Seeing the Light ...

Written by Amy, a mom without a blog

I have almost died three times. Well, I should say I almost died twice, but I looked death straight in the eye a third time.

Age 12: I was crossing the street by foot and got hit by a car. I was rushed to the hospital, all my vital signs stopped twice, they brought me back “to life” and a grueling, six weeks later I was released from the hospital after recovering from multiple fractures in my skull, pelvis and having two screws and a staple put into my knee in order to hold it together.

After that experience, I can honestly say it had ultimately affected me positively. Of course, I wallowed in pain both physically and emotionally through what had happened but after coming out on the other side, I was given a sense that God had left me on the planet for a purpose. I was here. I was thankful. And most of the time, I carried that sense with me – that I had a purpose.

Age 18: After getting kneed in the stomach during basketball practice (by my own teammate I might add who was vying for my position – but that’s another story), I was seen by the staff doc and was told I had probably been bruised. He said if anything were to change in the way I was feeling, I should immediately go to the hospital. I woke up in the middle of the night in excruciating pain, crawled into my parent’s bedroom where they scooped me up and drove like crazy to the ER. My spleen had just ruptured and I was bleeding internally. Moments after entering the ER, I was having emergency surgery. I had been minutes away from dying.

Ok again, feeling pretty sorry for myself, but had been reassured. God had big, big plans for me. Right? I’m still here. I’ve got stuff I need to do on this planet. I’m not done yet.

Fast forward to age 41 (just over 1 year ago), when I was being wheeled into the operating room for brain surgery. I was having a brain tumor removed. The week of the surgery, I was a blubbering mess. Things had changed. I had two kids now and a husband I love dearly but who is clearly unable of raising our two kids alone. I was scared and panicked to the core. I needed to address the tumor, but what if I didn’t wake up? What would happen to my family? The risks were so much higher now. I could not afford to die.

A pretty large portion of my purpose had been uncovered and now there were two little souls who couldn’t afford to lose me. I wallowed. I sobbed. I cried my eyes out, but I made it out again and this time I had 24 staples in my head along with three titanium plates and six screws to prove it.

What am I thankful for every – single – day –of – my - life?

I am thankful for my simple existence.

I am thankful for this very moment in time.

I am thankful I am here.

I might not be fully aware of God’s plan for me, but I know He’s keeping me here for a reason and for that … I am so very thankful.

Black Friday Morning Snapshots

Written by Lee

I am not a morning person. My man is. Thank God. What this means is that on weekends, or holidays, or any days when there is no school, he is awake with the kids and I am asleep in my cozy bed upstairs a million miles away from my mama duties.

On some of these particular mornings, I will be awakened by screams of chaos and I will have absolutely not one millisecond to adjust from sleep to wake. And then my day tends to take on a general feeling of chaotic grumpiness. Not. Good.

Other mornings, I will slowly emerge from my slumber to what I will describe as a lovely buzzing sound of warm family activity. Today was one of these mornings. Thank God.

As I glided downstairs into yet another perfect cappuccino brewed by my personal hot sexy barista, I took a sip and surveyed the scene around me.

Morning snapshots filling me with gratitude and peace and love and complete and utter satisfaction in being right here and right now. This is the feeling I strive for so when it arrives, I inhale it letting it seep into my flesh and bones. This is my mama meditation. And I know it will slip away on another day but this morning I have it. So I will live in it.

It was only 7:30 AM on this Black Friday, but much had been lived and learned since 6 AM when the kids awoke. My camera captured moments of the scene that had been both played out and was still going on.

My man and the kids had already sifted through the Black Friday super sales dreaming of which ones they would go to if any of us were actually motivated to leave the house.


Claire had boldly declared her love for a treat made by Grandma (my mom) that had made the trek across the desert into Claire's tummy. Claire had also taught Daddy who Roy G. Biv was. Daddy claims he was never taught about Roy in school. Could it be true?

I told Claire I briefly dated Roy G. Biv and almost married him. Claire responded, "But you didn't. You married Daddy."


Phoebe, our Love Fairy, was busy doodling away making more fairies - all friends of Tinker Bell - she told me.



Tommy told Claire to "Buffer up!" She had no idea what that meant. Tommy explained this bit of Thomas the Train phrasology and Claire decided that sounded like fun...

...and so train buffering up playing commenced.

And now a little after 10 AM, the hum of a family playing together is still being heard.

It's gonna be a good day. From beginning to end. Of that I am certain.

Coming Clean on My Thankfulness

Written by Kath, a mom without a blog

When my husband and I were first married, I only used on the weekends. We both worked full time during the week, so I limited my use to Saturday or Sunday only. It was all I needed at the time.

Once our first child was born, I found that I needed to use during the week as well. I just couldn’t seem to make it to the weekend; so inevitably, I’d have to use mid-week. That’s what happens when you have kids, I guess.

Fast forward 15 years and 3 kids later and I have to admit, I use almost daily. I just can’t help it. I NEED to. Yes, my friends, I “use” my washing machine nearly every single day.

Not one of my friends prepared me for the changes in laundry that come with having kids. Not one. Overnight, our laundry seemed to double…and that was only adding one 6 pound 6 ounce person to our family! How on earth is that possible??

Now with 3 kids, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my laundry is simply never caught up. There was a time in my life when laundry baskets were empty and I was able to have the sense of accomplishment that “all the laundry” was done. Not any more. The beast that is laundry has overtaken me in my home and I’m always struggling somehow to keep up. (But never quite achieving it).

This reminds me of when my oldest was getting ready for kindergarten. His school performed a “readiness assessment” on all in-coming kindergarteners to determine if they were ready for the demands of a full day at school. The interviewer asked my son a series of questions. As I sat in the back of the room, I overheard this conversation:

Interviewer: “What does your dad do?”

B: “He works on the computer.” (True, his dad is a computer consultant).

Interviewer: “And what does your mom do?”

B: “She folds laundry.”

Really. I wanted to stand up and scream, “Mama has a degree!!” But I sat there and bit my tongue. ‘Til it bled.

But I digress. Suffice it to say, I’ve never had a love affair with laundry. It’s one of those Mama chores I detest. Until recently, that is.

When I went out to my washer to remove the 75th (or maybe 6th) load of laundry for the day, I opened the door of my front-loading washer to find a massacre on my hands. The rubber seal around the door was hanging out in a grotesque fashion, warped and stretched beyond recognition. The inner drum was tilted at a strange angle. And my towels rolled out onto the floor. I swear, it looked as if my washing machine vomited up its contents right in front of me.

I grabbed my husband immediately. One of the many, many things I love about the man I married is that he can fix ANYTHING. He’s got that engineer brain that can figure any sort of machine out. I could tell by his face when he saw the carnage that he was worried too. But after 30 minutes or so taking things apart, he made his diagnosis. Fortunately he was able to order the part online. It would only be a few days until my dear washer was fixed.

“I can make it a few days without doing laundry,” I said to myself. No problem. But, long story short, the wrong part was sent, an exchange needed to occur, and 7 days later, I still did not have my washer.

At this point, laundry was literally everywhere in my house. The baskets had long since overflowed and piles were scattered throughout the bedrooms. We were all down to our last couple pair of underwear. What were we going to do??

My husband suggested a trip to the laundromat. Now, this was just something I could absolutely NOT conceive. I had done my time in laundromats, baby, and I had no intention of going back to one. Memories returned of college days where I hauled my laundry to the machines and waited patiently for a washer to open up. Then if, God forbid, I stepped away for a moment, there was always that kind person who removed my clothes for me and dumped them on the counter. Yeah, real nice.

Plus, there was the “ick” factor. Picturing my clothes tumbling in some washer used by hundreds of other people just sort of gives me the heebie jeebies. I guess I’m just a laundry snob.

Thankfully, on day 8, the part arrived. When I got home from work, I saw the empty box in the family room and my handy husband out in the laundry room putting the finishing touches on his repair. I stepped out to see what he was doing and he just smiled at me, proud of his accomplishment. I swear, he could have been standing there naked with roses and a bottle of wine in his hand and I wouldn’t have been happier. My washer was fixed!

This whole ordeal has made me extremely thankful for the luxury of my washing machine. It really is nothing short of a luxury, either. I am a very blessed woman to be able to do my family’s laundry in the comfort of my home. I don’t have to take the clothes to a stream and beat them with rocks. I don’t have to scrub them by hand and use a ringer to dry them. I don’t even have to load them in my car and take them to a laundromat. I am very, very lucky indeed.

So now I do my laundry with a little spring in my step. I’ll even pat my machine gently on its top and thank it for a job well done. I hum a tune as I fold the warm clothes and put them away, proud of this job I do for my family.

Yes, as my oldest once said, I “fold the laundry.” And I’m damn grateful that I can.

The Gift of Perspective

Written by Kath, a mom without a blog

On a recent Friday, I had what should have been a really horrible day. It had all the makings of one except…it wasn’t. 

Life is surprising that way sometimes.

Here’s a little background. My 83 year-old dad recently fell and fractured his pelvis. He was hospitalized and I was charged with finding him a nursing home for rehabilitation. Granted, it wasn’t a nursing home for the rest of his life, but still, he needed to go to a nursing home. 

I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday that I broke his nose pitching softballs to him in the backyard? That he taught me how to fish? That I danced with him at my wedding? How can it be that I needed to find a nursing home for him??!

So, I spent a recent Friday visiting nursing homes, trying to pick the “best one” for my dad. Driving home late that evening, I had every right to brood about my painful day. But when I rolled down the window of my SUV and breathed in the sweet aroma of orange blossoms (yes, it is spring here in Arizona), I knew I had a decision to make. I could feel depressed about my day, or I could choose to be thankful for some really positive moments. I chose to be thankful. Here’s what occurred to me on that drive home:

1)  I was given a choice. The hospital handed me a list of no less than 40 nursing homes that I could choose for my dad. Of course, I couldn’t possibly visit them all in one day…but the decision would be mine, not somebody else’s. People may criticize this country of ours (it has its faults), but having a say in where your loved ones are cared for is a HUGE privilege. 

I’m thankful for choice.

2)  People were nice. At each and every facility I visited, I was greeted warmly with a smile. Someone stopped whatever they were doing and toured me around, answering my questions. People asked concerned questions about my dad. They acknowledged my 4-year-old daughter and chatted with her. When I was leaving, each person I met that day shook my hand and offered me their sincere best wishes that I find the “right” place for my dad. 

I’m thankful for kind people.

3)  I put a lot of miles on my SUV that day, driving all over the city. I’ve been complaining to my husband lately about only having one car and that it’s been hard juggling everyone’s activities with just one vehicle. Well on that Friday, I waited at a red light next to a man in a very old, worn car. His engine stalled at the light and he frantically tried to restart it before the light turned green. Not once that day did I worry for a moment that my vehicle would stall or malfunction. It carried my daughter and me all over the city comfortably and safely. 

I’m thankful for a vehicle.

4)  My 4 year-old daughter’s preschool was closed that day so she accompanied me on my search. Have you ever taken a child to a nursing home? There is something special about people at opposite ends of the age spectrum. They attract each other like magnets. My sweet daughter made such an impact on the elderly. Two special moments stood out for me. 

At one place, I saw an elderly man walking down the hall towards us. His gait was slow and stiff. When he saw my girl, he picked up his feeble pace a little, with a sudden purpose in his stride. As he approached, he introduced himself and asked my daughter her name. Then he reached his thin, frail hand out to her and she placed her pink, preschooler hand in his. Gingerly, with a slight tremor, he raised her hand to his thin lips and kissed it ever so softly. She smiled, and he walked off.

At another facility, we walked down a long corridor. Up ahead, I could see an old woman in a wheelchair. She stared at the ground, a vacant look on her face. She appeared lost in her thoughts, a million miles away in a place of confusion and loneliness. As we walked closer, her eyes caught the hem of my daughter’s dress. Carefully she lifted her chin. Her eyes slowly met my girl’s and they locked on to each other. Then slowly, the older woman’s eyes seemed to come alive—almost sparkle. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in a tiny smile. She was no longer lost, no longer vacant. My daughter had brought her back if only for a moment. 

I am thankful for the gift of children to our world.

As a special reward for being so patient and well behaved, I treated my little one to a kid’s meal at Wendy’s for lunch (a rarity for us!). I remembered how nice it is to spend time with her, just the two of us. She opted to sit next to me instead of across the table so we could snuggle up and share ketchup. She chatted non-stop about her school, her friends, her life. 

Then she looked up at me with her saucer blue eyes and said, “Mom, this is the best day ever.”

Yes, honey. I do believe it was.