..and many more...

We had an early family birthday dinner last night

at my favorite place, Koki's.Molly loves the soup..Jack loves the rice...This year, I have a wonderful and challenging group

of kiddos in my class, but fortunately they come

with a wonderful group of parents.

At 2:00, I was surpised when my door opened

and a group of them came in,

bringing a whole party!So, I celebrated with 18 of my favorite people! And then, headed off to Disneyland with my other

favorite kiddos...

I had a wonderful day...I am very blessed by family and friends who sent many emails and cards (and Facebook messages).

I appreciated all the well wishes...

Here's to another 34 healthy, fun, and happy years!

(and Happy Birthday to Nana tomorrow!)

one day, I will be this good

With all the kids' books out there,

it can be overwhelming to find the

really good ones...

So, let me help you....

Little Pea is about a pea family.

The baby veggie doesn't like to

eat candy...

In Little Hoot the owl parents

force their baby owl to stay up late,

and he wants to go to bed early.And, in the newest book, Litte Oink,

the littlest swine doesn't like to

make a mess or be dirty, but

his pig parents make him do so before

he can go play.

I don't know anything about this

author/illustrator duo...

only that I want to write books like this.

One day.

Tiny..#2

So, Tiny was with us exactly one year and one day.

I had a cowardly parenting moment.

I wasn't ready to have that talk with Jack.

So, I went to PetCo.

And I bought a replacement.

I know, it's not the right thing to do...

Let's see how long it takes him to

notice...

remembering...

So, I have been scanning some old pictures lately...

to feed my other addiction, FaceBook.
Some oldies like:

Then, I started reading old blog posts...

and am so thankful that I started it because

I had already forgotten about some

funny things like:

Jack's preschool graduation

Jack's artwork (it has changed so much!)

Jack's love for his NEW sister

Jack's 5th Birthday cupcake story

Jack's letter to his preschool teacher
some of Molly's first playdates

and, while I didn't forget about it,

Jack's mascara commercial is

always fun to watch!

What post has been your favorite?

march

This past Sunday I proudly turned in my $800

to the March of Dimes.

(thank you to everyone who donated!)

It was exciting to be a part of something that

seemed so big....

and so exciting to see all the sweet little faces

in strollers!

My shirt...Celebrating 2 miles!But, this little guy?

I'd walk a gazillion miles for him!Talan and the back of my shirt.Thank you Smith family, for letting me share

the day with you...

CHOC walk...here we come!

dancing queen

She's got some serious moves...
(and some cute new pajamas!)

I wish I had written this...

I came across this on YouTube and can't get it to post...
Then, I found that my mom had just finished reading Kelly Corrigan's book, The Middle Place.
The excerpt made me smile and cry...but mostly feeling SO thankful for the friends that I have.
And I would've never been able to say this to them as well as she did.
But I do FEEL it as much as she does...

To my friends....even when I am too busy with work and family and kids...and when I am too tired to call or email or blog...I am thankful for you.

by Kelly Corrigan:
I turned 40 a few weeks ago. I tried (twice) to make a toast about friendship but both times, I blew it. I wanted to say something about my mom and her friends, who call themselves “The Pigeons.”

There were once at least a dozen “Pigeons” (I believe the name was a self-effacing twist on Hens) but in the past few years, they lost two of the greats, Robin Burch and Mary Maroney, to cancer. On the pigeons go, though, like women do, limping one minute, carrying someone the next. They started in the 60s, in suburban Philadelphia, with bridge and tennis and chardonnay (ok, vodka) and, over time, became something like a dedicated fleet, armed ships sailing together, weather be damned.

For me and women of my generation, it started with playdates, cutting carbs and meeting on Monday mornings in workout clothes to do awkward moves with large colorful balls. And I can see exactly where it’s heading.

We’ll water each other’s plants, pick up each other’s mail, take each other’s Christmas card photos. We’ll confer about jog bras and contractors and pediatricians. We’ll gossip about babysitters, teachers, neighbors, in laws. We’ll speculate about who had a shot of Botox, who cheats on their taxes, who cleans until midnight. We’ll implore each other to read this book or see this movie or listen to this song. We’ll persuade each other to bake, sell, recruit, fold, stuff, paint, clean and write checks for our favorite non-profits.

We’ll celebrate each other’s achievements –opening an exercise studio, a corner store, a jewelry business. We’ll celebrate our kids’ achievements – making the traveling team, singing in the choir, learning to use the potty or speak French or play the flute. We’ll borrow eggs, earrings, extra chairs, galvanized tubs for a barbeque. We’ll throw birthday parties for each other and stain the rugs and shatter the wine glasses and mark up new counters with the odd slice of lemon. We’ll worry about who seems down, who looks tired, whose drinking more and more. We’ll say things we wished we hadn’t and have to find a way to regain each other’s trust. Things will break, they always do. Many will be fixed.

We’ll fret over our children—too shy, too loud, too angry, too needy. We’ll brainstorm ways to help them become more resilient, patient, forgiving, light-hearted. We’ll protect them—fiercely—pulling little bodies from the deep end, double-latching windows, withholding car keys.

We’ll bury our mothers and our fathers—shuttling our children off for sleepovers, jumping on red eyes, telling each other stories that hurt to hear about gasping, agonal breaths, hospice nurses, scars and bruises and scabs and how skin papers shortly after a person passes. We will nod in agreement that it is as much an honor to witness a person come into the world as it is to watch a person leave it.

People will drift in and out. Book clubs will swell and thin. We’ll write someone off and they’ll reemerge later and we’ll remember both why we loved them and why we let them slip away but we’ll be softer and we’ll want them back, for nostalgia will get stronger.

We’ll admire each other for a fine crème brule, a promotion, a degree, a finished marathon. We’ll commiserate about commutes, layoffs, mortgage rates, bosses, unappreciated toys. We’ll confide in each other about feeling anxious or angry or uninteresting or uninspired or how many pieces of Halloween candy we accidentally ate from our kids’ bags. We’ll confess that our husbands don’t really listen to us or that we should be having more sex or that we yell at our kids every day. We’ll admit that we believe in God, Jesus Christ, Heaven and Hell, or that we don’t.

We’ll give up things together—caffeine, catalogs, Costco, social smoking. We’ll take up things too—morning walks, green tea, organic dairy, saying grace.

We’ll throw potlucks and take each other to lunch and give each other frames and soaps and bracelets. We’ll check each other’s heads for lice and examine new bumps and moles and listen to lists of symptoms. We’ll diagnose each other’s brown lawns, torn muscles, basement odors. We’ll teach other how to set a ring tone, make a slide show, download a movie.

We will call and say “I heard the news” and whatever the news is, we will come running, probably with food. We’ll insist on taking the kids, finding second opinions, lots of rest and the best surgeon. We will face diseases, many kinds, and will—temporarily—lose our hair, our figures and our minds.

Eventually, someone whose not supposed to die will, maybe one of us, maybe a husband, God forbid a child, and all this celebrating and sharing and confessing will make certain essential comforts possible. We’ll rally around and hold each other up and it won’t be nearly enough but it will help the time pass just a hair faster than it would have otherwise. We will wait patiently and lovingly for that first laugh after the loss. When it comes, and it will come, we will cry as we howl as we clutch as we circle. We will transcend, ladies. Because we did all this, in that worst moment, we will transcend.

Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say.