want to see how it works, what happens when I squish it in my hands, and if it looks on me like it looks on you.

Colorful and silky . . .ahhh.

5. I want to be just like you. I have seen how you tap on your computer and answer your phone, and I want you to see that I can do it, too!

What? You do it.

6. I like snacks way better than that green stuff you put on my plate. I could eat snacks all day long. Mmmm, snacky snack snack snack.

For the love of all that's holy, save the fish!

7. I do not like it when you eat my snacks. Seriously, Mom, that package has a picture of a baby on it. That means it's for babies, and YOU are not a baby. 

8. It hurts my feelings when you yell at me. I am only curious about what's on top of the table, and if I have to pull at the tablecloth to get it, then that's what I will do. 

9. I climb things because I can. Wow, everything looks so different from up there. I can see what you see now. Me likey.

10. Don't try to reason with me when I'm having a tantrum. I can't hear what you're saying anyway because I am too busy trying to scream as loud as I can.

Don't look at me, don't talk to me, just don't.

11. For the love of god, woman, take me outside more often! I love the breeze and the sunshine and the leaves and the mud and the space to run! It's a whole other world for me.

12. When I am continuously yelling, "Mommy!" from my crib, come and get me. I am awake and I am NOT going back to sleep!

13. I like you and Daddy equally, so stop whispering to me that you know I like you better. Daddy is funny, he gives me really good snacks while eating his own (see #6&7) and he takes me outside (see #11).

14. No one can get me to sleep faster than you can. No one. Mommy, you're warm and soft and you know that spot in the crook of your arm that I love. That is yours. Just yours.

15. I like to be naked. Plain and simple. And when I'm naked, I like to run. It's freeing. You should try it sometime.

16. I want to help you. I see you taking clothes out of that machine, and I want to make you proud. I see you putting food into that other thing, and I want to do it, too. I get confused when you tell me NO and redo what I've done.

17. I know you're not perfect, Mommy, so stop pretending. I think it's kinda funny when you drop things or trip or pass gas. A guy needs some comedy in his day. Besides, I like repeating that "dammit" word that you say when you mess up!

18. I want you to leave the TV on when that purple dinosaur comes on. There's something about that big thing and all those kids singing that makes me happy, so I'm not sure why you roll your eyes and turn it off.

19. Sometimes, I'm just too busy to cuddle. I know I'm cute and soft and darling, but I have places to see and things to do. Can we just wait until I'm tired? (See #14)

20. I like my penis. Just wanted you to know. Also, where's yours?

How to Sleep-Train A Toddler in 30 Easy Steps

I absolutely adore this little kid! He is, as the world's greatest supernanny said, "practically perfect in every way." He is sweet, loving, friendly, smart, curious, fun, happy, and gives the best hugs.

That said, he does have one flaw . . .he is a horrible sleeper.

It may have something to do with the fact that he has no idea how to self-soothe and that he thinks my nipples are his own personal sucking candies. When he wakes up and they are not there in his face, he has no idea what to do, but cry (I'm sorry ladies, but does this not sound like a typical man or what?).

Anyway, as he is almost 19 months old, and the quality of my own sleep has been so poor for the last, oh, 28 months, I think it's time to lay down the law and do some sleep training. So I present to you, my 30-step plan for sleep training my toddler:

1. Put him to sleep at his normal bedtime, via the normal routine (rocking and nursing - hey, if he's all cozy and satisfied, maybe he will stay asleep all night this time).

2. Go about my normal routine, which involves getting into bed at about 2:00 a.m.

3. Get all snuggled up in bed, wiggling and tossing and turning until my body is right in that comfortable groove in my bed.

4. Drift off and just barely enter REM.

5. Is that a baby crying? Hmmm . . .a baby is crying. I wonder where it is.

6. Get kicked in the shin by Hubby, "The baby is crying."

7. Unwrap from warm cocoon and prepare to get out of bed as Hubby says, "Just let him cry."

8. Cover back up and stare at the ceiling, listening to baby cry.

9. Twenty minutes later, lay fuming as Hubby is solidly snoring away and baby is now yelling, "Mommy! Moooooommmmmmy!"

10. Uncover again, get out of bed, and close door to bedroom so Hubby doesn't hear. 

11. Close all bedroom doors so no other little children wake up.

12. Stand with hand on door handle to baby's room, willing baby to stop crying.

13. After almost falling asleep standing up, decide it would be best to lay in hallway and listen to baby cry. Maybe being so close to the door, I will absorb all the sound and no one else will hear.

14. Start drifting off, only to be awakened by a shooting pain in my hip from laying on the floor.

15. Realize baby is now all out sobbing.

16. Think, screw it, and go in his room.

17. Have every intention of just shushing him, giving him a pat, and leaving, but instead, melt and give in when he smiles, reaches his arms out and says, "Mommy!"

18. Pick him up and sink into his tight little hug and toddler sweetness.

19. Stand with him, swaying back and forth until his little head drops on my shoulder.

20. Convinced he is asleep, gently lay him back down in his crib.

21. Yell, "CRAP!" and run out of the room when he immediately pops back up.

22. Go back down the hall, close the door, get back in bed and cover head with several blankets and pillows.

23. Realize I can still hear baby yelling, "MOMMY!!"

24. Hear 9 year old in the hall, and realize baby is in danger of waking everyone up.

25. Throw off covers, sighing audibly.

26. Meet 9 year old in hall, who says, "Mom, the baby wants you."

27. Curse fertile uterus.

28. Completely give in by picking toddler up, getting comfy in rocking chair, and nursing him until he's sound asleep, and I have a cramp in my butt.

29. Resign myself to this routine until baby is in kindergarten, I have enough money to hire the baby whisperer, I make the cover of Time Magazine baby's ear infection is all cleared up.

30. Put baby down, sound asleep, and creep out of room as sun is rising while thinking to myself, He's only little for a short time. Who cares? Not me. Not really.



Do you struggle with any poor sleepers at your house? What is your plan for fixing it?

Writing in Coffee Houses and Other Things That Make Me Happy

So, yesterday, the first day of Slim's five-afternoon camp, I wasn't able to sit at my favorite downtown coffee house and write.  Sad me.

Today, I was there all afternoon.  Happy me!  For some reason, it makes me feel like a real writer.  You know what I mean?

Here are other things that make this mama so happy:

1. Free yoga class every Tuesday morning by the pool.  Anything that begins with free and ends with by the pool has to be a winner!  I've recently discovered how wonderful yoga makes me feel - strong, calm, centered.  It just keeps getting better!

2. Riding in the front seat of the car during road trips. I know this sounds silly, but for the past year I have been riding in the middle seat of the van to attend to all of Baby E's needs.  Now that he's not such a baby anymore, I get to be in the front like an adult!  Yay!  Then I can talk and laugh with Hubby while the boys zone out on movies and video games.

3. This view:

Photo by Kathy Glow

which is why we take said road trips.

4.  This, too:

Photo by Kathy Glow

I love me some good wine, and it's even better lakeside.

5. Crazy moments like this:

and this:

Unfortunately, it's too rare that I get to really enjoy my children's glee.  Too often I'm telling them to "settle down" or "be quiet" or "stop making such a mess."  I need to just play along, laugh, and enjoy more.

6. My Kindle Fire.  I was one of those people who held out for a long time.  An avid reader since...forever, I was convinced I would miss the feel and smell of "real" books.  But I so don't!  It was a saving grace all those nights I was up nursing Baby E in his dimly lit room.  It kept me awake, and he couldn't reach back and tear the pages.  I can read during our road trips after the sun goes down.  I love that I can bookmark all the blogs I read, I can check e-mail, Facebook and Twitter, the boys and I can play games or watch movies- and all the cheap and free books!  Love, love, love!!

7&8. Date nights with Hubby and Girls' Nights Out.  Too few and far between, these nights always renew and energize me.  I get to dress up and hear Hubby tell me I look hot or hear one of the boys tell me I look pretty.  I get to feel like an adult who has adult relationships and who can talk about adult things.  Did I say I get to be an ADULT?

9. Reruns of Friends on Nick-at-Nite.  Best sitcom ever.  My nightly ritual includes sitting in the same chair with my laptop and some ice cream watching Friends.  I have most of the episodes memorized.  Here's a clip from one of my favorites.

10. Talking to my mom on the phone.  She just "gets" me, you know?

And a bonus make-me-happy moment:

11. When any of my boys want to sit on my lap.  They will all be too big for this someday, so it's so nice when they want to cuddle.



What about you?  What are the things that make you most happy?

The Gift of Time

I have always wished for more hours in the day.  There is never enough time to get done what I need and want to do.  In fact if I added it all up, I would need about 34 hours in every day.  And that's just a conservative estimate:

5 hours=quality time spent with each member of my family
3 hours=time spent cooking and eating meals
1 hour=exercise
2 hours=showering, getting ready, primping
1 hour=laundry
1 hour=taking boys to and from school and practices
3 hours=nursing baby and feeding him baby food
2 hours=time spent cleaning and tidying up house
3 hours=time spent running errands, grocery shopping
1 hour=talking to other mamas (this is purely for research, comparison, additional information)
2 hours=time spent reading and sending e-mail, searching the web and blogging
2 hours=watching t.v.
8 hours=sleeping

Today, we are actually given the gift of time.  Twenty-four whole extra hours.  What a dream.  If I could spend them any way I wanted, this is what I would do:

• Two words - SPA DAY!  An entire day of massage, mani/pedi, facial, beauty goddess goodness.
• Have a long lunch with my girlfriends sans children.
• Spend time with each of my sons individually and do anything they chose.
• Spend time with Hubby, maybe in the hot tub or at our favorite restaurant.
• Read glossy magazines and all the 99 cent books I've downloaded to my Kindle.
• Take all the time I want at the gym.
• Take a long nap without little boys appearing at my bedside asking me what I'm doing.
• Spend the day writing and reading blogs.
• Take a cooking or photography class.
• Shop in all the little boutiques I've been dying to check out.

Unfortunately, though, today is going to be just another day.  The boys need to be taken to and from school, meals need to be made, and the laundry isn't going to do itself.  I usually take Wednesday afternoons to work on writing projects, but I may have to take two little boys to the doctor instead.

The one thing I do get time for today is my monthly girls' night out, which is always fun.  Baby E always has to tag along though, so I can't go totally crazy.

But the twenty-four extra hours are there.  Maybe I could spend them reflecting on all the blessings I have in my life:

1. A loving, generous, supportive, funny husband.
2. An 8 y.o. with a personality so unique that I am amazed by the thinks his mind thinks.
3. A 6 y.o. who loves helping mommy and his brothers.
4. A 4 y.o. who makes us laugh with his combination of cuteness and coolness.
5. A baby who was an unexpected blessing.
6. Five years' time with a special child who taught me so much.
7.  My good health.
8. My wonderful friends.
9. A close knit family of in-laws.
10. A great relationship with my parents.
11. A brother and sister who would do anything for me.
12. A roof over my head.
13. Food on my table.
14. Stylish clothes on my back.
15. A college degree on my wall.
16. A car to drive.
17. Medical insurance.
18. The opportunity to continue learning.
19. The opportunity to give my sons an excellent private education.
20. The ability to travel.
21. A vacation home.
22. Televisions, telephones, computers and a Kindle Fire.
23. A kind-hearted, loving nanny for my children and support person for me.
24. Lexapro.

Twenty-four hours...no matter how we chose to or have to spend them, they are there, giving us the gift of time.


How will you spend your Leap Year day?