Which way do I turn?

This post will be a bit jumbled. Mainly because I am feeling a bit jumbled. 

Backwards, forwards or slap dab in the middle. I’ve been everywhere the past few days and I am not sure which way to turn. 

Moving forward isn’t possible. The future, even a week, is just uncertain. Changes in my career-changes out of my control-are inevitable. It will probably be okay.   It might be fine. It is possible my hard work and dedication make me safe. Maybe. But no matter what happens it will be different. 

A world I’ve known for 15 1/2 years stopped existing a few days ago and a new one is on the horizon. I just don’t know what it looks like yet. So looking ahead, looking forward is a bit daunting. 

That place, that work–for better or for worse-has been my identity for a long time. It’s consumed me. And now that-even if it does still exist-will be different then what I’ve known. 

This weekend I was solidly in the middle. In the middle of proud excitement and disappointing despair. My son and daughter were at opposite ends and I was there, in the middle, trying my best to navigate. 

The boy came in first place in all 4 of his district races advancing to state. He achieved a long awaited personal goal and swam his IM in under a minute. It was exhilarating to watch him succeed. 

My hard working daughter swam the exact same 4 events. Top 3 advance to state. She was seeded second in HER IM but finished 5th. I saw her sob by herself af the edge of the warm up pool. She’s at the top of her age group so, if she were going to make her goal of an individual medal it would be this year. Despite only starting to swim in the last week of May and missing 2 weeks–she expected to make her mark this year. 

My daughter doesn’t take failing lightly. I don’t see 5th as failing. She does.

My son swam a remarkable race and came in first in his backstroke. 

Remember that the top 3 advance…my daughter came in 4th in her race. Her hopes were dashed. Her splotchy face, the slump of her shoulders and the weight of her head as it hung low will haunt me for a long time. 

One proud and achieving his goal. One dejected and not achieving hers. And I was in the middle. And that is not a place a mother wants to be. 

This weekend my mom handed me a box. A box I haven’t seen since I graduated from college. There were several books, 2 BEST ACTRESS trophies from my college days and a box of pictures. Going trough the pictures I looked back. 

This next statement will sound…I don’t know what it will sound like but it will be abnormal for me to discuss. In the box were pictures. I know I’ve said that. I am building up to what I want to say. There were pictures, of me, that caught me a bit my suprise. Here it goes…I wasn’t ugly. I wasn’t the awkward creature I always think of myself as. There were college headshots that showed a strong jaw and pleasant features. There were pictures from a drama banquet. I was slim in a black, sequined sheath. I have never, ever, ever thought of myself as slim and trim. But I was. 

In the pictures I was flirty, I looked vivacious and happy. I looked confident. I looked like a felt…like I felt like I belonged–like I owned the night. 

So, looking back, looking at a me I don’t think I’ve ever imagined…I wonder how different things would have been if I’d known that I wasn’t plain or fat or awkward and odd? What choices would I have made if I didn’t think I didn’t belong? Would I have taken that summerstock role I was offered? Would I have said yes to that date or no to the boy who kept me on standby? Would I have taken the world by storm instead of being afraid to take chances? Would I have believed I was talented and continued to act? 

I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on regrets. Mainly because my mistakes have put me here, in this place, in my life which my incredible babies and a nice life. But looking at those pictures I did spend a little time looking back and wondering….

I also remembered what color my hair was naturally. That was a shock. Made me, for a moment, wonder if there were pieces of my past I would be better served revisiting. 

So I tried to be in the moment. In the now. But my now had me chauffeuring my beautiful young girl and her beautiful friend on a double date with the son of a man I grew up with…seeing her with her hair curled, the spark in her eye and the happiness at the touch of freedom…even the being in the moment was uncomfortable. 

So I am not sure which way to turn. Looking back haunts me a touch. Looking ahead scares me. Standing in the middle breaks my heart. Being in the now  makes me ache a bit. 

So…which way to turn?

Fifth wheel

As a divorced woman it’s not unusual for me to feel like an interloper when surrounded by families. 

Swim meets are full of cheering moms and dads. My babies only have me there so I’ve learned to cheer loud (okay VERY loud) so they don’t feel like less. 

School functions…important events…I am usually a party of one. The first time I had an empty chair beside me at an event it broke my heart. Now I’ve gotten used to it. It twinges now and than but it doesn’t break me any longer. 

I am their biggest and loudest fan. They will always see me there, smiling in glee or sobbing in pride, but always there. 

Yesterday I had the wonderful experience of feeling like a fifth wheel. An old fifth wheel. To add insult to injury I was the old, fifth wheel to my children and their beaus.

After a wildly successful championship sweet meet I offered to feed my fella, his gal; my gal and her fella. I shamelessly wanted to be part of their celebration. They let me go. I am pretending it was because they wanted me to be part of the celebration too. 

On all likelihood they just wanted me to pay. 

We loaded up on my little be-beep-hi car. Fella and his girl in the front. Me and the other 2 in the back. They played their music…and I use that term very loosely…while I sat in the back and pretended to be cool. Hard to do with my ears bleeding. I even gave a gallant effort of rapping a few words to Eninem’s tune. I failed but I tried. They seemed to give me an A for effort. 

Off to Olive Garden we went. I didn’t even gag (aloud anyway) when they selected the place. I can be a good sport when I have to be!

The lovebirds in front held hands. The lovebirds in training sitting in back with me held hands. I held my yeti.  Hey, I love my yeti. It worked.

The cuties up front giggled and laughed. The younger cuties in back did too. I looked out the window. 

At one point the little friend in back leaned over my girl and asked,”Do you feel like a fifth wheel?”

Damn. Way to lose some brownie points dude. I did but having it pointed out that I was one stung just a bit. 

We arrived. Big fella and his love peeled off to sit with their crew. So much for bonding. My girl and her little friend grabbed a booth. They seemed to have a genuine good time. They laughed and talked and included me in their antics. 

After dinner the couples decided to go see a movie. I argued it would be cheaper if they rented one and came home to watch it. They were polite about dismissing that idea. 

I even hinted that I’d be willing to see a movie. They simply pretended not to hear that part. Guess there are limits to how much you have to endure when the fifth wheel is your mom. 

They dropped me off at home and off they went…my 2 babies on a double date. 

I curled up with an old movie, a book and the 2 dogs. 

I’d planned to serve wine at my little pity party. But in the end, I didn’t have a pity party. So I was a fifth wheel? My fella and my girl were happy. They’d not denounced relationships after seeing the mistakes of their mom. They’d met nice young kids that made them laugh, that made their heart beat a little faster and brought them happiness. Hard to lament about your lack of love when your little ones are falling in love. 

And…though they didn’t have much choice…they’d seemed very willing to have me tag along. At one point, after his friends had left, my little guy slid into the booth with me and laid his head on my shoulder. My girl effusively thanked me for attending the meet and buying dinner. All 4 made conversation with me. All 4 seemed content to be there…with me…even though I was a fifth wheel. 

Riding home on the dark I had a sudden glimpse that this could be my future. Me, alone, until my children and their friends/spouses Converged upon me and swept me up in their company. 

But who cares? As long as they come around, as long as they let me share their company…well…being a fifth wheel isn’t so bad. At least I get to be at the party with the people I love the most!


My blog is filled with triumphant stories of my fella swimming and rants about my eldest daughter.  This is the opposite.

I love this picture. The poise, the quiet determination and the visual lines it displays. That’s MY DAUGHTER. I sometimes shake my head in disbelief that this spunky, spirited creature is mine. Despite seeing an amazon, a warrior, when is see this picture, I also see her hands-curled every so slightly like they’ve done since she was my baby. She’s all woman in this picture but I still see a small glimpse of my baby girl. 

Swimming isn’t…excuse me wasn’t her thing. She played softball. I talked her into swimming because, hey, she was at the pool anyway with her brother. Might as well be IN IT. 

Like everything else she does she put her all into it and has excelled. She played softball, ran track and cheered. But in may she literally dove right in and raced side by side swimmers that have been practicing all year. And she damn near beat them!

Her style is pure strength and is very different from her brothers but it’s equally as effective. She doesn’t win with flourish-her wins are quiet and hard earned and always seem to catch her by suprise.

Like everything else she does she is her own worse critic. I see her shaking her head in the water when she’s displeased with a turn. She is barely out of the water before she is asking what her time was. She knows, to the second, what she swam last race and judges herself harshly if time isn’t dropped.  After each race she can tell you exactly where she faltered or exactly where her stamina left her. And each tome it’s a little later than the time before. 

She doesn’t choose the easy way out–not my girl—she goes straight for that Mack daddy of races-the IM. All 4 strokes at race speed. It’s daunting even for the experienced swimmer. Equally as impressive, for me at least, is that she elects to swim the same stroke as her brother. 

My girl is humble about her abilities. She’s quiet about her wins. She’s irritated at herself for her loses. I know she’s set a goal for herself to make the all-star team and the state team. I see her working, hard, toward that goal. 

And I am proud.

My girl and I butt heads. Often. I say black and she argues white. She ask for my opinion, I provide it and she argues that I am wrong. Her tone irritates me. My voice irritates her. She rolls her eyes and  I raise my voice. She flips that pony tail and I flip my lid. We are volatile. 

Yet she is my most thoughtful child. She is the one with the biggest heart. It’s her that thinks of my first.

I am proud of all of my babies but I show it least about her. And that’s wrong. She’s amazing. She’s beautiful. She’s mesmerizing when she wants to be. Her strength and power are impressive. She’s a strong willed, strong minded young woman who attacks life. She is a power all her own. She is a fighter and though these traits makes parenting her hard they also make me proud and give me confidence that she has what it takes to make her way in this world. 

What more could a mother ask for?

This photo is incredible. I see, not the 14 year old girl, but the young woman she is. I don’t see a side pony tail and an impish little smile. I look at this and see raw power and true grit. I see strength and energy; poise and beauty all on one tiny package. I see a strong young woman who isn’t afraid. And she that makes my heart happy. 

iiii nnneeveeer kknnneww

Can you read the sentence above? Could you read a paragraph like this? A book? Could you digest what the words mean? 

This is how my Sadie sees words. 

Well…that’s not true. She actually sees the books like this:

The little girl holding the umbrella? That’s Sadie’s close up world. So if she can make out the word she has to decipher what it looks like before her brain can tell her what it means. 

And  it’s doubled because at a certain distance Sadie’s eyes converge and she sees double. 

And that’s been her world. 

And I never knew. 

And she didn’t know it wasn’t right. It was her normal. 

Only her normal makes her have to work twice as hard to make sense out of the letters she is able to discern.  Once she gets tired she probably has to work even harder because one eye is seeing one thing and the other eye is off doing its own thing. 

And I never knew. 

Here she is with her big brown eyes and adorable smile. Notice her eyes? They aren’t quite aligned. But it’s minimal. Easily overlooked. The picture is at an odd angle. They are hayes eyes and change shapes. Those are all the lies I am telling myself. 

Here she is after “working” at the doctors office for a few hours. I said,”Sadie-quit doing that…I want to get a good picture of your new glasses.” She asked what she should stop doing. This is normal for her. Nothing she is seeing with her eyes and varying random angles registers as out-of-the-ordinary. Because it is her ordinary!

And I never knew. 

“Oh..am I freaking you out?” She innocently asked. 

I didn’t think I could feel like a worse mother. I was wrong. 

“I am sorry baby…momma shouldn’t have said that,” because when her eye did to this extreme I would tell her to stop because it freaked me out. It was always most prevalent when she was making a goony face and crossing her eyes. I thought it was a parlor trick like touching your tongue to your nose or making your ears wiggle. I had even used to old standard,”if you don’t stop your face is going to freeze that way!”

I didn’t know it took conscience work–literal effort for her to stop. 

All those red days at school where she would come home dejected and sad because she’d had a bad day…now I wonder how many of those days were reading days. How many times had she has to read the same sentence only to still not understand it’s meaning before she threw in the old To hell with it flag and misbehaved?  

How many times did she get an answer wrong because her brain saw the numbers differently…say left to right? And how many times did she genuinely not understand why it was wrong because 12+1 does equal 13. And sometimes that is exactly what 21+1 looked like to her. I can almost see her sassy brain saying,”fine-don’t believe me?!? I’ll just break a rule or two.” Out of frustration was it easier to move her clip then to go over the same problem that she saw the same way for the 5th time?

I don’t know that is what caused some of her behaviors but I damn sure wouldn’t blame her (now) of they did! 

I never knew. I punished her for bad behavior. Part of the punishment???? Reading alone or writing…2 things that I now know are difficult for her to do. 

I even have a blog somewhere semi-complaining about the amount of time it took us to read a single bedtime story! 

Yes, I know her brain works in ways that are mysterious to me. I understand she’s got more then fuzzy words and double vision yo contend with. But that’s all software. It was my job as her momma to give her the hardware she needed to make that software in her brain work. And I wasn’t doing my job. 

And I never knew. 

And she never knew to tell me. 

Now we know. 

She’ll have glasses-bifocals to wear to strengthen her eye. The bottom will correct her hypermetropia. Added magnification will take some strain off her eyes. Bi-focals on a ADHD child. I can’t stand reading glasses on top of my contacts and I have to ask her to maneuver bi-focal?????

Hopefully the glasses, if we can navigate them, will help the esophoria. I don’t know if the glasses will help the saccidoc eye movements she also contends with. I do know that after a month of wearing the glasses for any close activity work….

…this is the same child who has lost 4-four-Quatro pairs of goggles in the few weeks she’s been swimming. Now we are going to have to have her keep up with a pair of way more expensive than goggles glasses?…

I, as usual, digress. After 4 weeks of keeping up, getting used to and wearing said glasses we get to re-evaluate and see if her 4th nerve palsy would aid from vision therapy. 

For those of you counting there were 4 non-Libby-sounding-words in the sentences above. Those were the 4 diagnosis we left the doctor with today. 

And I never knew. 

Hey fella!

Dear fella-

I’ve spent most of your life telling you, “a good man does the right thing even when no one is looking.” I hope those words matter to you. I hope you always strive to do the right thing. Do I think you always do the right thing? No.  But perfection  was never my expectation. I want for you to alway TRY to do the right thing. To always want to do the right thing…even when I am not watching. When that happens my job here will be done. 

I have a question. An honest question- not a rhetorical (look it up) one. It’s one I may should have asked a long time ago. But I didn’t. Maybe I was too busy trying to create you into how I would answer this question—

Who do YOU want to be when people ARE looking?

Have I given you the tools to be who you want to be?

I’ve always encouraged you to lead…not follow. But I never asked-Do you want to be a leader?

I’ve taught you the importance of manners so you are well thought of by all the adults you meet. From all accounts I think you want this because I get constant reports on how well mannered you are in public.

My lessons have been that I a pro-teacher. I’ve taken the teachers side on more than one occasion. Occasions when your grades slipped or your mouth ranneth over. I’ve grounded and yelled and lectured and pleaded. But I don’t know that I ever asked,”do you care about being a good student?”  Was being the life of the class, the one to make everyone laugh more important to you? I ask because I pushed you into harder class, asked for higher grades and demanded more attention to assignments. I made you take medicine that dulled your personality but improved your attention. Was that what you wanted?

You are so clever, so smart and so curious. I know standard test and normal lectures aren’t your style of learning. But test scores aren’t the only measure of your intelligence…did I make you think that they were? 

Honest. Kind. Hard working….I can’t imagine that you don’t want those things for yourself. 

In the pool you’ve created your own identity. I can’t take credit for one second of your determination, your heart, your drive or your character on the pool. When I see you swim—be it winning or losing–I think I see glimpses of the man you will be. And I am proud. I see you shake hands after every single race. And I am proud. I see you take the blocks and I am proud. I see you make goals and then work to achieve them…and I am proud. I hope the boy that swims is the man you want to be. 

I believe you are all those things outside of the pool as well. Do you? Do you see your worth outside of the pool? I do. 

In the pool you earn respect. Not just from me but from others as well. I’ve heard little boys talk about you in awe. I’ve had adults come up and compliment you on races. I’ve seen you finish in times no one thought possible. 

All that you are in the pool….that’s what I want you to be  in life. In school, at work, in your relationships…do you want that too?

I also watch you try to be the life of the party– The funniest one in the room. I’ve seen you swagger into a room full of confidence and ego. Is that the you that you want to be? 

I watch you being the kindest, most gentle and loving brother imaginable. I’ve also seen you be quite the jerk. Who do you want to be? That’s silly. I know who you want to be when it comes to your sisters. You are protective and proud and take your responsibilities of being the older brother seriously…I know the kind of brother you want to be and I think you, for the most part, are succeeding. 

Sharing a bite

I’ve seen you handle responsibilities with a grace that most adults don’t posses. You’ve juggled advanced classes, daily swim practices, a job and your sisters and managed to smile all the while. I’ve also seen you get lost on video games and Netflix and forget things like senior picture appointments, chores and homework. I’ve seen you get so caught up in yourself that you’ve abandoned everything else. Which one do you want? Be careful not to get so caught up that your forget who you want the world to see. 

Pickup truck and boots; a charcoal gray suit and bow tie, a speedo and goggles-I’ve seen you comfortable and at home in all of them. 

What do you want to be? What do you want to do? 

The decisions you make now will all impact The Who you will someday be. At your age it’s so hard to understand that but it’s true. 

Have fun, enjoy life, have experiences, work hard, find a passion but don’t rush life, always take time to be kind and always make decisions you can be proud of. No matter who you want to be I believe these things matter. 

No matter who you want to be I can’t help but offer some advice that will ring true for anything you decide to do or be. No matter what path you want in life these will help get you there. You’ve heard it all before but I am your momma and it’s my job to keep reminding you of these things:

  • Work before you play. 
  • Early is on time and on time is late. 
  • School is your job.
  • Treat girls with respect. Always ask yourself ‘how would I want a guy treating kinsley or Sadie?’ And act accordingly.
  • There is a time to work and a time to play.
  • You earn privileges. 
  • Life isn’t fair. 
  • Earn what you want. 
  • Treat everyone kindly. 
  • Trust and respect have to be earned. And kept. Neither are guaranteed.
  • Make a promise-keep a promise. 
  • Open car doors and hold doors for strangers 
  • Be thankful 
  • Every girl you meet is someone’s daughter or sister 
  • You never know who is watching.
  • Honesty is always the best policy. 
  • So everything with sincerity.
  • Make time for family.
  • Driving is one of those privileges…not a right. 
  • Don’t forget to pray. 
  • Always look for ways to help.
  • Turn off and unplug sometimes so you don’t miss out on life
  • Get outdide sometimes 

Remember I am always your biggest fan,


I am no Wonder Woman!

The following tale can be seen one of two ways….devastatingly humiliating or as evidence that I have really, really amazing friends. 

After spending the morning at a swim meet I decided to meet my friends for a movie.  Before meeting them I ducked into a bath and body works to ‘sample’ some fragrant body mist to hide the ‘outdoorsy’ odor that follows one after 4 hours in the blazing sun. 

Afterward I questioned my decision as I now smelled like a overly ripe fruit that had been sitting in the sun too long. Way too long. Off to a good start. 

Opening weekend of WONDER WOMAN, we, the bad ass, independent women that we are, gathered for some adult beverages and the movie. 

Afterwards as we were discussing the film one of my friends made mention that I must have really liked it since I was visibly on the edge of my seat. 

I scratched my hip and said,”actually I think I have a tick. It was starting to hurt,”I admitted. 

Let’s pause here. Yes, this is the very thing that turns me from a strong, independent woman to a squirming, sniveling idiot. And this is the 4…count them…4th tick of the very young summer season. Think the universe is trying to toughen me up. Or kill me. I can’t decide which. Not celebrating feminism here!



This trio of brilliant, successful women were as grossed out as I was. Well, not quite as grossed out, since none of them burst into tears. 


“My hip,” I said rubbing the area. For reference-we were in the common area outside of the glass fronted theater.

“Let me see,” said the nurse. 

“It’s okay. I am going to Pinterest to see which essential oil they don’t like,” I said. Yes, my answer to a tick is to use Pinterest. 

“For gods sake…she’s a nurse!”

I was outruled. I mumbled about this being the height of humiliation. I looked around and no one was there. I moved the waistband of my shorts down a notch. “Yep! It’s a tick!” They said. “We gotta get it out. Anyone have any tweezers?” Out of her purse one friend holds up a shiny pair of nail clippers. “Will this do?”

I must have looked mortified because my friend pointed to the back parking lot. “Not here! I am parked back there.”

So here we go…a parade of women. Only one of us was mortified. 

“I think I’ve got hemostats and alcohol swabs in the car,” says the nurse. Lord have mercy this was starting to sound like major surgery. 

“Really…I can take care of it,” I tried to argue. Even I knew that was stupid. No way-no how could I reach back and tug out a tick from my…ummm…well from where it was. 

Halfway to the car I realized my momma was right. You should never leave home without good underwear on. I was pretty sure I had on some old, saggy, maternity granny panties that had long ago lost any sense of color. I moaned.

To add to the horror my new friend…yes lads and lasses…part of this merry little band was someone I had literally met as we were walking into the movie. Talk about an indoctrination. She’ll never look at me the same way again. Literally-she will never, ever, be able to look at me without reliving this particular, horrifying moment. She fit right into our group though because she was the one that clarified,  “For the record…that’s not your hip. That’s your ass.”

I’ve been accused of having a bug up my ass on more then one occasion. I never expected to have a bug on my ass. Neverless a bug that would require assistance from another human being to remove. 

Let’s recap. I stink…either from sweat or overpriced, overly scented, teen dream body spray. I have on the worlds saddest, most pitiful underwear. I am about to drop trou in front of someone I have only just met while another friend leans in close to my least attractive body part to remove a bug. In a parking lot. In broad daylight. After watching Wonder Woman. 

I’ll pause while you laugh. I need a slug of wine to finish the tale of my tail anyway. 

So…we are all caught up?

My friend pops the hatch on her suburua. I eye the cargo area. My nurse friend is still talking about sterile fields and my new friend has her phone out to document the moment. I refuse to get prone. Instead I plant my hands and my feet and assume the position that every drunk, redneck woman assumes on every episode of COPS. 

The sun is shining. The phone is pointed at my arse. My friend is helping the clippers like a neurosurgeon going in for the first cut and I am spread eagle and semi exposed to the world. Yep, I’ve reached a new level of humiliation.

“You are going to feel some pressure….” 


“Agh…don’t drop it…you have to kill it. Kill it!”

“It’s got a white dot!”

All this happened at the same moment. All while my ample end-which looked exactly like the underbelly of a bottom-dwelling-never-seen-the sun-catfish was exposed. 

In the end…pun intended…the tick was out (my dignity along with it), the offensive creature was killed and we’d all had a rousing laugh. 

“Welcome to the cool kids,” quipped the car owner to the new girl. 

On my way home I stopped and got some skeeter spray. I am not doing this again!

And because it couldn’t get any worse I will go ahead and let you share in my horrification. And if that’s not a word it will be after this experience.

25 lessons of summer

1. Leaving sushi in your car. Overnight. In may. With the windows up is never, ever a good idea. 

2. It takes 4 days of vacation before you finally lose the furrowed lines on your brow. It takes 1 day for it to come back when your vacation is over. 

3. Reading a map with no concept of north or south is the same as NOT knowing how to read a map. 

4. Sometimes all you need is some fresh air, a bubbling stream and a few hours of skipping rocks. There is nothing like hearing your son say to your baby girl, “grandpa taught me to do it and now I am going to teach you.”

Teaching her to skip rocks

5. Letting go is hard. Giving space and freedom when all you want to do is hold them close is hard.  Knowing they want to break free is hard. Watching them do it is harder still. 

6. 2 dogs is NOT the same as one dog. 

7. Weight gain is not for the weak. It takes WORK to carry the weight, the embarrassment and the shame of being fat. 

8. On that same note I wish I was as fat as I thought I was the first time I thought I was fat. 

9. We are 2 weeks into summer and I am already exhausted. Swim teams, shifting schedules, kids here there and yon is exhausting. Even a colored coded spreadsheet and a slide rule hasn’t made it any easier. 

9. There is no joy like spending a beautiful summer day and $45 dollars in quarters at a laundromat getting every piece of dirty laundry on the house finally washed and dried. There is no agony like 3 hours later having a laundry basket overflowing with wet beach towels, swim suits and all the dirty clothes from the day. A woman’s work is truly never done. 

10. The whole sushi thing…don’t do it. 

11. Only granddaughters can make their grandpas wear sombreros. And there is no better way to spend a birthday than surrounded by the ladies in your life (if you are a grandpa).

12. Being an aunt is pretty freaking cool. Being aunt to a neice who likes adventure is even better. Hearing, “this is the best night of my life” after an adventure with your niece is the best!

13. There is a special place in heaven for mothers that survive teenage daughters. I hope I make it there. 

14. Teen age boys fall in love fast and hard. And sisters of teenage boys that are in love fall just as hard and fast for the girl their brother loves.

15. It’s the last summer swim season for my fella. 11 years of summer swim. And it all ends this July. My heart isn’t ready.

16. When you are surrounded by your little ones 24-7 you secretly long for 5 minutes to yourself. 5 minutes of being alone and all you want is your babies back. 

17. I’ve seen more of the top of my daughters head than any other part of her body this summer. 

18. Any email after the 1324th is just ridiculous. Ask me how I know. 

19. It’s not easy being the mean momma. It’s necessary–but it’s not easy. 

20. They don’t stay little long. Facebook memory hop is all the proof you need of that. 
21. A $35 dollar pie is no tastier then a $9.99 Sara Lee one. 

22. Yes, traveling to NYC to get edible cookie dough is totally worth it. No, buying 3 scoops in the heat of summer while on a 3 hour bus tour in rush hour traffic is not ideal. This I know. 

23. I now know the difference between a macron and a macaroon. I wish I didn’t. I love macaroons which certainly isn’t helping with the weight issue. But boy-oh-boy….macaroons where have you been all my life!!!

24. The start of something always signals the end of something else. 

25. 2 weeks on…8 more to go.