A little goodbye each day…

Ben at 1 year old and Ben at 7 years old.
Ben at 1 year old and Ben at 7 years old.

My world got turned upside down this morning, and it happened with a simple touch to my child’s back.

As I was waking my now 7 ½ year old (that ½ is VERY important) Ben up this morning, I rubbed his back. For a brief moment I flashed forward to that back no longer being that of a little boy’s but a young man’s. For some reason this morning his back felt so broad under my hand. I could feel the muscles contracting, and for just a split second that back felt more like a man’s than a boys… and I realized I don’t have a baby anymore… and it broke my heart a little.

How did we all of a sudden get to 7 years old? How in the world have I been a parent for almost a decade?!?

I still feel like I’ve just entered this huge Olympic size pool of parenting, and all I’ve done so far is dip my toe into the water. Yet here I am, with a 7½ year old and as of today, a 4 year old… happy birthday Joey!

I’m losing my babies. I don’t have little, little kids anymore. It’s no longer a three ring circus when we leave the house: no bottles, diaper bags, extra clothes, etc… It’s just a two ring circus now… chasing boys, grabbing coats and backpacks, and we’re out the door. These are HUGE milestones. I savor them, but today I’m missing those babies of mine.

But here’s the thing I realized in that brief moment this morning: these boys have never really been mine, they haven’t been mine since they left the cocoon of my body. All this work, time, energy, worry, and love that I put into parenting my boys every day doesn’t mean they are really mine: they are their own people, with their own path to find and walk. I’ve just been honored and blessed with the privilege (and the frustration) of raising them so they can leave some day and walk strongly, with confidence and grace into the life they are meant to live.

So every milestone we reach in our home is also a little goodbye, a little goodbye to what was, but I’m hoping I have the strength and the wisdom to embrace the hello of a new day .

 

 

 

Give Yourself a High Five when your kid says this….

 

 

11950319_10207473277452892_625676165814870721_oThere is one sentence I believe every mother should own and wear as a badge of honor. In fact, maybe we need actual badges with the sentence printed on it, maybe bedazzled on, or in big bold letters… whatever works for you, when you hear that sentence, I think every mom should wear it with pride.

I heard it for the first time when Ben was 4 years old. I remember the day well. I’d just picked him up from preschool, and he wasn’t getting in the car as I’d asked him to do. After what felt like the 100th time of telling him to get in the car, I finally said, “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” That’s when I picked him up and put him in the car myself. At 4 years old this was not okay with Ben. He always wanted to get himself into the car, so when I took that privilege away from him, my sweet, blond haired, blue eyed angel looked me in the eye and with all the loathing a 4 year old can muster he said, “I wish you weren’t my mommy.” There it was. Four years of parenting and I finally got hit with that zinger.

When I told my girlfriends about it, every single one of them said the same thing: “I’m so sorry” and “ I’m glad I haven’t had to hear that yet.”

As much as I appreciated the kind words, there is no need to feel bad for me. Here’s why: I believe that little sentence means I’m doing my job as a mom.

I wear that sentence as a badge of honor. That’s right, a badge of honor.

To me that sentence is simple: it means I’m the mommy and I’m doing what a mommy is supposed to be doing. I’m setting boundaries for your 4 year old self, and I’m sure I’m going to be hearing it when you’re 14 when I’m setting boundaries for your teenage self (God help me when that time comes.)

I don’t feel bad he said it, because I said it too. I said it to my mom when I was little. I always said it when I didn’t get what I wanted, or she said no, or she didn’t do something I wanted her to do. Basically I said that one sentence when my mom was putting boundaries up, or when she was teaching me life lessons. Life lessons that at 5 years old I didn’t much appreciate. Okay, okay, I said that one sentence A LOT as a teenager, and I didn’t much appreciate what she was trying to teach me then either.

I know why I said those words: to hurt her, to make her feel bad, to make her think there were better mommies out there.

I know that’s why Ben said it too. So I looked him in the eye and said, “I know you do.” That’s all the acknowledgement I gave that sentence.

What I really wanted to do was raise my arm in the air and high five myself because that sentence acknowledged that in some small way I’m not totally screwing up this parenting thing. Every once in a while, I’m getting it right, and at the end of the day, that’s all I can ask for.

Guess what? Three years have passed since Ben first said those words… Joey turns four this week and I haven’t heard the same sentence, but I think it’s a different version of the exact same sentiment: “Mommy sometimes I don’t love you.”

That’s another badge for me.

Carefree? What Does that Mean??

10873579_10205864761601001_7591624729315646503_oBefore I had children, a girlfriend, who was already a mom, gave me a bit of advice I didn’t understand at ALL: once you’re a mom your life will never be carefree again.

I naively thought I understood that statement. I also arrogantly thought it wouldn’t apply to me.

I was determined the hubby and I would still have date nights at least twice a month, and there was just no way we’d sit and talk about the baby, like so many couples we knew did. We had interests and hobbies that had nothing to do with babies, and that’s what would be discussed during nights out.

I was so determined to make sure our life stayed carefree I booked and planned a romantic weekend away during my third trimester of my first pregnancy for AFTER the baby was born. See? My carefree life was still going to happen.

My 4:45 am alarm clock wake up so I could go to the gym 6 days a week? Of course that would happen once the baby got here. Seriously, I was a morning television news anchor for close to 10 years before I had a kid, I knew sleep deprivation. I had to wake up at 3 am to get to work. So how hard could it really be to deal with a newborn that didn’t sleep much? I could certainly get myself to the gym by 5am and still be able to manage an infant.

On that same note, I was one of 10 kids (Good Catholics, if you’re wondering). I had upwards of 20 nieces and nephews and I changed my first diaper at 6 years old. I grew up with kids all around, so of course, I knew how to raise a baby (you’re laughing at that last statement aren’t you? I know I am!). I’d been watching my parents and siblings doing it my whole life. How hard could it be? (Once again, go ahead and laugh).

Then the baby, better known as Ben, arrived… and then things got REAL.

Those date nights? Yeah, they happened… every few months. The hubs and I did catch up while we tried our best to stay out (I mean awake) past 8pm. We talked about… THE BABY. Those hobbies and interests? They were still there. I loved reading a great novel. If EVERY book about how to get your baby to sleep through the night counted as a novel, I was reading ALL THE TIME!

That weekend away? It happened. Ben caught his first cold two days before we were supposed to leave, so what was supposed to be a carefree (there’s that dreaded word again!) weekend away to reconnect as a couple turned into a constant worry about if my baby was going to survive his first cold, and of course I just knew that somehow my abandoning him in his time of need was going to adversely affect him, which in turn made me the worst mother to ever live.

That 4:45 am wake up 6 days a week? Yeah, I kept exercising… with a baby strapped into a jogging stroller while I ran a couple of miles a week. Ben turns 7 in a couple of months, and I once again wake up at 4:45am to exercise, but I’ve never gotten back to 6 days a week. I’m planning on that happening: likely in the year 2030 when my youngest is set to graduate high school. I know see that as a reasonable and attainable goal.

Sleep Deprivation? Nothing, not even anchoring a morning news program, can prepare you for the sleep deprivation that comes with having a baby. You just have to experience it for yourself.

How hard can raising a baby/toddler/child be? SO HARD!!!! There are absolutely no words that can ever explain to someone who is not a parent just how hard parenting is. I know most people say it’s also the most rewarding thing a person will ever do… yeah, I don’t think that’s always the case. I’d say it’s about 50/50.

I will say this: even during those days and weeks (and sometimes months) when parenting is tough, rough, and messy, those little beings have 100% of my heart and soul, and I wouldn’t take my old carefree life back if it meant not having them in it. (Okay, okay, I’d take it for a day a two).

I just had THAT Conversation!!

Ben, the day he was born.
Ben, the day he was born.

I had THAT conversation with my 6 year old the other day. You know the one… how do babies get out of their mommies?

Our drive home always takes us past the hospital my youngest son was born at, and some days we shout out, “There’s Joey’s hospital!”

That’s exactly what we did the other day, and then everything changed when Ben, my 6 year old, said, “Mommy can babies be born any place besides a hospital?”

Innocent enough question… so I thought.

Here’s what happened next:

Me:” Yes, babies can pretty much be born anywhere, they don’t have to be born at a hospital.”

Ben: “But then how do they get out of their mommies tummies, since they have to be cut out.”

(Point of clarity: I had two c-sections, so my boys have always seen my scar and they know that’s how they got out of mommy’s tummy, apparently Ben assumed, innocently enough ALL babies get out that way.)

Me: “Not all babies have to but cut out of their mommies.”

Ben: “They don’t?? Then how do they get out of their mommies?”

Oh God. I started sweating at that question. I wasn’t expecting that zinger. So, do I tell the truth or go down the path of least resistance. Yeah… I decided to tell the truth.

Me: “They come out of their mommy’s vaginas.”

Ben: “They do?!?” This was said with a look of horror on his face. “What do they look like?!?” Again, the kid looked like he was about to faint.

Me: “The babies or the vaginas?” (I was hoping he’d say babies.)

Ben: “The babies.” (Oh thank God he said babies!!!)

Me: “They look like all other babies who come out of their mommies tummies.”

Ben: “Aren’t they covered in poop?”

Me: “No. They come out of the vagina, not their mom’s bottom.”

Ben: “Well, they’re connected, so wouldn’t they have poop on them?”

Me: “Ben, vaginas and bottoms are not connected.”

Ben: “Uh, yes, they are.” He said is his 6 year old know it all voice.

Me: “You have a penis and a bottom, and they’re not connected. Neither are vaginas and bottoms.”

Ben: “So babies don’t come out of vaginas covered in poop?”

Me: “No, honey, they don’t.”

Joey (3 years old): “Why we keep talking about ba-ginas?!”

Yeah, good question.

I had no idea when Ben asked his innocent question it would turn into an anatomy lesson.

I’m sure some of you might think I took the conversation too far, or that I didn’t need to be so detailed in my descriptions, but I want my kids to have the right age appropriate information, and I want to be the person to educate them.

So, this was NOT the conversation I expected to have with my 6 year old, and let me tell you I was sweating bullets when we were having it, and I really wanted to tell him that other babies come from storks, but I just knew that wouldn’t fly (no pun intended) with Ben.

Hence, the honest conversation about where babies come from.

The conversation wrapped up like this:

Me: “Ben, are you glad you had to be cut out of mommy?”

Ben: “YES!!!”

I bet.

I’m Not Ready for This!

Hiking and "meditating"
Hiking and “meditating”

For almost seven years my life has been full of babies or toddlers and everything that comes with them: diapers, bottles, temper tantrums, more diapers, more temper tantrums, more diapers… you get the picture.

That’s all about to change (at least the diaper part, I’m sure the temper tantrums will stick around). My youngest is well on his way to being potty trained. It’s a day the hubs and I have been waiting for. No more diapers means a new kind of freedom for our family! It really means no more babies or toddlers! I should be ecstatic! I’ve basically been waiting for this day since my boys were born. Want to know I secret? I’m a little sad. I’m realizing that every new step, every new milestone they make, means they’re taking one more step farther away from me. They are becoming more independent. Each day they need me a little bit less. Even though there is a part of me that is thrilled by that, it breaks my heart a little.

When my almost 7 year old, Ben, was born, I was fully entrenched in a television news career. I’d met my goal of anchoring in a major market. I’d spent more than a decade focusing on building a career, and my goal was to keep working and fit this new baby into my life. Well, that didn’t happen.

I did keep working, but I changed professions, because after baby #2, I needed a job that would allow me to be a mom first. Over the past almost seven years my life has morphed into something that I didn’t expect. I became a mother. Every decision I make about my life always comes back to that: I am a mom.

I am also a friend, a wife, a sister, and a citizen. I’m also outgoing, opinionated, and I think, kind of funny, but at the end of the day I am forever a mother. I didn’t expect this role to define me the way it has, but it has, and I’m still learning to embrace it.

Now that these two little people don’t need me as much, I have to admit, it’s tilting my axis a bit. They’ve become my true north, my compass, if you will, and things are changing, and I’m sad. My life has become consumed in so many ways by them, by their needs, their wants, and let’s be honest: my main goal has been to keep them alive and healthy. So far so good.

I am in a bit of mourning right now. I look at Ben and I can barely remember him as a baby. It’s not even been 7 years, but I have a hard time remembering that first year of motherhood and all the insecurity and anxiety and fear I had in this new role. Now I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I’ve managed to get two kids through babyhood and toddlerhood fairly unscathed (talk to their therapists in 20 years, and they might tell you differently). So I feel good about where I’m at as a mother.

I’m getting ready to go down a new path, an uncharted path of motherhood. I’m entering into the school age phase of motherhood, and I’m scared. I don’t know this world. I don’t know how to mother in this arena.

I’m missing my babies, even the diapers. I don’t know if I’m ready for this next phase of life. I think I know why: the last seven years have gone so quickly I can’t believe they’re ending. I know I’m going to blink, and the next seven years will have gone by, and these two babies of mine will be on the cusp of leaving my home and spreading their wings and flying away. I’m not ready for THAT phase! So for now, I’ll figure out this new phase of motherhood and hopefully I won’t be too much of a hot mess… but the odds aren’t good.

 

 

Toddlers, Meltdowns, and the Public

Fashion Shows and toddlers don’t mix. Basically ANYTHING and toddlers don’t mix. Am I right?

My toddler right before a meltdown... lovely.
My toddler right before a meltdown… lovely.

Seriously who thought it was a good idea to take little Nori West to her Dad’s fashion show? She isn’t even two years old! I barely wanted to take my two year old to the grocery store, let alone a fashion show, or ANY show for that matter.

Toddlers are predictably unpredictable creatures. One day they will behave like little angels when you take them to a restaurant (by restaurant I mean McDonalds). All parents know what this does: you put your guard down, in fact, you get a little cocky and you think, “we can go to that restaurant again.” BAD IDEA!!! DON’T DO IT!!! That toddler has you fooled. You walk into that restaurant like you own it (and you’re a little smug to boot, because you know your kid won’t throw a temper tantrum… because they didn’t throw own the last time.) Don’t worry your sweet angel won’t throw that tantrum right away, he’ll let you order, find a seat, get settled in, get the food, put it on the table, and then ALL HELL WILL BREAK LOOSE!!!! That toddler will throw the most epic tantrum and you will sit there in shock, red faced, and trying to calm your child all the while wondering how this could have happened. How did it happen?!? YOU HAVE A TODDLER. That’s how it happened.

So, when I saw Nori West attending a fashion show during New York Fashion Week, I thought, good luck with that one. Is there a toddler on the planet who could sit through that and not have a meltdown? It’s not just the sitting and waiting part, it’s the bright lights, strange noises, and let’s face it, weird people, that are going to freak out any normal toddler. Then, the headlines after Nori lost it:

“North West’s Front-Row Freakout,” Page Six

“Anna Wintour Has a Hilarious Reaction to North West’s Front Row Tantrum,” Us Weekly

“Kim Kardashian’s Toddler North Throws a Tantrum in Front Row at New York Fashion Week,” Daily Mail

 Seriously? She’s 20 months old! Say what you will about her parents (I have my own opinions about that) but they are new parents and I’m sure they were trying to do their best and they wanted their child at a big life event… I get it. I wouldn’t have made the same choice because my kids would have been even worse. If I were famous I’m sure you would’ve seen one of my little angels rushing the stage, knocking down a model, and basically wreaking havoc… and then we would have been banned from Fashion Week for life, so you won’t be getting any judgment from me.

What I will judge folks on is their glee in seeing an almost 2 year old having a very public meltdown. It doesn’t matter who her parents are, or what decisions those parents make, she is a toddler, and she is doing what toddlers are supposed to do: make her parents’ lives hell about 90% of the time. Thank God for that other 10% of sweetness, cuteness, and snuggles… it’s what makes the toddler years worth it.

 

Changing My Tune About Valentine’s Day

 

My loves...or should I say "My Valentines."
My loves…or should I say “My Valentines.”

Let me be clear: I don’t HATE Valentine’s Day, I just think it’s a bit of a silly holiday (see no hate ).

I’ve always thought you and your romantic partner should strive to show each other how you feel everyday, not just on a designated holiday when you are expected to declare your feelings for one another.

In fact, I’ve felt so strongly about this, that my husband and I have never celebrated Valentine’s Day. It all started when our first Valentine’s Day as a couple was looming 13 years ago and he asked me what I’d like to do that day. I told him nothing, and explained my reasoning behind my decision.

Hence we’ve never gone to dinner, given gifts or cards or flowers on that day.

So you might be surprised to learn I’ve had a bit of a change of heart. No, it’s not because I want/expect anything from the hubby. This is about my kids.

I realized the other day that I want a special day to show them how much we (the hubby and I) love THEM. We are raising our boys to celebrate us on Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day, so why not have a day to let them know they are special?

This year, this self proclaimed Valentine’s Day naysayer is eating her words, and I’m going to celebrate the two little loves of my life.

Why? I think it’s important they see love and tenderness and kindness. If I get off my high horse for a moment (and I have a tendency to ride that horse often) and truly look at what Valentine’s Day is supposed to be isn’t it all about love? That doesn’t have to mean romantic love. It’s an opportunity for this flawed mommy to say to those boys of mine, “I love you. I treasure you. I cherish you.”

It won’t be a day full of hearts and candy and chocolate. Instead it will be a day to spend together as a family, doing things my high spirited, high energy boys love to do: run outside, play at the park, and do it with their mom and dad fully engaged with them. And or course we’ll start the day out at a local donut shop, because they’re 3 and 6 and they LOVE donuts.

For my little family it will be a day centered around love: the love of our perfectly imperfect foursome. I’m blessed to call these people mine, and I want to celebrate them… so bring it on Valentine’s Day, I’m ready.

 

Mom, I finally get it!

My mom and my teenage self my senior year in high school.
My mom and my teenage self my senior year in high school.

When I was growing up my mom made comments about how my brothers and sisters and I were spoiled and not grateful and we didn’t appreciate anything she did for us. Truth be told, she sounded like a broken record. (I should have clued in, right?) She’d say these things and I’d think: please, you only had us to have a maid service (Yeah, I didn’t just think that, I actually said it a few times as well). We have to clean the bathrooms, clean the kitchen, help fold laundry, and vacuum!!! All while she would lie on her bed reading a Harlequin romance novel. To my teenage self, she just seemed lazy… Yep, I thought that too! Well fast forward 25 years and there is one simple thing I wish I could tell my mom: I get it (Oh, and karma’s a bitch).

Finally, I get just how much you did for me. You pushed me (no pottery class for me in high school, it was all college prep), you made me earn my keep (cleaning bathrooms, kitchens, and vacuuming) you made sure I understood there were expectations I needed to meet (getting good grades, not breaking curfew, taking care of my younger sisters when needed). I could go on and on about all the things you made me do, that I just hated and resented because a) I was a teenager b) I thought you were lazy c) I was a teenager (yep, I put that in there twice, because OH MY GOD TEENAGERS! I don’t even have one yet, but again OH MY GOD, TEENAGERS!).

I now know you were anything but lazy. You raised 10 kids (and some stragglers that showed up along the way). You cooked, cleaned, checked homework, and you did it every single day!!! Now I realize those few minutes (which seemed like HOURS to my teenage self) you took to read a romance novel had to feel like pure decadence to you. I bet you were just hoping and praying we’d give you 10 minutes of peace and quiet so you could take a little bit of time for yourself. I’m sure we were arguing over something, and one of us came running to find you so you could referee our fight, which in turn would lead to one of us getting pissed off at you, because you didn’t take our side. I can’t remember how many times I said, “You always take Denise/Nina/Tony’s side over me.” I don’t know how you didn’t drop kick one or all of us ALL THE TIME. Seriously, we were complete pains in the ass.

How did I become so wise? I’m a mother now, and EVERYTHING I ever said or did is coming back to me tenfold (see, karma). Recently, my 6 year old Ben,  informed me (in the middle of a crowded school hallway) that and I’m quoting, “You’re always wrong.” This after I didn’t remember it wasn’t mass day at school. Ben told me it wasn’t, (but I had a hard time believing a first grader who hates wearing a tie) I still made him wear his mass clothes. As you can imagine, when we got to school, it was meltdown city because as Ben said, “I told you it wasn’t mass day.” So, in order to calm him down, and to be fair, he did tell me it wasn’t mass day, I dropped him in line at school, ran back to my car as fast as my high heels would carry me (oh did I mention I was also carrying my 30 plus pound 3 year old, since I was running late that day, and didn’t get a chance to drop him off at daycare first?) and drove the 3 miles home to grab his regular uniform and then drove all the way back to his school, pull him out of class so he could change his clothes, and what did I get? I know you’re thinking “Thank you, mommy.” Yeah, try again. I got “ You are always wrong, I told you it wasn’t mass day.”

Those are the moments I want to say,”Suck it kid, you have no clue every damn thing I do for you!!!” Then I want to pick up the phone and call you and tell you about it so we can laugh together and you can remind me of all the times I did those things to you. I actually know you wouldn’t remind me, you’d just say, “Oh, honey, it’s all part of being a mom.”

So, mom, I get it, I finally get it. I finally get the sacrifice, the love, the joy, and the frustration you had raising me. I just wish you were still here so I could tell you. I hope you have a front row view from heaven so you can see all my mothering mishaps and I hope they put a little smile on your face.

Four Life Lessons I Hope my Son Learns from the Super Bowl

SOMETIMES YOUR TEAM DOESN’T WIN.

Sorry kid, life isn’t fair. It doesn’t matter how hard you’ve (or your team) has practiced. It doesn’t matter how many games you’ve won. It doesn’t even matter if you’re the better team. Some days it’s just not meant to be, and you won’t win. You know what? Be loyal. Back your team whether they win or lose. Don’t find blame in the loss, find beauty in the game that was played.

WE ALL MAKE BAD CALLS.

Yes, son, we all make bad calls (I won’t even discuss my dating decisions in my 20’s). You shouldn’t be defined by the call, rather by how you handle the aftermath of that call. That’s exactly what Seattle Seahawks head coach Pete Carroll did when the Seahawks decided to throw the ball instead of run it. After the game, Carroll said, “That’s my fault, totally.” Whether other people held responsibility in that play, it didn’t matter. Carroll is the leader of that team, and he took responsibility. Son, that’s one of the lessons I hope you take away from that play: it’s about how you deal with the bad calls you make in life, not the bad call itself. Trust me, you will make bad calls, no doubt about it. When you do, it’s your choice to either own it or pass the buck. I hope you decide to own every bad call you make. So with that, I liked those bad boys, and I thought I could change them. That was a bad call on my part. Good thing I finally made a great call when I met your dad. (I feel like I won my own Super Bowl with that call.)

 YOU GET WHAT YOU GET AND YOU DON’T THROW A FIT.

You don’t bawl (or brawl) when things don’t turn out the way you want them to. It’s the interception that will go down in history, and it’s the play that arguably won the game for the Patriots. Does every Seahawk and Seahawk fan wish it hadn’t happened? ABSOLUTELY! However, with 20 seconds left on the clock, and the opposing team’s quarterback takes a knee to run the clock out and win the game, you don’t get to get mad and start throwing punches. That’s not classy, that’s not how any man (for that matter, any one) should react to a bad, frustrating, soul crushing situation. Bad things happen, they happen every day. When they do, act like a gentleman. Hold your head up high, and as long as you did your best know that’s what matters, even if it means you don’t always win.

ALWAYS BE A GOOD SPORT.

It’s my hope, son, that as you grow, you will only be judged by the content of your character. At the end of the day, I believe that’s all you have, and you show the world who you are, by how you act. That was evident at the end of the game when Richard Sherman held his hand out to Tom Brady. Sherman had just lost one of the most important games of his career. Instead of brawling or even bawling for that matter, he walked over to Brady, who was down on bended knee, stuck his hand out, and waited until Brady noticed him. The men shook hands, and I’m pretty sure, they said, “Good game.” That is what sport, school, and basically life is all about. Give it your all, and no matter the final outcome, ALWAYS say “Good game.” Be a good sport, on and off the field, because that shows who you are, not what you can do. They’re different my sweet boy, and being a good man will always outweigh being a good athlete.

Oh Ben….

Ben, my 6 year old, wants another baby. Let me re-phase that. Ben wants me to have another baby. That’s just not happening. I am finished being pregnant. However, there is a part of me that knows if we are meant to have another child, that child will find its way to our little family. I’ve told my husband over the years that if for some reason our doorbell rang one night and there was an abandoned baby on our doorstep, that child would be ours. I feel the same way about finding a baby in a dumpster. (I realize these scenarios are highly unlikely, but they do happen. I was in the news business long enough to hear about many of them. Hence why I say it’s possible this could happen to us.)

Besides, my family has a history of taking in babies in need. I have a sister who’s adopted. I have numerous nieces and nephews who came to our family through the foster care system, so as my husband always says, “You’re a Gaudette, and only Gaudettes’ would say there’s a chance a baby would be dropped at our door.” God bless my sweet husband for understanding, (it’s more like tolerating) my family’s idiosyncrasies.

So, getting back to my first point: Ben wants a new baby sister. The topic comes up so much, I’ve started telling him to pray about it. I’ve told him that if God wants us to have another baby, He will bring us one, just not through mommy’s tummy.

The other day, he said once again, “Mommy can we please, please have a baby sister.”

Me:”Ben, mommy isn’t having another baby. You need to keep praying to God about this.”

Ben:”Oh, I am praying. I keep telling God we just need one good orphan.”

I’ll let you know if his prayer ever gets answered.