Today I am in a wonderful mood. Woke up happy and healthy with happy and healthy kids. But I have been quite reflective today. I can’t seem to stop my mind. I had alot of paperwork to complete but my mind kept wondering and I kept thinking about random things.

I know I talk alot about the perils of being a single mother but it is who I am at this point in my life. It defines me right now. It is at the very core of my soul, and I know I must make it sound horrible. Truly I do not feel that way. Some days I truly enjoy being a single mom. Not having to consult with anyone really and I make all the choices for my children. What I say goes, so to speak. A week or so ago I was reading a blog I was led to by another blog and the blogger was going on and on about her neighbor that left her garbage cans on the curb for two days after the garbage ran, who sometimes needed a ride to school for her daughter and who at one point left her younger daughter with the oldest daughter whom proceeded to sneak out after the little girl was asleep, leaving her alone. I immediately knew the woman she was talking about was a single mom, even though she never said so, and I got very sad. I realized people must so often see me as a spaz, someone that can’t get their act together. Someone that litters the street with her garbage cans after the gargage truck has come and gone. More often than not I send my kids to school with mismatched socks and some days I don’t necessarily require that Olivia brush her hair. I know it sounds awful, but I choose my battles. I make a conscious effort to focus on the important things in this rush I call their childhood. I sat down with Olivia this morning on the end of her bed and talked with her for a moment about school and what they were getting into. I helped her find a tanktop to wear under her shirt and I stopped to look at the picture she is drawing on her desk that she wanted me to see. So when it became 7:15 and we had to go, I wasn’t overly concerned that her hair was still in a tight bun from the night before.

I have a rule that I don’t do laundry during the week, unless it is absolutely necessary. If I did, I would either have to cut out the little bit of time I do have with them in the evening or you know sleep, which I don’t think I would do anyone any good without.

I left a comment on the blog I stumbled upon and though I made it politically correct, I brazenly told this woman just what I thought of her entry. She was gracious and apologetic and by the end of our back-and-forth comment session, she even said I opened her eyes to things she never thought of before and took for granted as a married woman with help at home. One of the comments I made was that the saddest part about being a single mom is that there is never enough. Never enough time, never enough money, never enough energy, never enough individual attention.

I feel guilty alot. Like there is so much more I could be doing for my children. My oldest daughter is going through a rough time. She seems upset and sad alot. I try to chalk this up to just being a girl, but she is eight years old. I don’t want to accept the fact that my baby girl could be feeling the tormoil of what it is to be a woman so early. She lets the other girls at school upset her so often and she lacks confidence. I try to be complimentary every day and at least once really take a few moments to show her my undivided attention. I can’t seem to get through to her.

Last night we went to a friends house where there were 5 other kids to play with. An hour into the visit she was “bored” and came down to plant herself next to my boyfriend. He tried to convince her there must be something she could do, but she was convinced that all the other kids were too little for her to play with.

Which brought me to a whole new field of guilt. Laid out before me last night as I was trying to sleep like the sea of poppies Dorothy stumbles on, on her way to Oz.

Olivia doesn’t play anymore. Rarely she will join her sisters in the playhouse with the Barbies and she may indulge them even more rarely with a game of Crazy Eights. But mostly she wants to draw. She just draws and colors and creates for hours at a time. I was much like this, but did not fall into this phase until well into high school.

Whatever happened to playing in the backyard until your mom made you come in at dusk? Whatever happened to throwing a blanket over the kitchen table and calling it a fort? Whatever happened to pretending?

Could it be that my firstborn is slipping into adolescence already? I am not ready. I want it to stop. I want her to play with baby dolls and pretend she is the Queen of some far away land.

I want my baby back.

And now I am sad.

Psssst. The plan is posted. ↑ See I said I would have it Monday. And it’s Monday. And it’s there. I met my first goal. Go me!

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There are two women in my life that inspire me daily. And this weekend I go to spend an entire evening with both of them. Just the three of us. This has probably not occurred in at least 8 years give or take. These two women are my mother and my one and only sibling, my beautiful sister. And I say beautiful with the most sincerity. Because she is beautiful inside and out. And mostly because I look just like her. *wink*

You may be wondering how I could have spent time with my sister this weekend when she lives 600 miles away. Well, that was all part of the super secret weekend surprise that evidently the entire free world was in on except me. Even the lady at the market asked me how my visit went! Ok kidding about that part, but seriously everyone knew but me! And what a surprise it was.

My mom called one day last week to tell me she had set up a babysitter for me and she and I would spend the day together just being girls. I was so pleasantly surprised and looked forward to it all week. When Saturday came, the girls, knowing they were going to the sitters, were very excited. Read: annoying the holy crap out of me. I dropped them at the sitters about 4 and went to meet my mom at Red Lobster. I ran into a couple people from high school and did the whole, fake happy to see you routine for a few moments and then walked into the lobby. As I was looking around to see if my mom had been seated or was still waiting in the lobby, I looked over to see a very familiar face. I thought, wow that woman looks like my sister. I turned my head the other direction when I realized. Wait. just. one. minute. THAT IS MY SISTER!

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

We hugged and squealed and made specticles of ourselves for a moment and then sat down to dinner. My dad was even there which was a nice surprise. He is usually allergic to all things girly. After dinner with the slowest. waiter. ever. we headed to the mall for a little retail therapy. After seeing my sister’s cute new haircut, I got extremely courageous and decided I wanted a haircut too. Some things never change….. “Mom she got her hair cut, I want my hair cut. That’s not fair.”

Ok so I wasn’t that bad. But kinda. Plus I knew this courageous moment would soon pass so I wanted to get it done as soon as possible. We made an appointment at Regis and then shopped around for a while as we waited for my turn. My sister and I found the cutest cut in a magazine. At 6:30, I sat down and showed the stylist the picture and explained to her what I was thinking. Think: Jenny McCarthy bob, only longer. Well, I wanted it to be longer.  

After apparently not listening to a word I said, she began cutting chopping my hair off. After seeing my sister’s chin almost drop to the floor after the first cut, I decided to just close my eyes and pray the tears would pass. The stylist asked me to please not cry. Twice.

I almost cried. Twice.

But 20 minutes, 8 inches of hair on the ground, and quite possibly, ten pounds later, I had a major haircut.

A majorly cute haircut.

I have had long hair as long as I can remember. And now it is short. And now I look exactly like my sister. (Which is a good thing)

Who knew a haircut could be so liberating.

After the haircut experience we did a little shopping, got a little coffee and headed to mom’s to hang out together. We played a couple games of Rummikub with dad. A fruitless effort since he always wins, but still fun.

I stayed for a while longer and then headed home to have some quality kidless time with the man. Read: we both fell asleep on the couch twenty minutes into a movie. He made me get up about 2am and made me get off the couch and go upstairs and get in the bed. He kissed my forehead and covered me up and whispered sweet nothing in my ear. Read: “Babe I am going to go home so I can sleep. Your snoring is ridiculous.” Me: “MM hhmm ok, hmm. be careful. drive safe. love you…..” more snoring.

What a great day.

Don’t worry… the title is just me talking to myself. I don’t want you to do anything. Unless you want to donate money, or you personally know someone who can get me on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Or Deal or No Deal.

I have had this yearning for a long time. This aching in my soul. This desire to do something so crazy my father just rolled his eyes the first time I told him about it. Yes, it is a little out of character. But I am a different person now. I am older and wiser and I want to stop all the running around and feeling like a chicken with no head.

I never ever ever ever ever, did I say ever enough, think I would say this, but…… I really really really really, did i say really enough, want to be a Stay-At-Home mom.

It is all I think about when I am driving to work, or driving from work, or picking out my clothes in the morning, or throwing turning off my alarm clock, or dropping my kids at school, or calling in to work because there is a snow day and I don’t have a sitter, or, okay you get the picture.

I just want to be at home! I want to wear t-shirts and blue jeans and I want to put the massive amount of hair I have in a ponytail on top of my head even if it looks ridiculous, just because I can.

I want to craft and have my own Etsy shop. I want to make my own Thank You cards and actually have the time to put them in an envelope and take them to the post office. I want to bake cookies and give them to neighbors and I want to blog on weekends because I may have actually had time to do laundry during the week.

Now do not get me wrong, I know being a SAHM is not all fun and games and notice I said I want to be a SAHM not, a Stay-at-Home-Homeschooling mom. I am not that brave.

So my boyfriend and I came up with this wonderful idea. And we really researched it and talked to the appropriate people at the State of KY Cabinet for Families and Children and I have even made a pros and cons list and all those other anal retentive and slightly neurotic things my man and I do.

I want to open a daycare in my home. I want to have children that are already pottytrained. I want to be there when my kids get off the bus. I want to take care of other people’s babies and teach them things and watch them play and do crafts and teach them to cook simple recipes and make adorable peanut butter on celery logs with raisins.

I have so many ideas some days I feel like I am going to explode or at least like what I am experiencing every night is surely insomnia. I think about it all the time.

Unfortunately, other than outlet covers and a baby gate for the bottom of the stairs I am lacking one important thing to make this pipedream a reality. Ok two things. And they are called Courage and Confidence.

I just can’t seem to find the gumption to make things happen. Driving to work every day may really suck but at least it assures that I will receieve a paycheck every two weeks.

So I have come up with a plan. I am going to make a timeline of all the things I need to accomplish and I am going to set up a projected timeline of when I can open and I am going to make it a page right here on this here blog of mine. That way I am publicly responsible and hopefully I will have people asking me, “so how is the daycare coming along”, “when you gonna open the daycare”. That way I feel compelled to light a fire under my own butt.

I really want this to happen but I also really know I need a push. I need encouragement. I need the dagon Wizard of Oz to share the Lion’s courage with me.

But I’m gonna do it. I really am. I am buying a planner TODAY to prove it to myself. And on Monday I will be posting the page detailing my new venture.

Feel free to encourage me when you feel the need.

Last night the girls and I had a lazy evening. My grandpa had given them each McDonalds gift certificates for Valentine’s Day so we had chicken nuggets and fries for dinner. They then kind of split up throughout the house and did thier own thing. Emma and Cori played Fashion Show for a while in their room and then moved to the playroom to play doll house. Olivia elected for laying across my bed watching… why of course “Akeelah and the Bee” and tracing pictures from her coloring books to color. She came up with this ingenious plan a few months ago when she bribed her Papaw in to buying her some tracing paper at Walmart. Now she can trace the same picture 42 times if she wants to and still have a perfectly unused coloring book. Pretty clever huh? So anyway - the point of all this is….. She was tracing a picture of a princess with a tiara and a castle in the background. She came down several times asking for my opinion of what color she should make her dress, her tiara jewels, the castle. The last time she came down she said mom - I don’t have a peach to color her skin. So I simply replied, well color her tan or brown. She looked at me with the strangest look on her face and said “Mom, brown people can’t be princesses and stuff like that”.

“What???? Of course brown people can be princesses. Brown people can be anything. You and your sisters are brown and I am quite confident that any of you can be whatever you choose to be.” Ok so maybe the liklihood that one of them will marry a prince and therefore be deemed a princess is slim to none, but still you see where I was going with this I hope.

My heart broke for my little girl and what she must be hearing from society. What she must see through her little eyes. And then I got angry. Damn Disney! There is a Native American princess, and an Asian princess, there is even a dagon Mermaid princess for crying out loud. When is the last time your daughter ran into a mermaid at school? She doesn’t even have legs! But her skin is white - which I suppose lends to making perfect sense.

I then remembered a comment she also made to me a few months ago and how it struck me as a heartbreaking comment as well. We were in the car talking about what the girls wanted to be when they grew up. Corina said a pop star, or a veterinarian and Emma said a teacher or a race car driver. (That’s my Emma) and Liv said - I don’t know mom, what can I be? I told her she could be whatever she wanted to be.

“You can even be the President of the United States” I declared proudly.

Giggles. “They don’t let girls be President mommy”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that one and I could still kick myself right now for not coming up with something insightful and empowering to say to my daughter.

The more I thought about it the more I concluded that she was right. She is 8 years old with limited reasoning abilities and the propensity to see things for what they truly are. She had never in her life seen a brown princess and she had never in her life heard tale of a female president. I could not argue these things. I could not even for the life of me come up with a single african american princess even after wracking my brain for what seemed like hours minutes.

But what I could think of was all the African American woman from history that have changed this country as we know it. I wanted to come up with a way to showcase these woman to Olivia. To show her that she truly could do great things in her future. I never want my children to use thier racial makeup as a crutch. But I do want them to be proud of both parts of their heritage - including the parts that make them half African American and clearly viewed as Black girls by most.

And so I have come up with an idea that I shamelessly ripped off my ninth grade social studies teacher. Thanks Mr. I can’t remember your last name. But he really was a good teacher. I think. From what I can remember. But anyway. He made us do this project in which we had to choose one important event from history for each letter of the alphabet and retell the story in our own words and accompany each entry with a picture. We then had to bind these together and present it as a book. I remember my father taking mine to work to have it binded. I was so proud of that book when it was done. It looked professional and you could clearly see the countless hours I spent working on it. So I decided that was it.

I am going to make my Olivia a book of her own. One I hope she will read with pride and keep and cherish forever. There will be an African American woman from history for each letter of the alphabet complete with a photo and perhaps some fun facts or an activity to accompany some of them. I plan to assemble this into a scrapbook. I will take my time and I will put great love into this project. And if just for a moment while looking through what I have created for her she feels pride in her soul for not only being a girl but a brown girl, then it will all be worth it!

I promise to post pictures as I go along.

On February 17, 2001 my middle daughter was born. It was a saturday and bitter cold outside. I woke up about 6 am and packed my 14 month old into the car and drove myself to the hospital thinking they could explain to me why my back was hurting so bad but I wasn’t due for another three weeks. They explained it alright. This baby was ready to be born NOW. And so she was. She had the most beautiful brown silky skin and coal black hair with the slightest hint of a curl right on top of her head. She was sweet right from the get go. Hardly ever cried and when she did it was light and almost quiet. Like a whisper in your ear. Her little face was round and adorable and she started sucking her thumb straight from the womb. Still does somedays. She did not have a name for 4 days. They called her Baby Girl A. I just could not decide. I picked my oldest daughter’s name from a baby book. Just picked it because I liked it. I wanted this baby to have a name with another significance. Nurses began taking turns coming into my room with baby name books and trying to give me ideas. Finally on day four, the day we were to go home, I finally made a choice - Corina Jane. Corina from my favorite movie ever, Corrinna Corinna, and Jane after my grandmother that had passed the February prior. Everyone clapped when I announced it. I was proud of my baby and I was proud of my baby’s name. Sunday she was 7 years old and I am more proud of her every day.

The Princess Birthday tradition was started two years ago by my mom. She takes the day off work and lets the kids skip school and she spends the whole day giving the princess treatment to whomever’s birthday it is. Monday was Cori’s day. She spent the night with Nana on Sunday after we went to church and to dinner. Monday morning when I got to work I called her to see how she was doing and what the plans were for the big day.

“Hey Cor, what you doing”

“Well Nana and I just went to Panera Bread and I got the biggest cup of hot cocoa and the biggest Cinnamon Roll I ever saw in my whole life, mama. It was big. Real big. And I ate it, every bite.”

“Wow. That sounds exciting…and sugar coma inducing”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind. What else you guys going to do?”

“I am gonna be a princess today mama. That’s what.”

“Well ok, I can’t wait to hear all about it”

“K. Call you later when I am done with all the fun stuff. Love you. Bye.”

“Love you too bug, bye bye.”

When she got home from her big day she could hardly talk fast enough. I dont think she took a breath for close to 2 minutes. The most exciting part of being a seven year old princess? The right of passage that is getting your ears pierced.

You may have to squint, but they are there. Little pink flowers. And see those pink nails? Well those aren’t just any pink nails. That is pink nail polish and cute white roses applied by a real life nail-art artist that works in a real life nail salon.

She also got to pick out a new church outfit and go to Build-a-Bear workshop where she outfitted a light brown bunny with a cheetah print outfit and shoes.

One thing my mother always did do was make birthdays special. And boy did that little girl feel special.

Yesterday morning the girls and I woke up to this.

And yes I took that picture through the screen. I don’t do cold. Or snow. So after letting the door open only enough for my dog to squeeze his way out, did I quickly shut the screen door and snap a picture.

So what to do on a snow day? Mmmm. I love snow days.

With no dependable babysitter, I had to call in to work. Oh shucks. Because the work is never done, the girls got up and dressed themselves and we got crackin on our chores so we could spend the rest of the day playing together. So first we did a little of this.

And this.

And then came the fun part. I gave all the girls a bath and made them put on thier my favorite pajamas. They are warm and fuzzy and there is just something so adorable about having your kids in matching clothes. Ok, maybe that is just me. But - they. looked. adorable. and I loved it.

So anyway, Emma was done first as the other two are just too cool and too grown and too responsible to have their mommy give them a bath anymore. So while Cori and Liv were upstairs getting their showers, Emma took advantage of the time to do a little of this, which is Emma’s very favorite pasttime.

When the girls were done with their showers, we decided to engage in a little of my favorite pasttime. Only I don’t ever have time for my favorite pasttime so today we made time and did some of this.

Emma worked up such a sweat playin with that dollhouse she had to strip. What I wouldn’t give for some arms like that.

Anyway, when the painting was done we moved on to bigger and better things. Since painting is my/Olivia’s favorite pasttime, we let Cori pick next. She chose for us to do this.

After all that fun, the girls were getting a little tired and whiny so they went upstairs to lay on my bed and watch “Akeelah and the Bee” for the 952nd time, while I, unfortunately had to do a little of this.

Which I must admit is alot more fun since I got this.

Yeah baby!

I even did this.

That’s right folks that is a four couse meal on a weekday. Who has time to cook like this on a weekday? I do, I tell ya.

As long as it’s also a snow day.

I haven’t enjoyed a snow day like that in a long time. And I tell you what, I was glued to the news this morning as much as the girls were for that little banner to pop up to tell us the good news of another snow day today, but no such luck. 

Back to the daily grind *sigh*.

*Disclaimer: I noticed while previewing this post that Cori is in none of the pictures. I promise I love her just as much.

I am pleased to announce to all of my readers that I am feeling much less melancholy today. I had a refreshing weekend and I am well, refreshed. On Saturday, after taking Cori and Liv to Karate, we had plans with Nana to car shop. I could have put a substantial downpayment on a new car for what I have shelled out on the rental car I have been driving for the past 2 1/2 weeks, but oh well. Who needs money when you are a single mom with three kids and a big house with electric bills the size of the national deficit? Oh yeah, that’s me.

So we shopped and shopped and shopped for a car to no avail. Nothing in my price range with less than 2 million miles on it, so as of yet I am still the proud borrower of a Chrysler Sebring, courtesy of Thrifty Car Rental.

The girls and mom and I also stopped by Borders and had hot chocolate and browsed through the books and CDs. The girls were so superbly behaved the entire day - and oh, Emma learned to swallow her ADHD medication with a drink, but for some reason it only works with soda pop. Hmm. Clever little booger isn’t she? In any regard this was a major victory as now I don’t have to cut and crush which shaves an easy 12 seconds off my morning routine. Any little bit helps. I know  that my 5 year old becoming a proficient pill popper should not be so thrilling to me, but, well, it is. And she was quite proud of herself. Even earning herself a heartfelt “Good Job Emma” from her biggest sister whom she idolizes like there is no tomorrow.

We made it home in time for an impromptu visit from my best friend Jamie and her baby, Jalynn. And I tell ya, who would wanna miss this little bundle on their doorstep?

They stayed for a little while until Jalynn could barely keep her little eyes open and then they headed home. The girls and I watched TV for a while before it was time for bed and bath. And I know I mentioned before how my middle daughter is a little quirky, but really, does any one else’s kids watch TV like this?

Man that kid cracks me up!

After the kids were tucked quietly and warmly in their beds, I flopped on the couch and sighed a deep breath. What a great, relaxing, enjoyable day. Just as I settled on some chick flick that was just coming on TV, I decided to make some hot tea and just relax and ignore the laundry taking over the playroom and the grungy bathroom floor that was calling to me to please clean it. I walked back into the living room, settled on the couch under my favorite fuzzy blanket and turned off the lamp. Suddenly I heard my front door knob turn and the door flung open. After almost simultaneously going into cardiac arrest while peeing my pants, I heard these sweet words “What I tell you bout keeping this door unlocked?” Ok so maybe the words weren’t all that sweet but the protective way he said them was very endearing. “Well, Hi Big Daddy, what a great surprise!” Then a sweet kiss right on my lips.

Ahhh, what a great day. A great day that I really needed. And by darn, I deserved it too.  

I am melancholy today. Don’t know why, just woke up that way. I sat up on the side of the bed this morning and looked at the alarm clock to see that it was 6:48am. I am suppose to be up no later than 6. Instead of rushing from my warm bed and putting everyone into a frenzy due to my lack of responsibility setting my alarm clock before I go to bed, I instead slinked off the side of the bed and slowly walked to the bathroom. I sat in the chair for a moment, just sitting, just thinking. 29 minutes to get the family from the bed to the door. The gumption I usually pull from deep in my gut to accomplish such tasks was not there this morning. I had a chat with God for a moment and lifted myself up and to the hallway. The dog was there. Smelling my legs and wagging his tail. I asked him if I could have some of his spirit today. He ignored me.

My house was quiet. Just the whirling of the ceiling fans. I looked up and noticed the dust on the ceiling around the fan. I looked down and saw crumbs on the floor. I thought about how it is all so unending. How nothing ever seems finished. How I cannot keep up. I walked into the girls rooms and started opening drawers and turning on lights. Youthful groans and stretches filled the air sweetly. “Time to get up ladies,” I instructed. “We are running a little behind, let’s go.” I urged.

Back into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror at the huge mess on my head that was my hair. I was blessed with my father’s hair. Thick and strong. Red like his sisters. Even managing my hair required energy I could not find today. I ran a damp brush through my long locks and fastened it into a loose bun at the nape of my neck. A small bit of makeup here and lipgloss there and I was complete. As complete as I would be today.

The rest of the morning floated along like a TV show that continues without sound other than a sappy love song playing in the background. You see a girl walking down the street and you know the city around her is bustling and noisy, but all you hear is All Good Things by Nelly Furtado. I have not had a day like this is some time. I don’t what has caused it, why I feel blue.

I came into work and to my office. I just closed the door and shut out the physician meeting going on down the hall. I turned internet radio on and started to make my list of impending tasks to complete for a paycheck that barely supports my family. I opened my favorites list to stop by a few of my favorite blogs. Perhaps I would be cheered up. Perhaps someone would make me smile, make me feel grateful, blessed.

My first stop, Mayberry Magpie. I visit at least once a day. I have never met her. Do not know her. But I like her. Reading her entry led me to another of my favorites. Ohmystinkinheck. The contest she is conducting today gave me hope. I have always been a generous person I think by nature. I like to please other people. Practice random acts of kindess. My mother tells me I don’t have a selfish bone in my body. Which is not all good. An overabundance of compassion and empathy leads to lying awake at night thinking about the abused child you saw on the 11 o’clock news, wondering how you can personally save all the dogs that were rescued from a puppy mill, and the young pregnant girl you gave a ride back to her car after you saw her walking to the gas station with a gas can and a red face slapped by the wind.

The task is to spread love. Tell of three of your favorite blogs and why. I feel on a different day this task would have been completed entirely differently, but today, my heart is beating slowly. I am not looking for laughter and silly humor, but quiet sweetness, I suppose. Something mild and calming …and encouraging. There are blogs I visit that make me howl with laughter, make me feel excited and anticipatory. There are blogs I visit that make me feel serene and content and that lovely feeling you get when you sit on your porch in the summertime. Today is a day for those kind of blogs and so I give you a gift of sharing these with me. Three ladies I like, I respect, I admire and somedays even really look up to. Like a virtual big sister, if you will.

And I present:

Mayberry Magpie. She is sweet and funny. She tells great stories. I feel nostalgic when I read her blog. Her stories are of her small town, how she knows everyone. It is like she is describing the town I grew up in. The town I could not wait to leave but miss for completely different reasons now that I am grown with children of my own. I think if we met, we would be great friends.

 AreWeThereYetMom. Just stopping by her blog sometimes gives me a smile. Before I even start reading. It is calm and pretty and she has a great picture of herself right there that showcases a great smile. She writes beautiful entries and when she visits my blog she leaves me sweet little notes of encouragment. She strikes me as the girlfriend to call when you need a shoulder to cry on. And she will make you tea. 

Blue Yonder. I just found this blog recently, but it profoundly speaks to the artist that still lives somewhere deep and dark inside of me. You could practically enter her world by merely looking through her photos. Her stories are wonderful as well. I am a lurker at Blue Yonder. I have never even so much as left a comment and I don’t know why. But I like it there.  

Stop by. And don’t window shop. If you love them like I, tell them. Spread the love. Doing so just might make you feel love too.

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, which is funny for me to even say, being that for the last 27 years of my life I could not have possibly cared less about Valentine’s Day, I thought I would point out all the reasons my man is the best. Give him his props if you will. I know the “best” is a relative term, since I am sure you all think your man is the best as well, but it’s okay, we can share it. And for those of you that don’t have a man or have a man that is not the best, you may want to go away if things like this make you want to hurl, because I am going to be gushing. It will be lovey dovey and mushy and you may feel like melting. So here goes: (in no particular order of importance)

1. He is a real live Chef. He cooks ladies. And he makes this Grand Marnier Chocolate Cake that will make you wanna hurt yourself. And bacon wrapped scallops and soups that are to die for. Oh I could go on but I am starting to drool and that ’s not very attractive.

2. He has dimples. Two big ‘ole dimples in the side of his face that just make me feel all gooey when he smiles. My dad has dimples and my oldest nephew and my youngest daughter. I’m a sucker for dimples.

3. We work together with the Innercity Youth Football Collaborative of Greater Cincinnati from March until December. He puts his whole heart into these little boys and being the best mentor he can be. He loves each and every one of them and tells them every chance he gets. He requires they show him their report card and he has made more than one trip to a school to assist a child. He has fed them, helped them with homework, picked them up for practice, and made sure they know they can depend on him. This is a rough neighborhood and some of these kids have rough homes. There is no doubt in my mind he is saving lives.

4. He is charming. He oozes charm. He is the Executive Chef and Food Service Director at an upscale retirement community. Boy does he make them old ladies swoon.

5. All this week I have been sick in bed with the flu and he had to go out of town for his job. Instead of staying an extra day in a beautiful hotel on the job’s tab, which he could have, he came home and brought me a get well package. There was flu medicine, cough drops, chocolate and of course, soup.

6. He knows everything there is to know about the game of football. He can tell you every rule, every play, every position and it’s responsibilities, as well as stats and point conversions and blitzes and, and , um, other stuff. He knows it all. And he commentates during games sharing all his knowledge with me. To some of you this may sound extremely annoying, but to a true blue tomboy like myself, it is bliss. His football knowledge is super sexy.

7. He will admit when he is wrong and say I’m sorry. Amen.

8. He will sometimes call and chat on the phone with my 8 year old like they are best girlfriends. To a little girl with no daddy, this is very cool.

9. Last week I overheard a conversation he was having in the other room with my 80 year old grandmother, in which she asked him when he was gonna marry me already. He just chuckled and then told her he didn’t know, but that he knew he loved me and my kids more than he knew he could ever love someone and then he promised her he would take care of us the best he knew how. This is where I melted.

10. When my sister and her kids came home for a few days over the summer, I sat on my parents back porch and watched him throw football with my nephew when the sun was setting. The setting sun, football, and two of my absolute favorite boys in the whole world. It was one of those moments you tuck away and always remember.

11. He calls me everyday at least once just to say I love you and nothing else.

12. He tells me I am beautiful, even on days when I am near death with the flu and we both know darn good and well I look homely and horrible.

13. He loves my kids like they are his own. They’re not. Nuff said.

I could list forever and maybe someday I will. But don’t worry I won’t put you through that. But thanks for allowing me to be sentimental.

See other Thursday Thirteen Participants here.

Saturday came and went. Saturday was a success. Saturday was a BLAST! After taking Liv and Cori to Karate, Emma and I snuck off to the movie theatre to pre-buy our tickets for the Hannah Montana Concert movie for fear that by 5 they may be sold out. We picked up the other two girls and headed to mom’s for lunch.

This was a change in plans, but nana being nana made it just as fun as Dave and Busters and the lunch was much better. After packing their Hannah Montana purses with goodies and a can of pop for each of them, we headed off to the movies.

There were little girls everywhere in their HM attire and giggling and squealing just as I had predicted. The girls were about to burst with excitement as we pulled in the parking lot. I was most excited about the premium parking spot I somehow scored right up front. After forgetting the tickets, because I do things like that, and walking back to the car to retrieve them, we made our way into the show.

And imagine my surprise when we saw these.

Yes people, those are 3D glasses. Hannah Montana was in 3D. How stinkin cool is that? Very cool I tell ya. Very cool. The girls sat entranced for the entire show. Except when they were singing and clapping along. Which was every song. Because they knew every song.

So did every other little girl in the theatre.

Did I mention there were like thousands of them?

After the concert/movie we sat for a moment and let all the other people file out of the theatre. The girls started to spill out all their excitement and jubilation and tell me of their favorite part. I just soaked it all in. As we walked out of the theatre I started to think about the day and about how much fun we all had together as a family. How the girls actually acted like they loved eachother. All day.

I thought about how I enjoyed the concert too. How grateful I was that Miley Cyrus looked adorable the entire show. Not once were there too-short shorts or bellies showing or pre-pubescent cleavage. And her songs are about friendship and cute boys and missing grampas that have passed away and other things little girls should be thinking about.

And I thought about some of the memories I had as a little girl. I remembered how on my 12th birthday I came home from school to find NKOTB tickets on my bed. That’s New Kids On The Block, folks, and I am not ashamed. My best friend Traci Turley and I rocked our raddest NKOTB outfits with dayglo orange and yellow socks and had our hair in matching side ponytails. I remembered how my mom seemed like she had just as much fun at the concert as my friend and I. And now I know how much joy she felt as a mom seeing and experiencing my happiness. I will never forget that day.

 I hope my kids remember Saturday.

I hope they remember their coolest Hannah Montana attire.

I hope they remember how excited they were pulling into the parking lot and seeing the marquee at the exact same time their favorite Hannah Montana song came on Radio Disney.

I hope they remember seeing the posters out front for the first time and feeling butterflies of anticipation in their bellies.

But most importantly I hope they remember this.

Because I know I will.