Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Mainly because it's all about food and less about buying the perfect gift. The one day of the year when calorie intake doesn't count and it's perfectly acceptable to wear stretchy pants for four days straight. This year is no different.
A few days ago a very interesting story started trending online... again. It's one that dominates water-cooler conversations, late-night punchlines and everyone's social media feed. "Man donates testicle for a $35,000 payout."
More than two decades ago, as we were standing at the alter getting married, my minister, who had known me all my life, turned to my soon-to-be husband and said, "we all have our cross to bear in life, and, I promise, Angel is going to be yours!"
I'm rushing home with a carload of grocery bags filled with 822 separate ingredients for a dish I volunteered to prepare for a get-together. And why? Because it looked heavenly in a copy of Bon App'etit I swiped from the gynecologist's office earlier in the week. In the back seat sits an 11 year old who isn't talking to me because I said "no" to a sleepover. Up front, sits a 16 year old laughing at something a friend just texted that I probably wouldn't approve of. As we pull in the garage, I mentally start going through my list.
There's something easy about traveling with your nuclear family. No grandma, no grandpa, no aunts, uncles, no cousin twice removed. Just you and the kids. Easy in the sense that there's no expectations of how to behave. You're in your comfort zone because you share your life with these people day in, day out. They know you will order dessert at every meal on vacation. You know deep sea fishing isn't worth the money but totally worth it for the memories.
They told me it would happen. My sisters, my brother, my friends, strangers in line at the grocery. I didn't listen. In fact, I despised those words, "You're going to miss this stage."
Over the last three years, I've learned so many things about my dad. But two stand out the most.
So the text from my friend Caroline went something like this: "Handgun classes and kickboxing! You go girl! What's next? Eating number 5 at Pad Thai?"
This past Wednesday we moved our eldest into her new home away from home for the next four years.
You read that right. After a very uneventful two weeks waiting for something funny, dangerous, or even inspiring to happen...nothing. I started and stopped about 30 different story ideas. This happens sometimes but this time...nothing.
There's rarely an occasion my boys and I can have a conversation where they aren't trying to talk over each other or fighting. I never know where these times of curious questioning and mostly peaceful exchanges will lead but since I fancy myself a cool parent nothing is off limits.
I had a terrible dream last night. You were leaving for a trip. A trip alone. A trip without us; your parents and little brother. We were getting ready to check bags when the attendant asked for your passport. We forgot it. I panic, offering to pay whatever in order to get a "quickie passport" printed at the gate.
Eight weeks ago I brought two new family members home. A mommy cat we named Elphaba and her baby Max. Both were cuddly and docile cuties. Until the third week when Elphaba went into heat.
My parenting responsibilities always require that I go into overdrive during the summer months.
Our oldest was not quite a year old when we took our first official "family vacation." I was still getting the hang of new motherhood so the idea of getting out of town sounded PERFECT.
Just 24 hours after my last column appeared in The Wilson Post, I started to breathe normally again.
I'm sad, I'm scared, I'm constipated. Or why I want you to know I'm in therapy.
As they say, all good things must come to an end, and on Sunday, May 17, at exactly 2:30 p.m. at College Hills Church of Christ in Lebanon, the Year of Madison bit the dust.
So I got a mammogram today. It sounds like it was a spur of the moment thing. It was, actually.
Every so often while in conversation with another mom or dad, one will say, "Be glad you have boys. At least you don't have to worry about fill in the blank."
It's no secret to my friends, family and anyone wandering the cleaning aisle of the local grocery that I don't enjoy cleaning. I enjoy cooking, eating, reading. I do not enjoy cleaning.
With Spring Break now over, the writing is on the wall. And as hard as I try to keep my eyes tightly shut, whenever I open them just for a moment, I can see the "Year of Madison" quickly coming to an end.
We had a death in the family last week. While the deceased has (or had, rather) four legs, this did not make his sudden passing any less painful.
You may not be getting all you can out of your browsing experience
and may be open to security risks!
Consider upgrading to the latest version of your browser or choose on below: