Time to hit the books… again

Quite a few years ago when my oldest was just starting pre-school and I was a nervous wreck about it because good lord all the tears, not to mention that I had to literally drag him out of the van into school two days a week, I read something someone posted about how happy she was that school was starting back up again. She posted a photo of herself literally jumping for joy at the bus stop, and I remember thinking to myself that kind of sucked. At that time I couldn’t comprehend how she could be that happy about her kids leaving her every Monday through Friday, but now, four kids into this whole parenting gig and I get it.

I now know she wasn’t jumping for joy because she didn’t love her kids. I believe she was jumping for joy over the return to normalcy, having her routine back where backpacks would be lined up by the front door every night and kids would be in bed at a decent hour. I believe she was jumping for joy over knowing her kids would be doing important things like LEARNING again. I believe she was jumping for joy because she knew her kids would be spending all day with their friends and would have a hard time declaring I’M BORED! with a straight face when they stepped off the bus. And maybe, just maybe, a little part of her was jumping for joy over the few hours of alone time she would have everyday to take care of mundane tasks and herself. And you know what? All of that is okay. Totally okay.
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Character tees and dirty feet

Yesterday I came across the feed of a woman on Instagram that made my jaw drop.  It’s probably one of the prettiest feeds I’ve ever seen, and her kids (as many as I have) were dressed in the most beautiful muted-colored linen clothes, complete with Birkenstocks and straw hats.  My immediate reaction was, “I wish my kids dressed like that!” and then it was, “I bet they never eat hot dogs.”

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The daily dinner struggle

Before I get started, I just want to let you know that these are totally old photos of food I’ve taken over the past year, so boring, right?  I wish I could have made some amazing meal for you, posted the process and the mouth-watering end result sitting on a beautifully decorated table, but I’m in the process of getting my family ready for a trip to Nantucket, so it’s been a lot of Trader Joe’s enchiladas and frozen meatballs the past few days. So here’s an old one for you instead.  I must have had a lot of time on my hands that evening.  Now that I’m made that disclosure, on to the daily dinner struggle.

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The 10 year anniversary trip that just wasn’t in the cards

My husband and I went to the same high school.  He was the hippie looking dude with long hair who was two years older than me that I admired from afar, and I vividly remember meeting him for the first time at a party the summer before my sophomore year.  I remember what I said to him, his reaction, how it was one of those perfect August nights when you catch a whiff of Fall in the air, all of it.  I’m sure he remembers none of this.  If you would have told me then (in 1995) that I would marry that boy 12 years later and we would eventually have four children, I probably would have spit out the Zima I was illegally imbibing. (NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE UNDERAGE DRINKING. Sometimes we do dumb stuff when we’re teenagers.  I’m just telling the story.) Nothing ever came of that encounter.  He graduated from high school, went to college and I never saw him again. Until…

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Housekeeping!

I often receive comments on Instagram from people asking how I keep my home so tidy with four boys.  I wish I could say I wave my magic wand or wiggle my nose and poof! everything is put away, the dishwasher has been emptied and my floors are sparkling, but no.  It really just boils down to me not sitting on my butt and staying on top of the mess.

This is not groundbreaking information and I’m not reinventing the wheel, this I know, but maybe you’ll find some helpful tips, or maybe you’ll roll your eyes and wonder why I started this blog up again.  Who knows!

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