Long day, feeling as though my chest was caving in. Breathing got tighter as the day progressed, with intermittent wheezy-coughing beginning in the evening.

Luckily, I don’t work tomorrow. Oh wait, that’s a dream hahahaha. Nope, full day of clinic ahead.

Trying to figure out now how to work without coughing on anyone, although without a doubt that’s how I got into this mess in the first place.

Viruses looooove company. They love to make you just sick enough that you move slower and cough on everyone, so that they can make little virus babies everywhere. It’s a very efficient way to propagate their species, and it completely sucks.

But it wasn’t all bad. Snippets of joy threaded through the day. Listening to my small one ask me increasingly funny questions as he becomes slightly easier to understand.

A family that I enjoy at the end of the day, just being their awesome selves.

Chatting with my girls over the dinner table.

Stealing an hour in the middle of the day to write, revise, repeat.

Hopefully, my little virus pet shuffles off to buffalo tomorrow and I can get back to enjoying my previously scheduled life.

Fingers crossed!


One way lies the steady,

the tried and the true

Each day lined up,

you know what to do

The other way there be monsters

Potentially awaiting.

Or could there be glory,

forever unabating

Which direction to go,

the question remains

Both could incur loss,

as the other one reigns

So listen to your heart

and listen to your head.

Sometimes the best option

is to go back to bed

Monday morning dreaming

There’s a bite in the air today, although the weather is warmer than it was. Something about the end of November makes me long for a warm blanket and a fireplace.

Especially on a Monday, I often wish I could call in sick, lay on the couch all day and devour book after book, looking out the window at a deceptively sunny day.

Or I wish I could wake up, on a beach somewhere, warm and tan without a care in the world as I sun myself.

But I sigh instead, and turn back to my duties. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I ever got my wish for leisure, and tan isn’t in my DNA.

Instead, I dream of the what if while going about my Monday morning have to’s,

and I realize I have all I want right in front of me


I was possessed by the spirit of a manic 1950s housewife today. That’s the only explanation I have for what transpired.

I had a list as long as my arm of things I needed to get done. Some day, eventually. Not necessarily on a nice Sunday.

But I woke up with the NEED to clean the house. This led to sweeping, mopping, dusting, washing the walls and doing all the laundry, making a casserole and ninjabread men.

Yes, I said ninjabread men. Cause they were ninjas. I even kept the kids occupied during this time by decorating their tiny ninjabread men.

And I wrapped my Christmas gifts. Well, mostly. I think I have some in the closet upstairs still, but that’s where naps were occurring. I bought the last of the gifts yesterday, because next month has very few free days and I hate the malls in December.

My feet ache from the percussive effect of all the housework in bare feet, but I feel calm. All the energy that drove me like a motor is gone, my feet are burning, but my kids are fed and happy, with ninjas for lunch tomorrow, and the floor is shiny.


Each day is a struggle to get to the middle, but battered and bruised, he never falters.

Pushing, fighting, scratching and climbing, struggle is all that she knows.

It’s not about the win, it’s about the journey, never giving up, never giving in.

He’s every hero we’ve ever aspired to be, not the one born with a silver spoon, or wealth and fame, not the one who’s led a charmed life, where the accolades came easily.

She’s the one up at four am, sweating for a few extra dollars, the one cleaning up at ten at night to support her family, making cookies in the middle of the night for school, up with a sick child.

They are the reason we believe in miracles.

Not because of the people living charmed lives. But because of those who scrounge and save and work and sweat blood.

And then sometimes, it happens.

The stars line up just perfectly, singing in unison, and they get their shining moment.

You know the one.

It makes us weep with joy, in awe of the majesty of the event.

Every underdog has one in them, a beautiful, glorious instant that surpasses all of those easy victories.

It’s that hope that keeps us rooting for the next underdog we see to have their shining day, so that we can marvel at its brilliance,

as close to magic as most people ever get.

Weeks end

Another week has flown and I review it all with tired bemusement as I sit, feet up, watching children’s cartoons.

I’m tired but content. We’ve had a lovely cough/gastro bug going around that decimated the week for the kids.

Poor Sam, for the first time I can remember she was excited to go to school to be the “special helper” for the week- and missed the entire thing. Even tonight she wanted to go to “Kenzie’s” house, but lay so listlessly on the couch that I said no, and her and Daddy stayed home and snuggled instead.

I remembered almost all of my commitments this week, although finally wished my brother happy birthday tonight, only three days late.

I blame this forgetting on his lack of Facebook, which I rely on to remind me about these things.

I clutch my child tight as he begins to fall asleep on my chest. For now, life is a comfortable rhythm of rush and relax, hurry up and wait.

I’m a creature of habit and I’ve gotten used to hearth and home. Someday it will be quiet and calm, and I’ll miss the noise and confusion, but for now I relish the calm at the end of day, and dream of sleep.


Date with my children

When did it happen?

I realized today that in one short month another year is over. Holidays are here with Black Friday madness spilling over the borders, and my children are getting older by the moment.

The little gremlins welcomed me home with sticky faces and half pyjama-clad bodies, hungry the way only small children can be.

So I took them out without daddy, as the dishwasher had gremlins of another sort, and daddy needed alone time to tinker.

I watched as one ate the sub, one ate the olives from the sub, and another ate the bread, and wondered if there was a simple way to feed them so they’d eat in public like humans instead of wild animals.

The oldest pointed out the floor,“Wow mom, look at the food on it”, with a complete lack of insight into how it got that way.

But as I watched, they talked to each other, they shared with open hearts and laughed with each other,

tiny people with big imaginations.

And when it was time to go, the two year old held up a finger, “two seconds. Mouth full!”

I love my gremlins. They may be messy and loud, but they sure are entertaining.


What is mercy

at the end of the day?

Is it better to give kisses

than kicks?

Is it the cool touch of a cup,

on a hot summer’s day,

a chair at the end of the road?

Is it comfort in an old friend,

or kindness from a stranger?

Mercy is a quality

which many believe they


yet fail to grasp its power.

The ability within your hand

to forgive,

instead of punish.

To show the compassion

within humanity

instead of the darkness.

Each day strive to live further

along the path to this light,

Whether through

the lens of religion

or as a human ideal,

we all benefit from it’s grace

in little ways,

every day

The Nest

My feathered little ones,

grow cold while waiting for the day.

I bring them delicacies and love,

they coo gratefully up at my offering

One day soon they will fly,

up and away into the blue

But for now they tuck

Under my wing

My little ones

One, two, three


with mommy in the nest

Disney on ice

We called the Ice Capades when I was a child, the amazing spectacle of people, synchronized on ice.

I’d always wanted to go, but somehow never did even though I skated three times a week until I left home.

I remember watching on tv specials the miracle that was this dance show on ice; how they could sing and dance so gracefully in groups of up to one hundred.

As memories go, it’s up there with the Sunday movies from the fifties, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I wanted to be them, back when I was nine or ten.

So today was a bit of nostalgia, wrapped in good intentions. We’ll create a new family tradition, I told my husband.

It’ll be great, you’ll see.

I’m not sure if the assurances were believed, by either of us.

But from the moment we arrived, the kids were captivated. There were a few rough patches, as the youngest had fallen asleep on the way, but overall, the majesty of the people skating on ice captured them the way it had me, all those years ago.

When the princesses came out, my five year old actually wept tears of joy, because “it’s so beautiful mom. I can’t help it.”

When the pyrotechniqes shot out, my six year old squealed with glee.

And when Elsa sang, my little man sang with her.

They all waved at the cast at the end, delighted to see their princesses and hero’s and Minnie and Mickey waving back.

It’s a particular kind of warmth that fills your heart when you see your children fall in love with your memories.

So maybe after all, this will be a holiday tradition we can keep.

Until next year!