MommyCoddle

joy in the sorrow

Last May, I shared about the passing of my friend and neighbor, Sarah. 

But one thing I didn't tell you in that story was my last "conversation" with Sarah before she died. 

Just days before, she sent me several messages through twitter (of all places) curious to know if we had any interest in her pony, Ariel. 

If you've been reading this blog long enough, you'll know that my daughter Emma is a horse girl. From her depths, the girl loves horses. Childhood "passions" come and go, but Emma's love of horses has only grown deeper roots in her little heart. 

She has been riding and taking lessons since we moved back to Maryland. I watch this video of her, four years ago and I am reminded that she has been waiting for "a pony of her own" for quite a long time. 

But a pony is no small commitment. If I had a dollar for every time I answered the question, "When do you think I'll be ready for a pony of my own?", I'd have enough dollars for seven ponies by now. Aside from being old enough for a pony, or having enough know-how, the big, glaring issue was right outside my kitchen window. 

A farm with no fencing. 

You can ask any of my close friends to know that I've been trying to figure out ways to get this little farm of ours started, to find the money in our squeezed-tight budget for fencing. (It is SO expensive!) Should I do something on kickstarter? Should I get a job? Should I make stuff and sell it on etsy?

Meanwhile, I'm telling my anxious daughter that some day the time will be right. Pray, I say. God knows your heart. And He already knows the perfect pony for you. And He knows when the time will be right. 

I often needed to remind myself of the same things. 

When Sarah sent me those series of messages, asking if we were interested, something jumped in my heart. 

Little did she know, that many of our errands brought us driving right past her house. That Emma would often get quiet in the back seat, hiding her tears--not just for a pony, but for Ariel. "She's the perfect pony for me. I don't think they have anyone riding her right now. Do you think they'd ever sell her?"  And I'd give her my same words of wisdom, which by now she could probably recite to me by heart. Pray. Wait. When the time is right....

That morning, when Sarah asked me, I immediately got on the phone with Dan. Teary, nervous. I had no idea that Sarah was just days from the end of her fight, but I knew this was one of those things she needed to settle. 

Dan simply said, "Tell her yes. We'll just have to figure the rest out."

We didn't tell Emma anything. The heartbreak if anything fell through would have been horrible. 

The man who owns the barn where Emma has been riding for the last several years said to bring Ariel there. She could stay until we were ready. For free. A gift.

But for a handful, Emma spent every morning this summer at the barn--taking care of Ariel, learning from the wonderful people who work and board their horses there, from my stepmother, who has taught her everything she knows. 

Eventually, with all this planning and fussing, she began to put the pieces together. 

"Is Ariel going to be mine?" 

Finally, last week, in the middle of the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, Ariel arrived home. 

By perfect timing (and God'd faithfulness to Emma's prayers, I believe) we found the funds for fencing. While we were in Virginia, a team of Amishmen descended on our farm and installed it.

Everything has come together. The timing is finally right. 

And there, in the midst of the sorrow of losing Sarah, is the big, bright glow of joy. She's sitting bareback on a pony grazing in my back yard. 

 

everyone has a story to tell

....about yesterday's earthquake that rattled the Mid-Atlantic. We East Coasters aren't used to such phenomenon. I was on a conference call with my Babycenter pals when the whole house started to shudder. And of course, earthquake wasn't even in my frame of reference, so I immediately thought, "This is it. This old farmhouse has finally had enough. It's falling down.This must be what it's like."

I was relieved all the girls were outside "babysitting" Birdy while I was on the phone. I ran outside, staring up at the house expecting to witness the walls and roof give way. And I thought, "Shoot. I'm still in my grey pajama pants {in my defense I'd been cleaning all morning}. My hair is a mess. I have no make-up on. And the baby is wearing soaking wet clothes from playing in the water tub."

Of course, I was slightly mistaken. My house wasn't falling down, we were just experiencing the tremors of the quake in Virginia. (Which also happens to be almost EXACTLY where we were on vacation. We even stopped for ice cream cones in Mineral.) 

And now that the earthquakes have subsided, we've moved on to the next natural disaster, waiting to see what this hurricane stirs up over the weekend....

But alas, let's discuss something much cuter....meet, Girl.

She was the special project that was included in our farm-sitting duties at my uncle's farm. Rescued when she was just a day or two old, she's been bottle-fed and cared for by their family ever since.

We saw her on her first days home, when she was refusing to take a bottle. Her legs like little twigs. I never imagined them to be so fragile. But now, having mastered the bottle, she's thriving. 

Girl hangs out in the fields around my uncle's farm and comes in around the same time each day when she's feeling hungry. Some days she'd be eagerly waiting on the front porch, another day I only found her by the tiny brown ears sticking up out of the bean field. 

These are the moments when I want to take my childrens' little faces in my hands, look them square in the eyes and say, "Do you realize how special this is? Do you realize how blessed you are, to be doing this?"

If there's one thing I want to instill in them, it's gratitude for these moments they experience almost every day, for the views out our kitchen window, for the open spaces to explore and run. For the closeness they have to the natural world around them. 

what's a mom to do?

It's getting to be that time of year when we're really due for a little back to school schedule and regularity to our days. The way this is becoming most clear is in the amount of sibling bickering and pestering and picking that is going on in this house. 

My oldest is at an age where she waffles between wanting to be "all grown up", independent, aloof, and in the next moment right in the thick of the play with her younger sisters. And often those transitions can be awkward and bumpy. Everything is "so annoying", so much so that I think I am going to be banning the phrase from her vocabulary very soon. (this afternoon!)

But honestly, it's the bickering that really wears this mama down. There is no manual to motherhood and I find my own self waffling between "approaches" as well. I so desperately want them to learn to work it out themselves, to stand up for themselves, to let the little sibling-picking slide off them like water off a duck's back. I want them to learn to walk away and not be bothered. To maintain their cool. 

I don't want to always be the sounding board, the complaint department where you come to file your grievances. 

But I also have to help them work through some of these things. It's hard to know when to step in and when to step back. 

And so, this is how I know school days must return. These brains need reviving, rejuvinating and stretching. Energy needs to be expended, but in the right direction.

This school marm is sharpening her pencils. 

camp mail

somebody hold my hand

Just an hour ago, I dropped Emma off in the woods. For the next four days she'll be off at 4-H Camp.

We checked in, dropped sunscreen and bug spray with the camp nurse, got checked for head lice, and tucked her in to her top bunk. She met her counselors, her Nanticoke tribemates, and she latched on to her friends. 

I checked to be sure she was okay. "Are you nervous? Are you sure??" 

And I checked again. And then maybe even one more time.

And then that was it. I'd done all I could do. I kissed her--a big wet one right on the lips. 

She said goodbye to her sisters. 

And she gave Birdy the biggest, longest hug and kiss of all of us. 

There was no working up to this. No easing in to being away from home for so many nights. Suddenly she was just ready. Fearless.

And all this week, I'm going to tell myself that her independence is a sign of good parenting, and that she misses us, and this afternoon we'll probably write her a letter--because nothings better than camp mail. 

I'm ready for this, right? Growing up is a good thing.

I think. 

 

lay it down

I had a therapy session last night. A therapy session of the free variety. It's when I get on the mower, earphones + ipod and take off across the fields. As my neighbor says of me, who noticed my penchant for mowing grass, "that woman can really lay down some grass."

And last night could not have been a more beautiful night to be out there. The clouds, the colors of the sky, working and racing the setting sun, hoping to get it all done before dark. 

I know it sounds silly but there is so much I love about being on the mower. The immediate satisfaction of seeing the grass trimmed and tidy, the accomplishment unfolding before my eyes.

The watching of my family through the veil of good music in my ears. Happily muffling the whining, or the bickering and only seeing the play and the running and the laying down in the grass and the network of farm animals trailing around the field behind them. 

I'm learning to cherish these moments on the mower (that's obvious, isn't it?) because someone else in this family has finally become old enough (and trustworthy enough) to share the "duties" with me. There's some competition over who gets the job. 

But I'm not ready to pass over the reigns just yet....

....Here's hoping you find your own moments to "lay it down" today as well....

something more

Last night we had cereal for dinner. It's that hot.

I started out with grand plans for a summery dinner, but after the few minutes of standing over the stove, dripping in sweat, miserably hot children whining to swim, sticky baby crying to be fed-- I decided enough was enough. 

It was the best decision I made all day.

Today, I write from my spot in the kitchen, the fan blowing directly onto my face. No oscillating. Just full-on breeze. 

We're in a two-day stretch of heat advisories and record-breaking temps. I'm watcing the hourly forecast again. I just need to know how much longer I have to survive. 

But this morning, despite the fact that the temperature inside the house is about the same as the temperature outside of the house, some work still had to be done. 

Normally, I pretty much hustle through a lot of these tasks. But this morning, the chant in my head was to slow down. My motivation was to stay cool, but I noticed the slowing down also began to change my state of mind. 

I'm often racing to accomplish the things that are just a part of my every day routine. As if there's something more or better or more important awaiting me. But most days, this is the better. This is the more. This is the more important. 

I can't believe I'm uttering these words, but today, I'm kind of grateful for this heat wave. For the forced slowing down. For the reminder to relax the pace at which I move through my day. Because these tasks and routines and the people I do them for, are my something more. 

someday is here

I hope my mother will weigh in on this, but seriously, can we discuss this picture? I found it when I was going through oldies recently.

This picture was taken at a 4-H meeting that was being held at our farm. The memory still fresh in my brain.

There were people present. People outside of our family. I was in public!

I was standing in front of the 4-H club, seething with jealousy that I wasn't old enough to be a member like my brother and sisters.

I knew I needed a way to be part of the night, to draw some of that focus back to me. I needed drama. What I needed was an attention-grabbing demonstration. I remember the topic I settled on had something to do with how to (ahem), remove a horse's head. (My eldest daughter might disown me if she caught wind of this.)

I remember that stainless steel bowl was full of grass, to serve as a distraction for the horse before head removal.

And of course, one needs a knife to handle this job. A butter knife, of course.

I remember gathering the supplies in the kitchen snickering under my breath at what a comedic genius I was. This was gonna be good!

But mom, can we discuss my outift? The tube top? With my white baby belly hanging out? Were you done fighting battles for the day? Did I sneak off and put it on without your knowledge? Was it so hot that night that you were concerned I might sweat through a normal-sized tshirt that covered more than my upper torso?

I was definitely getting attention. I'm thinking it was for the shirt, not the morbid demonstration.

Funny thing is, I find myself in the trenches of this battle, too. Maybe not tube tops, but I've been known to be seen in public with small children in striped skorts pulled up over jeans with polkda-dot tshirts and wool sweaters. Ballet tutus. Tall black rubber barn boots on the hottest dog days of summer. Children who look like they've been pulled from the pages of a Little House story versus the 21st century.

I can hear the "someday you'll understand" refrain in my head. And I smile at my 6 year-old self. And I give a knowing nod to my mother. Someday is here.

I carried a broom

I woke up in the middle of the night last night to the sound of a fox. Really, it's not that uncommon. We hear them all the time out the front windows of the house, in the fields across the road. But this time, the fox was much, much closer. In fact, I could tell it was in the back of the house and sounded close enough to be in our yard. I listened a little longer to be sure it wasn't just a dream or the breathing of the person in bed beside me.

You'd think I'd be desensitized by now, but I seriously HATE the sound of these foxes. They send chills down my neck and make me want to revert back to my thunder-storm-panicked childhood with hands clamped over my ears and covers pulled up to my eyeballs. But, I must put on a brave front for the little people in my house.

I coo to them, "It's just a sweet little fox. We're safe inside. There's nothing it can do. Just listen to it. Doesn't it sound so neat?" I'm such a faker. If they only knew.

Last night however, its proximity to the house had me a little panicked. I had visions of those little barn kittens scampering around the garden shed. I worried that we hadn't done a good chicken count before locking the doors of the coop for the night.

So I did the only brave thing a farm girl could do. I woke up Dan.

There's a fox!

It's in the yard!

The kittens!

Did we lock in the chickens?

What about Maggie????

Thankfully, Dan loves some good fox drama so half-awake he bumbled downstairs to listen more closely. Finally he opened up the mudroom door and Ruby went tearing off across the yard--whether it was after the fox or she just really had to go the bathroom, I don't know. But the fox either quieted down, or disappeared. Hopefully, the later.

Dan came back upstairs to find me and Mary standing in the hallway waiting for a full report.

Unlike many nights in this house lately, we'd played musical beds at some point in the nighttime hours. We stopped for a moment in the hall, discussed the fox, my concerns over the animals, maybe it was time to get some bullets for his gun, the fact that the little person sleeping in bed with me had slept through her need to go the bathroom, and was sleeping fitfully and kicking, and did I set his alarm for 5:30?

A small family meeting in the hallway. I felt like we needed to smack high fives and do a secret handshake before we returned back to our stations in seperate bedrooms with children needing to be snuggled.

The whole fox thing threw me off and I had a hard time falling back to sleep. My mind recalled stories of my mother's bravery. Of the night when she heard something attacking our guineas and raced down the steps and outside in her nightgown with a broom, a broom, swinging wildly in the dark at whatever was on the attack. She came back in and said something brushed past her legs and was gone.

I like to think that if neccesary, I could step up and have that kind of bravery. But for now, if Dan's available, I'll gladly default to him.

I did eventually fall asleep and my dreams involved a large mother bear and her cub which had gotten into the house. Dan and I were racing around upstairs dropping our children out of the windows to keep them from being gobbled up. A short fall obviously better than a bear attack. Maybe it had something to do with the bedtime story being The Biggest Bear, or the fact that Dan mentioned he left the mudroom door open so Ruby could come and go in the night.

All I know is that in my dream, I was brave. And I carried a broom.

photos? backside view of the house I grew up in. + my brave mother holding baby me.

free range baby

I'll be honest. Birdy is giving me a run for my money lately.

We've entered the Phase of Discontent.

The screeching, screaming, back-arching days when nothing seems to make her happy, when she can never keep up, and when the only thing she has interest in doing are all the things she can't do. (aka she wants to do whatever her sisters are doing). 

It is begining to wear a bit on my nerves. A full day of a discontented baby makes for a very long day. I try to remind myself that this is a phase, that all my children went though this. That with each of the girls there were days where I found myself standing in the doorway, tears creeping down my cheeks, waiting for my husband to arrive home from work so that I could hand over the babe and catch my breath.

Yes, that was me just a few days ago. Phew.

But one fool-proof way to keep Birdy happy is to take her outdoors. Now, outdoors at our house is not your typical green grass and swing sets. There are patches of mud, stones and ahem, chicken poop to dodge. Wood piles and stray splinters of logs. Gardening tools and sump pump hoses. 

I could make myself crazy keeping her from all these things. Trying to keep her from crawling straight through the mud. From putting the sticks in her mouth and taking off across the soaking wet tall grass of the field to go after the dog. From eating stones and tree buds scattered over the driveway. From sticking her face down in a pile of dirt and tasting it. 

And so, to save my sanity, I've been letting her have at it. Giving her freedom. Letting her roam and explore and taste (to a point) and touch and crawl through and over and under. Unless I'm concerned for her safety, I just let her be. 

I watch her pull up clumps of green grass, eat a few strands, make a strange face and spit them out. I see her spy a scurrying barn cat out of the corner of her eye, and immediately change directions to crawl after it. From my watchful perch I can see her learning and exploring, and I imagine how that little brain is expanding with all these experiences. 

What's the harm in a mouthful of soil? Or sucking on a stick? Or crawling through a mud puddle, hands and knees and toes covered in brown?

It's about letting go. And freedom. And fresh air. And learning. 

For both of us. 

a story i haven't told

Today marks dear sweet Birdy's first birthday. This day, thinking back on this year, I felt compelled to tell a story that no one knows. And really, it is probably the most important story that I should be telling. I hope you'll take a moment to click over to Momformation to read it. 

xo.

molly

we'd do it all over again

♥ a side note : voting ends some time tomorrow for Circle of Moms Top 25 Creative Moms. You can vote once a day. Would you mind taking a moment to cast a vote for me? Thank you! ♥

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I travelled a lot as kid. A father working for commercial airlines meant the freedom to explore lots of places and states, countries, national parks, attractions...

But with all this traveling, many of the "attractions" just a few hours drive from my home, are places where I have never been. 

And so, when given an opportunity through Dan's work to take a (free!) weekend to Ocean City, Dan and I knew that despite our lack of attraction to the beach scene (not to be confused with scenery), we had to cash in on the offer. 

My children (who apparently don't get out much) were through-the-roof excited about the trip. (In hindsight, I'm thinking I could have saved myself a lot of repetitive clarification and re-telling of every minute detail about the trip, if I'd simply sprung the plan on them 20 minutes before departure.)

Anyhow, from the roadtrip (that excitement lasted about 20 minutes), to the hotel stay, to the pool, to the dinners out, and to dream-of-all-dreams: a visit to Assateauge Island, the girls were mildly enthusiastic.  Since January, every journal entry (65 more days until Ocean City!), every dinnertime prayer (thank you God, that we get to go to Ocean City!), every bedtime conversation (How many hours does it take to get there? How big is the pool? Will we really see wild ponies?) has had something to do with the trip.

And so, last weekend it finally arrived. Ocean City is a quiet place in the dead of winter. But in a way, it was kind of nice. The beach is cold and windy and seventeen different shades of grey. And it is beautiful. 

We went to the beach. We ate hotel food and sat through banquets and videos about the history of Dan's company and International Harvester. We swam in the hotel pool and spent dollar upon dollar on wacky arcade games. We collected shells and saw wild ponies.

We had meltdowns.

We (meaning me) wondered at which point the parents begin to have fun on vacations. 

And we slept like rocks that first day back home in our beds. Birdy, clocking a 15 hour sleep.

And I've decided that for me, the best part of vacation is this part. The looking back. The relief that it's over and the joy that we did it. 

The forgetting of the maxed out tired baby, the endless laundry, the packing and unpacking...

And the remembering of their pure joy and excitement and enthusiasm....

And that we'd do it all over again.

the wisdom of youth

Driving in the car....when I get to eavesdrop on all the good sisterly conversations....

Emma: Mary. When you get older and have a boyfriend do not carve your initials into a tree or spray paint your names on a bridge. Because if the police catch you, you'll go to jail.

Emma: Oh. And Mary. Don't have a boyfriend whose pants fall down.

Emma: Oh. And don't have a boyfriend who has a mohawk. Or pierced ears. Or a pierced nose.

Emma: And don't marry someone who is incredibly romantic. Because that gets annoying after awhile.

Mary: Well. I'm going to marry someone who looks just like Daddy and acts just like Daddy. 

Mary(Later....after giving all this advice much contemplation....): And, it really doesn't matter  what the person looks like, it just matters if they're nice to you and how they treat you.

homeschooling charts and mom guilt

I probably shouldn't be writing about a new system the day after I put it into place. To be fair, I should probably have a few weeks of it under my belt before I go spouting off about how great it is and how it is going to change our homeschooling days forever, and how my child is now going to be so successful and there will be no more complaining and eye-rolling, and whining, and, and, and.....

But, it's on my brain. I need to spout off about it. So here you go. 

I'm having my yearly "question all the educational decisions I am making for my oldest child" breakdown. I am really beginning to think this happens at about the same time every year. Call it burn out, if you will. But things are a bit different this year because I find my husband beginning to question a bit as well. Usually, I'm the waffler and he's on the straight and narrow, "we'll get through this" path. But this is a long discussion for another day. Maybe. 

In the meantime, there is still school to do. There is still progress that needs to be made. There is change that needs to happen. I'm not throwing in the towel in the middle of February. 

When I was in San Francisco (I promise I'll stop talking about it soon, but give me a break. I don't get out much.) one of the lovely moms I had the pleasure of spending some time with was Kristen, from Cool Mom Picks. She also happens to be a homeschooling mama, and writes weekly on Ree's Pioneer Woman homeschooling blog. Her post last week talked about the importance of not only finding your tribe, but also putting in as much effort as you do in finding social outlets for children, for yourself. We need to take care of ourselves, mamas. 

I'm horrible at this. Usually, nothing happens until my breakdowns and anguish have reached epic levels. Then, I call in for reinforcement. My husband sends me away by myself for a few hours. My mom takes me shopping or for a haircut or a manicure. I take a nap and wake up to a miraculously clean house.

The problem is that I really suffer from a lot of guilt. The moment I step away from my home or "my duties" and leave someone else in charge (aka, my husband) I feel guilty. I feel like I'm asking him to do something that I should be doing. Never mind, that he also happens to be my husband, my helpmate, and yes, their father. But still. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. 

But lately, I've been realizing, as women, this social outlet, this interaction, this girl-time, is so important for our well-being. So I've been trying to be better about finding it, seeking it out, and making it happen.

San Francisco was an example. (there I go again.) and so was this past Tuesday night. I get together with a group of moms about once a month. Our kids play and get dirty, and (usually someone ends up bleeding or bitten by a wild mouse--long story) the moms sit in the kitchen, eat cupcakes, unload our woes, stories, and listen to ways we can pray for each other. 

But last Tuesday night, we decided to go out together, kid-free. It was wonderful. But after being gone to SanFran the week before, I felt all the guilt of asking for another night "off" creeping up. But, this time, I shoved it away. Told it to get lost, and knew that in the long run, these two hours away would be better for not only me, but the whole family.

And I needed them. I needed to unload some of my current struggles to these friends. The conversation was uplifting, encouraging and full of good ideas. 

So, this is a round-about way to show you some of the "fruit" of that night, but apparently, I needed to say this. Friends, whether homeschooler or not, let go of some of that guilt. I fight it every day. It's ugly. But we need to take care of ourselves, too. I'm a big hater of the word "me-time". But I have to admit there is some truth to finding some ways to care for our own souls so that we can come back to our days with a cup that's a little more full, instead of running on empty. 

It was the genius of these three women that inspired this chart. Emma needs to get more done in a day. And she (and I both) need there to be more independence. My friend Jen told me the genius line of "Do it nice. Or do it twice!" It has become my mantra. I LOVE it. And we also discussed motivating Emma with one of her favorite things that she always begs for--time on the computer. 

Yesterday we both sat down and charted out what we thought needed to be accomplished in a day. She listed three things, I listed the ones that you see made the final list. (She did agree that chores needed to be done, and reading. She also wanted to give two speeches a week. We'll work on that....)

Yesterday we put it into place. And all went smoothly. I'm not going to be so bold as to say this is life-changing. Yet. Because you know, this is day two. And right now, she's down at the stream with her sisters and I'm on the computer. But there is reassurances that when she comes back inside, she'll know exactly what needs to be accomplished in a day. And yesterday, when offered the chance to go outside with her sisters, she said, "I really should just get my dictation done first so everything on my chart is finished." Huh?? Whose child is this???

Maybe this post really isn't about a chart. It's more about me. About us. If you've read this far, bless you. Thanks for bearing with me. Oftentimes, these posts are more about me reminding myself of the things I'm learning and striving for. And just maybe, you'll share a little bit in that goodness, as well.

jiggity - jig

I am home. 

By the time I lugged my large suitcase and multiple carry-on bags up the sidewalk and back into the dark, quiet house late Thursday night, my exhaustion had reached ridiculous levels. 

When I fell into bed beside my husband, I have to admit I was a bit miffed that I didn't get a bigger welcome home. He mumbled, rolled over, attempted to rouse himself from sleep.

What? You weren't waiting up? Ready to welcome me with over-sized hugs and big wet kisses? Didn't he realize how tired I was--emotionally, physically, mentally? 

By the time I finally settled in to bed, he was awake enough to talk. "I am so glad you are home. These three days have been hellish."

I was completely unaware.

My poor husband went on to explain all the events of the past three days, beginning with the first morning, when Birdy managed to swallow a piece of mettalic glittery confetti. This, in turn, led to uncontrollable dry-heaving, vomitting, and most scary of all----spitting up blood. He called in for help (it's always nice to have a former-EMT  uncle in the valley) and watched her carefully as she played normally after all the drama, as if nothing happened. Then came the morning nap. More spitting up, more blood and finally the glittery red star ejected itself from her gullet.

And things continued to go downhill from there--a baby who wouldn't sleep. Who discovered she could stand up in her crib---but couldn't get down. Dishes. Cooking. Mess. Nap-less children. Less than hearty meals.

Ugh. The poor thing.

When I called to check in (multiple times) daily, my children and Dan would reassure me that everything was fine. No one spoke a word to me about the troubles at home because Dan knew, from all the way across the country, there was nothing that I could do, but worry. 

At one point, Mary said to me, "Mommy. We have a surprise for you when you come home. But Daddy says we can't tell you." Her voice was so chipper and excited. I had memories of last time. What could it be this go round? A new kitchen floor? A painted bedroom? A remodelled bathroom?

Turns out the surprise was a vomitting baby.

I guess, upon return, it should have been me--embracing my poor, exhausted husband. My nights alone in a luxurious but all-too-quiet-for-good-sleep hotel room didn't seem quite so sacrificial. My inability to sleep on the airplane rides felt slightly less deserving of sympathy. 

But you know what? He didn't make me feel an ounce of guilt.

Somehow, I came home feeling more appreciated, needed and loved than I have in a long time. 

And San Francisco? It was fantastic. Amazing, amazing people---Whitney and Heather, Kristen, Kristina, Hadley, Denise, Kami, Marie , Sara, Whit, Carolyn , Betsy ... not to mention Scott, Dina and all the others at BabyCenter and MOMformation--I'm not even coming close to mentioning everyone. It gave me a new vision for momformation, for the mission of BabyCenter. I am in good company over there, with amazing people who truly care about the journey of motherhood. 

There is lots to love on this Valentine's Day--the goodness of being home, of scribbled valentines, spring-like weather, and surprise donut runs. I hope your day is filled with sweetness and goodness. And as always, thank you for coming to this space and sharing in these moments of sweetness with me.