In those final years (ok, days….) of my 30’s, I’m assessing & re-assessing what I “want” for my 40’s.  I’ve been feeling more & more like a “mother of four and a woman” than a “mother and how the heck did I end up with four kids”.   I’m finally a grown-up.

I read something recently that said children of parents with addiction problems are eight times more likely to develop an addiction themselves.  As if raising children is not difficult enough in today's world, we also need to think about our genetics and in building a strong foundation in our children's lives that provides for good coping skills.  The potential for addiction is already hardwired into our brain.  Myself, I have a strong aversion for a Coldstone Creamery ice cream fix that sends my five senses into ectasy (even driving by the store will produce instant salivati

At one time or another in each of our lives we may be impacted by depression or the blues.  It's a natural part of life to feel down particularly when we lose someone we love or dreams we've valued.  Struggling through the difficult times in our lives or setbacks can be challenging and may need medical attention.  You're not alone if you feel like this and I've had to realize that I'm not alone either.  However, depression is like that...it can make you feel alone, very alone.

We live in a small town in the suburbs of New York. But even when we lived in a small but densely populated city, our family was involved in the Memorial Day Parade.  

First it was my son marching as a Boy Scout, in his crisp uniform near the veterans, police and firefighters. When we moved, we found the town parade was a bit more rag tag in some ways but more closely knit since it was much easier to know loads of people both in the parade and lining the parade route.

Sometimes my kids may ask for a bowl of snow for dinner. And when they do, they may just get it.

With several arrivals and departures of child care providers in our house this past year, I’m considering serving dinner on airport trays. 

We’re In The Money!

Well, sort of.

My daughter came home all excited yesterday saying, “Peter gave me fifty bucks!”

Me:  “Oh, that’s cute.  Is it a picture or Monopoly money?”

My girl: “No, mom a real fifty”

Me: “No, really?  Show me.”

She continues, “He gave it to me because he likes me.”

Me: “Ohhh.  Honey.  You did nothing wrong.  But I have to call Peter’s mom because we have to give it back, and his mom needs to know he gave it to you.”

When my first set of twins was born seven years ago, I was super-duper organized.   I was That Mom – the one you hate because she sent her birth announcements out before the babies were a week old (with pictures).

A couple of weeks ago, my bad-breathing baby landed us in the Trauma Room in the Emergency at our local hospital. On about his fifth Ventolin treatment, a woman was brought into the bed beside us.

The woman was explaining her symptoms as they were going through triage a few feet away from us. Now, I’ve only seen ER twice and maybe half an episode of Grey’s, but it was pretty darn clear to Dr. Mama that this woman was about to have a massive heart attack.