License to cry....

Sometimes I have to stop and ask myself, when did she grow up to be this beautiful young self-assured young woman who is responsible enough to be driving my vehicle?  Answer to that would probably be....right under your depressive nose you crazy loon!  But that would totally kill the moment.

Beware of unsolicted advice and the people that dispense it.....you've been warned!

Don't you love it when random people feel the need to push their agenda's, life lessons, insights into what they think you may be experiencing in the world at that moment in lane #5 of Wal-Mart on a Tuesday??

I'll be seeing ya in 2011....

Every closing of a year is the end of a chapter in ones life.  

Tis the season to give...The Fresh Air Fund

To even try to list the number of things that I've taken for granted over my now close to 34 years of life would make for a very long and probably boring post.  I could go on about how I believed that air conditioning was free and everyone had it because the days in Florida were too hot for it to be a "luxury" item.  As I've gotten older, I've learned the hard way that the line between need and want can be easily skewed.  My kids for instance are blessed with green areas to play in that aren't overrun with the toxicity of industry.  We spent last Friday night with a friend and his family roasting marshmallows out by a bonfire and have plans to do so again for the New Year.

My children can walk two streets over and be immersed in a wooded area that is fit for exploring that when you are in the middle of it you almost feel like you are worlds away from the bustling little city that we live in.  Every child deserves the chance to be surrounded by nature.  To nurture the explorer in us all is one more way to keep the innocence meter full.  As the giving season has now commenced I urge you, my friends...my readers, to think outside the box and give to The Fresh Air Fund.

 

I hope you all continue to have a wonderful Holiday Season.

Much Love,

JP

Deep breath....now open your eyes

It's the eve of 6 months of the wildest ride of my life.  Cancer.

Here I thought I'd gotten past the madness which was life as a teenage mother, then mother of two girls and the business that is marriage.  No one...not even me the eternal worrier made plans for fighting for my life.

I went from thinking I was sick with mono and having my biggest worry be making sure I was able to get back to work on May 3rd to wondering how I'd make it through my first round of chemotherapy and the life that I intensely prayed would follow.  I really contemplated whether I had the drive to get from behind it and be able to have a life.  Any kind of life.  I was willing to rewrite "normal" as long as it meant me still in the equation.

Balancing act....

I know that it has been awhile since I have posted and although I had lamented in the past that there really is no good reason not to write, this time I think I should get a pass.

On Tuesday, April 27th I was diagnosed with Leukemia and things have been going at a maddening pace since then. 

Maybe it was the lack of Vikings that sealed my fate....

My life is one big ongoing reality show that no one is watching and that I'm not getting paid for.

Diary of an Aggitated Mother...

Wednesday may actually be one of my favorite days.  It is my day off.  Who doesn't love those??

Get to sleep in.

Spend a little one on one time with my baby girl Hannah (since my oldest is spending the week with her dad in Florida).

And just relax in general.

No where in my planning did I expect to have to be subjected to 45 minutes of what I can only call "slurp torture".

Hormonal surge and reflux...Lord, why do you hate me??

I have been surfing the wave of hormonal tween for the past 4 maybe 5 months.  I don't remember it starting this early with Olivia but then again Hannah seemed to do everything faster than Olivia did for the pure and simple fact that when you have two children the younger one tends to want to do EVERYTHING that the older one is doing and not wait until the same age bracket to do it in.

Case in point.  Hannah started walking at the lovely age of 9 1/2 months.  Olivia was closer to 14 months.  Hannah potty trained over a few months and was peeing like a champ on the potty by age 2.  Olivia held out for reinforcements (ie: my mother who had to travel from Florida to Ohio) in order to coax that tushy out of a pull-up and into Big Girl panties. This was accomplished after she was 2 yrs old.  Olivia breastfed until 18 months, Hannah dropped that and the bottle by 9 months and demanded a sippy cup. 

So while Jon and I steeled ourselves for the fact that "it" meaning puberty was coming, we had NOT in any way shape or form prepared ourselves for the fact that striking double digits on the birthday cake would bring about a tidal surge of dramatic outburst, raging mood swings and the onset of what appears to be a reflux disorder. 

My AH-mazing Trip to FL: Part 4 (the part where I explain driving 635 miles away from Mardi Gras to attend Mardi Gras and oh, yeah...the goodbye's)

"I love that your idea of morning and my idea of morning are the EXACT same thing."