My Man

He is laid back.

He is wise.

He is faithful.

He is forgiving.

He is a rock.

He is my biggest fan.

He speaks less and listens more.

He has walked through the fire with me... and and held my hand the whole way.

He is an amazing Daddy.

He is my boys' hero.

He builds forts, shoots guns, and lets Opie have a knife collection. 

He loves my boys with a firm, relentless love. 

He makes the future seem full of hope and possibilities.

He's more than I deserve. 

He ain't perfect. 

But, He's great in the ways that count.

Thank you, Lord, for this man. 

He is Your Man. 

Happy Father's Day 

to an amazing Daddy to my boys!

Girl Scout Cookie Smackdown

There are few things I am certain of in life.

One is that, come March, it's Girl Scout cookie time. 

And that means two things: Thin Mints & Samoas, the latter being my favorite.

My Husband ordered two boxes at work this year: His Tagalongs and My Samoas. I got my Thin Mints from a neighbor.

But, it's a downward spiral from there.

Here's a lil' peek into our conversation yesterday in the kitchen: 

(Disclaimer: Children under 14 might need to stop reading at this point. Mature content to follow.)

Picture the Hubs. Standing in the kitchen. Just finishing lunch. Eating the last of the thin mints I'd used so much self-conrol with. (Take note: I was waiting to use my calorie-frenzy on the Samoas that had yet to arrive.)

Hubs: "I still haven't gotten the Tagalongs from work yet." (pause...nom, nom...casually biting into his Thin Mint) 

And then he dropped a bomb on me. 

"I made the mistake of opening the Samoas yesterday at my desk. (laughing to himself) Everyone who came to see me grabbed a few and before I knew it they were gone!" (again, with the laughing)

Ain't nobody laughin' over here Captain Spock.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. 

I think I even blacked out at some point. 

And as for my wonderful, precious, awesome Husband?

Oh, He knows better now then to ever mess with my Samoas. 

And, just so you know?

I had myself a brand new box of my annual indulgence by the end of the day. 

PS. I did tell my husband I wanted the names and addresses of each coward that stole from my original box. Justice will be served. 

Hot Date at the Pistol Range

My husband has been dying to take me to the pistol range where he is a member. He wanted to teach me how to properly shoot a gun just in case we have an intruder while he is out of town, or worse, some parent cuts line in carpool.

So, I finally got a sitter and went.

Once we arrived,  I took a fifteen minute safety course, then signed a paper saying that I wouldn't sue them in case I was injured or shot or something like that. (I never read the fine print.) They said we could not shoot if we were impaired by drugs or alcohol. They did not mention sleep deprivation as an impairment. Peanut wakes me up at 5:30 every morning. Believe me. That is an impairment. 

Before entering the range, I had to put on goggles and ear protection that was supposed to make me look ridiculous safe. 

Were they really about to hand this gal a loaded gun?

My husband helped me grip my 9mm Sig P226 (impressed?) and before you knew it, I was a shootin' fool. I must say it was quite loud in the range, and the ear protection didn't do diddly for me, but, that didn't stop me from poppin' caps and goin' all gangsta'! 

Look at that grip! Yowza! I look so for real, don't I? 

Thanks Honey, for two reasons:

A. Snapping the above picture when I was obviously not ready
and
B. Not telling me to wear close-toed shoes, thus allowing my feet to get burned from hot brass flying from my gun. (who knew?)

The final outcome?

A score of 238 out of 250 on my first lesson, a hot date with the hubs, and one Mama who ain't playin' around with any carpool shenanigans...

HOLLA!

PS. Be sure to go register for my Jewelry Birthday Give-Away! 

Oh Snap! Shots Friday...errrr...Saturday

We are in Delaware doing a bit of traveling. My husband has to work down here for a few days, so we decided to drive down and join him. I just got connected to the internet in my hotel room. It took me forty-five minutes. Me not so tech savvy.

Anyways, my husband said he'd do the laundry while we're here. (I 'bout passed out.) There's a washer and dryer where he's working, so he volunteered. I was pretty excited because now I won't have to spend afternoons in a laundromat with my two boys like I'd expected. It's a win-win.

Or so I thought.

This morning when I woke up to find the laundry, it was still in the dirty bag...wet. Oh, he'd done the laundry all right. He just hadn't dried it. So, I guess that's on the agenda for tomorrow. I'm sure it will smell all kinds of wonderful. But, God love him for volunteering. (Can I reiterate that the clean clothes were put back into the dirty bag? You guys know how I feel about recontaminated laundry!)

Speaking of laundry...

In real life...

Oh Snap!

Laundry piles up.
"Wait a minute... Where did the baby go? "

Little Ones Love to "Help".

You have to buy more detergent because
someone decides to play in the laundry powder. 

You can't even do the laundry because your
husband is "fixing" the dryer...

Laundry is hard to stay "on top" of.

Thanks for the precious pics you sent in! I should have snapped a pic of my laundry room in my scary basement. I went down Thursday for the first time since having surgery back in early June. Yeah. It looked like a small explosion had occurred. Oh well. A momma's work is never done...

Next week's theme for Oh Snap! shots is "Dog Days of Summer". Send me pics of your summer stuff. Funny vacation shots, creative outdoor games, front porch hang-outs, indoor activity mishaps, or funny pool shots. Anything SUMMER! 

So, what are you guys doing this summer?? Please share! 

The Dreaded Eye Roll

Now that my hip is healing, I've been trying to get back into my morning routine.

5:30 Peanut wakes / Fix him his "got-ga-book"(chocolate milk)
5:30-6:00 Watch TV and cuddle on couch. Doze off until Peanut says, "Up".
6:00 Drag myself off the couch and fix coffee for me and my honey (who is still asleep)

Here's what went down Friday morning after my better half fixed his cup o' joe.

PICTURE THIS:

News on TV. Me on couch with computer. Peanut on me. Hubs sits down next to me, coffee in hand. Peanut loud. Hubs annoyed and turns volume on TV up. Me find funny on computer. Me share funny with hubby. Me look up. Me catch hubby doing dreaded eye roll.

Me want to punch hubby.

Let me interject here that I have a fabulous husband. He is the biggest blessing and hardly gets "in a mood". If he had a dime for every time I'd rolled my eyes over the years, he'd have a down payment for the Trump Plaza. That being said...nobody's perfect.

Together, we concluded that it was past time for a date night. I immediately booked a sitter, tried to work some "primping" time into my afternoon and at 7:00, we left to go out. We had a quiet dinner at an amazing restaurant and afterwards, parked the car by the lake and rolled down the windows. It was incredible. We laughed, kissed like college kids and chatted about nothing serious. It was just what we needed.

Being married is hard. Being married with kids is even harder. And being married with kids, having a traveling husband and living far away from family is by far the hardest thing I have ever done.

I've thought, "I can't do this." "Who is this guy I married?" "What was I thinking?" I get angry. I yell. I apologize. I get annoyed. I speak my opinion. I eat my words. I apologize again. I am right. He is wrong. He is right. I am wrong. I grow. I learn. I make mistakes. I have victories. But, it all boils down to one decision:

I love my husband and am in this for the long haul....dreaded eye rolls and all... :)

Summa-Summa-Summa’ Time

My youngest at Lake Mohawk Beach 2011

It’s summa’ time! Time for Hawaiian shaved ice and sorbet. (my two favorites) Time to break out the swimsuit and shorts. (or in my case this year, just my capris) Time to keep a stash of cash in your purse for the never-elusive ice cream truck.

But, best of all, it’s time for vacation.

Va-ca-tion.

Ahhh, just saying those three precious syllables makes me drool. I don’t know why, really. It’s not like we’ve had a lot of true vacations in the twelve years we’ve been married. And since having kids, a vacation is not really a vacation. It’s more like an adventurous trip where you just spend lots of money to see stuff you haven’t seen before. And the beach? Not...the same...after kids.

I remember pre-kids just lying on my beach towel, with my stereo and a magazine, listening to the waves. I’d close my eyes, soak in the sun, and drift off to sleep. (And with my fair, freckled self; I had the lobster-red sunburn to prove it.)

Now, we tote beach bags, beach umbrellas, coolers, toys, arm-floaties, goggles, nets and beach chairs…and that’s just on the FIRST trip.  And by the time we get set-up, take a dip in the water, and dig a bit in the sand, it’s already time to reapply sunscreen and the kids are hot and ornery.  The worst is getting up and down from the beach chair chasing after a toddler. (all the while feeling like everyone within a fifty-yard radius is honed in with binoculars on my 'lily-white-not-quite-twenty-anymore' body)

I shouldn’t make it sound that bad. There is something precious about watching your adorable little babies in their swimsuits and sunhats running to the water and giggling every time the foam hits their feet. Those are moments that make all of the chaos well worth the trip.

In fact, looking back, I wonder how my parents made our beach vacations look so easy.  Sure, I remember an occasional argument in the car, but for the most part, our vacations were incredible.

How did my parents do it? Was it really that easy for them? How did they make it so perfect?

The truth is, it wasn’t. I didn’t see the behind-the-scene budget meetings where they discussed the nitty-gritty details of the trip. I didn’t have to problem-solve when something unexpected occurred. I was so caught up in the fun of it all that I didn’t have to worry about logistics. I was just along for the ride. My parents did the work-part for us.  Sure, they enjoyed it, too. But, after the vacation, we had summer break. They returned to work, hectic schedules and earning a living. They didn’t get a true break. The vacation was still work for them. But, they did it all with a smile on their face just so we could experience something together.

Now that I am a parent, I get it. In fact, I wish I could repay my parents with a true vacation as a way to say, “Thank you. For the vacations. For getaways when you didn’t have the money. For hanging in there when you probably wanted to strangle the three kids in the back seat.”  

Just so you know, my husband and I do practice the “tag system” on vacation, to make sure we each get some down time. We give each other time alone on the beach, with no kids, even if it’s just for an hour. Then once your hour is up, “TAG! You’re It!”

But, can I be real? As much as I enjoy the hour alone soaking in the sun, flipping through my magazine and sippin’ on my fruit smoothie (and I do), I cherish the memories with my kids. Their squeal of delight the first time they squish the sand between their toes or watch a crab shuffle across the shoreline. The look on their faces when they glance out over the vastness of God’s amazing, blue ocean.  That’s what makes it a vacation.

So, here’s to your summah’ time! Whether you are taking a fancy vacation or a ‘we-ain’t-got-the-money-to-go-away’ stay-cation (which will be us this year), remember to soak in the time with those around you. Because that’s what those getaways truly are for.

My husband and son at St. Simons Island, Georgia

My oldest with a sandy six-pack

XXX Conversations

                                  My oldest son at Age 5 

Family Feud has always been one of my favorite shows. I remember watching it with my entire family growing up and ‘playing’ along together. Now that Steve Harvey is the host, it is the best ever. He doesn’t do the typical “Good Answer” host line. When a player gives a terrible response to the question, he is hilarious and pokes fun at them. (which I have to say I love).

So, a couple of years ago, when my oldest son was six, I decided to introduce him to my favorite family-friendly game show. My husband was gone for a few months for job training, and my son was missing his daddy terribly. I felt the need to find something we could “bond” over. My son loved watching television with us, and especially loved it if it wasn’t a “kid” show. Family Feud was perfect. I just knew he would love it.

And I was right.

He instantly fell in love with the game show. I was thrilled to be sharing this with my son, and glad that he loved it just as much as I did.

One day, while watching the game show together, a contestant slapped the buzzer and yelled, “SEX!” I didn’t change my facial expressions. In fact, I didn’t do anything differently, hoping he would just seem uninterested and wait for an answer he recognized.

But, my inquisitive six-year-old called my bluff.

 “Mommy, what’s sex?”

Geez. Ugh. Gulp. I must say, I usually struggle with thinking before I speak, but that day, I was stumped for an answer. I knew this one had to be thought out. This is NOT how I thought this would go down. I thought it would be some well-planned discussion down the road, like waaaay down the road. I had pictured it happening on some picturesque father/son camping trip. But, where was his father? Eight hundred miles away!

My son, being the intuitive person he is, sensed that he had stumbled upon a topic that he wasn’t supposed to know about…yet. This made it all the more intriguing.

“You know what, buddy? That is a great question. Let me talk to Daddy tonight on the phone and we will discuss it later, okay?”

“Okay,” he responded, his face dropping in disappointment. 

Later that night, after he was snug in bed and before I dialed my husband, I did the only thing any other good parent would do to get advice on tackling this sensitive subject with kiddos. I Googled it.  

I worried that I was kissing my son's innocence good-bye. But, after speaking with my husband, he assured me we would figure out the best way to handle it. I hung up the phone feeling a little more confident and sure of myself.

But, tomorrow hadn’t happened yet.

The next morning, I got my son ready for kindergarten, and climbed in the car. On the way to school, he noticed a house that had chickens in the yard. He was fascinated and began asking me a lot of questions about chickens. I must say, I knew most of the answers. (I am full of chicken knowledge. Hope that doesn’t sound too ’cocky’. tee-hee-hee)

I told him how his father and I had done mission work in Honduras and how families raised chickens there so they could have food. I explained how they didn’t have grocery stores everywhere like we did. I told him how valuable chickens were to these poor families and how one family cooked a chicken for us one night to welcome us into their village.

“Momma, how did they kill the chicken to feed it to you?” he asked.

I responded, “Before I answer that, I wanted to let you know, I spoke with Daddy last night and we both decided that we will tell you about sex. I just wanted to let you know I hadn’t forgotten about your question, okay?”

Now, why I made that conversational detour, I don’t know. But, why I continued back into the chicken conversation without a proper segway is even more puzzling.

“Well, son, once you catch a chicken, you break it’s neck. Then, you chop its head off and pluck all the feathers out. Next, you boil it and eat it.”

There was small silence from the backseat and then in a puzzled voice, my six-year-old said, “That’s how you have SEX?”

Could I have messed that one up any more royally?

Don't Be Hatin' My Bucket List

My husband asked me one evening, “What’s on your bucket list?”

“I don't have one,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. I was a busy wife and Mom with too much responsibility to sit and make a list of daydreams. And besides that, traveling to the seven wonders of the world sure wasn't possible on that budget, so why waste my time making a list of things I couldn't afford to do? A bucket list seemed pointless and unattainable. Besides, I had a fine life at the time in good ol' Alabama. The fact that my high school dreams hadn't come true just proved my point. That eventually, you have to grow up and forget about silly young dreams, right? We can't all be stars on Broadway or do documentaries on whales, penguins and dolphins. 

“You’ve got to have a bucket list!” he said. “There has to be things you want to do.”

Sure, there were things I wanted to do, but none of them seemed worthy of a bucket list. I mean, I always wanted to sky-dive, but getting thrills didn't seem to excite me anymore. I had always wanted to go to Italy, but it’s not like I had an ideal itinerary planned out. Come to think of it, I hadn’t really dreamed since I was a teenager.

So, I thought back to some of my earliest childhood dreams. Let's just say I was a big dreamer.

Dream Number One.

The tour bus of the New Kids on the Block would probably break down in my hometown. They would need to use my phone. (even though I lived miles from the interstate and on top of a mountain) I'd meet Joe McIntyre. We’d fall in love and get married.

But, alas, the tour bus never broke down and so dream numero uno was out. 

Dream Number Two.

I would sing on Star Search and win. I’d become rich and famous and marry Joe McIntyre. We'd live in a huge mansion with a ballroom in the backyard. I even designed the floor plans of our mansion on my mother's computer. (Yes, I really did.)

That didn't work out either. I took voice lessons.  I practiced singing in front of my mirror to Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All". I sang in talent shows and choir concerts. (FYI, I did place second at an Oxford Quintard Mall talent competition singing a mean rendition of "Eternal Flame" from the Bangles.) But, much to my dismay, I was never "discovered" and Hollywood never called. 

I was banking on one of those two things happening, but just in case the stars weren’t aligned correctly, I had a last and final plan.

I’d go on Oprah.

I'd tell her my life-long dream of meeting Joe McIntyre and she would invite me to be on her show to make that dream finally come true. 

But, Oprah never returned my email….okay, emails. (And now she's off the air, so that dream really is dashed)

So, it was safe to say, I needed new dreams. My own bucket list.

But, I was stuck. I couldn’t think of one dream. What was wrong with me?

The truth was I had quit dreaming. I had gotten married to a good man, popped out a couple of kids, and figured being a good wife and Mommy was living the dream. That seemed noble, right? 

But, I was disappointed. Not with my husband or my kids. It just seemed like I had lost my spark. I didn’t get excited anymore. Life was predictable and I was bored inside. I knew God had given me desires and dreams for a reason, but how could I get back in touch with those deep down inside of me? It had been a long time since I'd thought about stuff I wanted to do. It felt selfish and irresponsible. But, I grabbed a pen and started the list.

The first thing I wrote down? 

Meet Joe McIntyre.

My husband laughed. "What? Are you serious? That is your first thing on your bucket list?"

"Yes."

I had just gotten back from a New Kids on the Block concert with my friend, Nikki. We'd had a blast singing old songs, giggling like silly teenagers, screaming at the top of our lungs and reminiscing how Joe and Jordan made us dream as little girls.  It was my original dream and, by golly, it was still a dream!  

I was amazed at how excited I got. It felt wonderful to start imagining things I could do again. I set goals. I wrote down anything that popped in my head. Some were little. But, they were all important. I had begun to get back in touch with me again. I wanted to be all God had intended for me to be. The truth was, I was more than a wife and a mom. I was a woman with talents and abilities. The possibilities to where I could go and what I could do were limitless!

My list may seem ridiculous to you, but, that’s okay. It’s my list. It’s forever changing and growing and I love it. Your list will be unique to you. Even if you only write down one thing, if it's in your heart, then it's a great place to start! (Hey, that almost sounded inspirational!)

But, what if it doesn't happen? What if your "dreams" don't come true? 

It doesn’t matter. Chances are you’ll do more than you ever could have done just sitting back and letting life pass you by.

So, what are you waiting for? Grab a pen and paper.

Dust off some old dreams, think of some new ones and start your own bucket list.

Let me know some of them. Publish a comment about a dream you have. Maybe it will spark a dream in someone else!

Here’s my official “Bucket List”. Feel free to steal any dream you want! 

      1)  Meet Joe McIntyre (uh-huh!)

      2)  Run in a Touch Mudder Race

      3)  Write a successful blog

      4)  Finish my interior design degree

      5)  Become a successful designer

      6)  Camp in Africa with my boys

      7)  Build our dream home (a cross between a log cabin & an English cottage)

      8)  Go to Hawaii

      9)  Adopt a little girl from China

    10)  Hike a mountain with my husband, in a foreign country

    11)  Be a speaker at Women of Faith conferences
    12)????

Here's Nikki and I at the NKOTB concert in Atlanta, Georgia. *Note all of my old gear that I pulled from my parent's attic. I was sportin' old pins, an old T-shirt, an NKOTB watch, and the bandanna from their first concert I attended when I was 9 years old! Mark my word, I WILL check #1 off of my list. :) 

Here's to Crazy Dreams!

'Til Next Time,

               BRI

Gimp Hip In NYC

Well, my hip labral repair surgery is officially over. I must say, for my first surgery, having it done in NYC was pretty cool. I mean, how many times do you get to go to the Upper East Side in Manhattan to have surgery at one of the top hospitals in the world? I am easily impressed, what can I say? I am sure there will be hurdles to jump through with recovery, (Eek, maybe "jump" was a bad word to use...) but thankfully, so far, everything has gone much better than expected.

I took lots of pics throughout the rainy day. You know you are officially a blogger when you are high on painkillers, but snapping photos in the back seat of the car to capture the ride home. HA! Enjoy!


 11:45 am. The Lincoln Tunnel. 

12:15 pm. Heading Up 42nd Street 

1:00 pm. Checked in at the Hospital for Special Surgeries in Upper East Side. (Insert The Jefferson's theme song here: "Movin' on Up, to the East Side...". And oh yeah, we did sing it. Numerous times.) Had to sign a Health Proxy, which gave my husband permission to pull the plug if anything went wrong. And ONLY if something went wrong. 

2:00 pm. Called into Prep Room. Dressed in sexy purple hospital gown, cozy green socks, and blue paper shorts. (I was rockin' it) Signed 500 papers confirming that it was the right hip that needed to be operated on. (glad they were very thorough on that note) Had hip bathed by some young male nurse. (and, no, he wasn't hot. Bummer) Answered a gazillion questions with three different nurses. (Geez) Had my hip signed by my surgeon (yeah. weird. I guess he signs all of his masterpieces) Blood pressure checked. (Squeeeeeze) IV inserted. (OUCH!)

My Hunter Green, Cozy, Double-sided Tread Socks. Lovely. 

4:00 pm. Led Into Operating Room. (Creepy) Strapped to a table. (AHHHHHH!) Oxygen inserted in my nose. (Annoying) 

Last thing I remember hearing: "I am putting this into your IV. It will make you feel like you have had a couple of cocktails." 

Two seconds later?

OUT. COLD.

That was WAY stronger than two cocktails. 

6:30 pm. Out of Surgery. Woke up in Recovery. My husband joined me and took this lovely picture for you to enjoy.....or laugh at. High. As. A. Kite. And my nose was red from me scratching it. Those pesky oxygen tubes made it itch.

7:30 pm. Ate and drank for the first time in 24 hours. The post-op meal of champions? Turkey Sandwich on Whole Wheat and a side of blueberries. Well, two sides of blueberries. I asked for thirds, but the nurse said there weren't anymore. She better be glad I had just had hip surgery or I'd have chased her down. 

8:30 pm. I was able to go to the bathroom, which meant my bladder was awake. (too much information? Sorry. I've had two kids. I don't know what too much information is anymore.) Since I peed to their standards, I was released to go home!  

8:45 - 10:00 pm. Contended with NYC traffic. Two of the three streets we needed to travel on were closed by police. Soooo, my amazing husband improvised and maneuvered around cars, yellow taxi's, tour buses and a sea of pedestrians who never obey the cross-walk signals. He was honking his horn like the best of 'em, too. If I wouldn't have been out of it in the back seat, I may have just had to kiss him. 

11:00 pm. Arrived home. Emptied bladder. (again, too much info?) Climbed in bed. Oh, how nice to be home in my bed. A couple more painkillers and Zzzzzzzzz....

This morning......

6:30 am. Can't believe how great I feel. (Obviously, I am on painkillers, but still....) The hubs is brewing coffee, cooking breakfast and taking care of my toddler who is getting into everything. Some might feel a little guilty for just sitting back doing nothing. Not me. I have no choice and no guilt. Beside's that, it's pretty cute watching Superdad in action. He is earning some major brownie points. So, for now, I will let him do his thing, assume my position and enjoy the view from here.

Thanks for all of the prayers and encouragement! I feel so blessed!




'Til Next Time, 


         BRI

Uh-Oh. Daddy's In Charge.

On Monday, June 4^th, I am having hip surgery. “Hip surgery?” you might ask. “How old is this chick?”

Well, if you must know, I am thirty-two. And I have a labral tear in my hip, which medically speaking, means my hip hurts badly.

It apparently happened around twelve years ago when I must have had some trauma to my hip. It has progressively gotten worse and most recently has had me stuck on the floor unable to get up. The pain is excruciating and forces me to cry out loudly, which scares my toddler to death.

So, we knew it was time to do something about it. I wondered, though, “How will I juggle everything on crutches? I have a toddler who loves his mommy and an eight year old who relies on me for a lot, too.” But, my wonderful husband was able to get two weeks off from work to take over Mommy duty.

That’s right. My husband will officially be my replacement for two whole weeks. He has been gearing up for the challenge by making spreadsheets for meals and snacks (I’m not kidding) and planning daily schedules. I have a little apprehension about his temporary role for a two reasons.

A.     I must let go of total household control.

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. The works. I know he will do a great job, but there are certain things that concern me. Like, when he does the dishes, will he rinse out the sink afterwards? Sure the laundry will be done, but will he cross contaminate by putting the dirty clothes in the clean basket and the clean clothes in the dirty basket? These are all serious issues people. I mean, how can I rest knowing there might be food particles stuck to the sides of the sink?

    

B.     He might actually out-do me.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad nervous that his spreadsheet organization might just set a new standard for how this household runs. I mean, I am more organized than I used to be, but I am still a sanguine personality, which means I enjoy flying by the seat of my pants to some degree. What if he actually gets it all done and at the end of the day thinks, “Man. What does she complain about? She’s got it so easy. This is a cake walk.”

I know what you’re thinking. “Brianne, that won’t happen.” But, to some degree I guess I worry that my flaws as a household manager might be exposed in a rather dramatic fashion.

Truth be told, I do know it will not be easy for him. I know that no amount of planning I have ever done prepared me for the unexpected. Kids get sick. Recipes flop. Fatigue kicks in. Laundry gets backed-up. You forget to turn the crockpot off and cook your seven-hour recipe for thirteen hours. (Uh-oh. Did I just say that out loud?) 

Being a Mom is hard. Heck, being a woman is hard. Throw in our responsibilities, insecurities, expectations and our complex multi-tasking abilities and we tend to harbor on borderline skitzophrenia!

So, as I glance over my shoulder at my husband’s lofty plans for his two-week stint as Super-dad, I must remind myself to let it go. Whether he forgets to spot treat the laundry or vacuum under the edges of the rug, I am blessed to have a husband who is willing to be my hands and feet when I am down.

But, that doesn’t mean I won’t be doing inward fist pumps when he has to revise his spreadsheets.