Family – Page 4 – Cheeky Street

The Difference Between Laziness and Spiritual Peace

Lately I have been on an inner journey. I won’t say I have “neglected” housework, but let’s just state for the record that I am blissfully tuned out of my immediate visual surroundings. Nobody in my family seems to mind. Clothes get washed, dinners get served and eaten, pets are not neglected, Fall decorations are properly appointed. Outwardly, everything seems “normal.”

What started out feeling like a mid-life boycott of mundane chores has now become – well, more of a daily meditation on the essential. Gratitude for all that we have been given tops my list of essentials. When my eyelids pop open in the morning and the awareness of feeling whole and not broken by alcohol, ugly words spewed to a loved one the night before – I breathe deeply and thank God for the blessing of one more day. Whatever I choose to do with that day, my underlying goal is LOVE.

Is a clean house essential to love? No. Right now, at 49 and managing a life with 2 teenagers, a husband intent on planning the sunset of his career, and a boatload of aging siblings and Mother whom I love – I give myself permission to LOVE FIRST, clean second. I used to think I was getting lazy because I did notice the slowing down. This coincided with my sobriety, which began almost 5 months ago.

The whole point of sobriety is to NOTICE, EXPERIENCE and CHERISH the good. This requires slowing down (at least for me) and focusing on NOW. As much as I love and enjoy these new feelings, it is true my standards of tidiness which were low to begin with – have gotten a little lower.

Nobody is complaining. So I must not be lazy.

When I am an old woman I will remember the sunsets I watched, not the floors I mopped.

What Teapots and Birkenstocks Mean After 120 Days Sober

In less than 6 months, I will be turning 50. For the first time in 30 years, I will celebrate sober. A little over halfway through the journey, sometimes I feel regret that I waited so long to discover inner peace but also many days I feel upset that I can’t party like a rock star anymore! Maybe that feeling will fade as 120 days rolls into 200, 365 and more. More time of living in the present and fully engaged.

In many ways, my newfound sobriety has brought me back full circle to the things I have always loved, especially COMFORT. I am a homebody (though this is surprising to many) who loves my couch, family, warmth of the sun or a roaring fire, homemade meals and simple pleasures.

I think the bare-boned honesty it takes to admit one is powerless over a person, place or thing brings with it comfort and liberation – so really, I have just come “home.”

I realized I had accepted my “lot” as a “recovering alcoholic” when I found myself daydreaming about having a pair of Birkenstocks and a good tea kettle. Chuckle and snort, though I may about this, the darned truth of the matter is: I AM HAPPY WITH MYSELF!

There are messes our family must deal with left behind from my years of selfish self-medicating, at the top of which, of course, is my habit of overspending. But, my God! 4 months ago I could not have stayed clear-headed long enough to even research where our money was going much less devise a plan to resolve it.

A good friend is helping me re-vamp my resume, too. THIS would never have happened when I was drinking. She cannot believe I don’t have any “professional” self-esteem. I can’t believe there is someone out there that sees something I can’t see, but I am willing to dig further, to consider some truths about myself and put myself in the ring of competition for whatever rewarding career awaits me next. I must do this, not only for myself and my family, but because things are going too well to just sit on my couch (as much as I love it!) for the rest of my life.

Push Push Push. I think I can until I know I can – the Little Engine that Could. This is me at 49, a little war-torn and rough but loving the journey and thanking God every day I wake up sober.

120 days sober looks like this when you are 49

The “Family Bed” Remembered

For years our family slept together in the Master bedroom- pets and all

Just going through some old photos this morning and found this gem and HAD to write a quick blog post. This is 2008, our daughter Isa was 9 and her brother, Mario was 7. Those were our pets, Tango the boxer and Boris the cat. We lived in a beautiful 5,000-sq ft home on 34 acres. At bedtime we might as well have had a studio apartment! For at least 2 years, this is what the “family bed” looked like. Mike (my husband) would sigh when the lights went out and quietly say, “There are ALOT of beating hearts in this room.” I loved it!

As Dad got “grumblier” about the situation, Isa would type “contracts” for him to sign designating a specific future date when the “family bed” situation would cease – but she always “filed” for an extension!

Fast forward to 2015: both children are normal (okay, that’s debatable!) and sleeping in their own beds. But they have memories of many nights in our “shared sleeping quarters” watching movies, talking, laughing, playing with the pets. Some people think this is nuts and I do sort of get their point. But I am SO GLAD we did it. It gave the children comfort when they needed it and we have lots of fun memories to look back on….especially after they flee the nest, which I am dreading, of course.

So, my advice to parents of young children struggling with the bedtime routine: give up! Enjoy being together now. I know there are all sorts of studies now encouraging “the family bed” but I don’t know where they are or what they are saying about the benefits. I know my 1950’s-era parents thought I was the WORST POSSIBLE type of wishy-washy parent while this was going on. The 7 of us were sent marching up the stairs at bedtime with 1 “regulation size” cup of water and ordered to SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP! Anyone who dared get out of bed and tiptoe downstairs again had better be ready for the WRATH of my DAD!!!

At one point, tired of the “charade” of pretending to resist my children’s nightly pleas to sleep on my floor, I just gave in and bought 2 air mattresses at Wal-Mart for the Master Bedroom floor. In my opinion, this was one of the best investments I ever made.

Their World Was Better

When the last of my parents’ generation is gone, there will be a huge void in the world. The last known Americans raised by parents that endured The Great Depression and World War II. People who put manners before self-gratification. People who taught their children that respect and character are worthwhile and noble values.

Their word was their anchor to a life dedicated to honesty and commitment to whatever their choices and fate set before them.

Dad out on the town with St. Louis University buddies, 1950

My parents and grandparents were not perfect. Just genuine. And a lot less needy and dissatisfied than the generations that followed. They were better at accepting what is than the rest of us.

I know these reflections make me sound like a sentimental old person. I just hope that, somehow, there is a glimmer of the beauty and truth of my parents and their generation’s approach to life that passes through me to my children….so that Dick (my Dad) and Rhetta (my Mom) will never be gone forever.

Mom serving tea with her best friend at Maryville College, St. Louis, MO. 1950

The 7 Friends Everybody Needs

My parents never told me whom I should choose as a friend, but they definitely showed me. My Mom often spoke of her very first best friend in the 1930’s, an African American girl named Carliss. They played every afternoon together for hours in the alley behind Mom’s house. An unusual pairing for the time period and rural setting in the South, to be sure. As for Dad, he had 3 best friends his entire life and a million acquaintances that he treated with kindness and respect always. As a kid growing up in a small town, I felt proud knowing that my Dad was well liked and known as a decent, fair, funny person.

With those concepts about friendship on my heart, I have lived a very colorful life sustained by many friends from vastly different backgrounds and perspectives. Here are the 7 ESSENTIAL friends I think everybody would benefit from knowing:

A Kindergartener – Because of their innocence and devotion to making their mark, a kindergartener is about as easy and charming a friend you will ever have! In my own experience, of course, these were my 2 children, with very different personalities though the same deadly sweet kindergarten-ish enthusiasm. Isa would hop in the car each afternoon from her long day at school and give me the “dot report” – who received the most velcro-backed ladybug markings on their name to represent bad behavior. She never had more than 1 and was very proud of this fact! Mario, on the other hand, shared that his teacher only gave them “7 minutes to daydream,” but later added that she had told him he was “very handsome”! If you have never been friends with a kindergartener, I recommend seeking one out at once!!!
A Septuagenarian – Edith Marsh lived in the apartment below me when I was in my mid-20’s and she was 93. She had lost nearly everybody she loved in her life except her daughter who visited weekly. We became best friends! I would come home from work to find her sitting in her dark kitchen with the television on watching her favorite Kansas City Royals. She would bring me homemade molasses cookies (I never had the heart to tell her I hate molasses!) and on snow days we would sit on her “divan” and chat about her husband, Homer, who had been so loving and devoted to her. Edith told me I shopped too much and that I needed to “reel in a husband”!!!! I was devastated when she died and lonely for a long time, in spite of my many friends my age. Edith knew something about life that nobody else I had ever met understood – you can’t enjoy it by being a whiner!
Someone “Differently Wired” – I have had lots of friends that fit in this category but today, the one that sticks in my mind is another neighbor in the quirky little apartment building I lived in as a single woman. I think her name was “Ann.” It seemed she was a bit crazy, as all she did was carry a bag and cheerfully pick up trash in our neighborhood. Of course, I admired her because of her smile and her bright red lipstick! So I started talking to her. Turns out, she believed that the service she was providing was all to honor Jesus, the man to whom she had always compared other men and the reason why she never married! As odd as “Ann” was, I am always attracted to people who are just a little bit off – because you can learn so much from them if you listen to what motivates them!
Someone Who Has Lost Everything -I am cheating a bit here because Buddy was really my husband’s friend, only mine by “association.” But he inspired us both. First, because he was a hard-working man and someone from outside the “silk stocking” Law Firm world that most of our friends came from. But second, because Buddy was surviving the tragic loss of his wife and daughter who were killed by a drunk driver. He lived everyday with unspeakable sadness and carried the weight of this huge loss on his heart. Yet Buddy made a decision to try to enjoy life and do some things he had never tried before – a “bucket list,” of sorts. He was a simple man with lots of wisdom and we were so lucky to know him. He died about 18 months after losing his wife and daughter in a tragic hit-and-run motorcycle accident. Even though his life ended senselessly, we had never seen anybody so wounded make better use of the time they had here on Earth. We both learned from Buddy that attitude is everything.
Someone Who Loves Music– We all have friends like this! The one that sticks out in my mind is my Dad’s college friend from Hawaii, Martin Luke.
Don’t Go Under The Old Apple Tree!

He came to visit us a few times as I was growing up and he always brought his ukulele – an instrument that was very strange to me! My Dad would absolutely light up when Martin would pull out the ukulele and together they would sing the songs of their college years in the 1940’s like “Don’t Go Under The Old Apple Tree”. I watched them together enjoying this strange music on an odd instrument – 2 friends from vastly different backgrounds – and I understood that music can bring people together who would otherwise never have anything in common. Very cool.
An Idealist – I had never met one until I was in Graduate School and Myra came to speak at a Gerontology Class. She brought Dan Callahan’s controversial book about setting limits on scarce health care resources by restricting access for patients over a certain age. And I argued with her. And she smiled and thought I was “cheeky.”
My mentor and dear friend, Myra, the first idealist and feminist I ever knew!

From there began a long friendship and working relationship with this remarkable woman with wildly liberal ideas! My life would have been so dull if I had never met this beautiful woman, the Idealist in my life, Myra. I am still so grateful.
Someone Who Is Extremely Kind to Animals –
Our less-than-photogenic dog, Tango, with my daughter, Isabella, her “handler.’

I never really gave much thought to animals, their needs and special gifts and their unique place on this planet, until I became a Mother. Yes, I had pets that I loved as a child and young adult, but it wasn’t until I witnessed the transformative power of love between human and animal with my own children that I began to think of them as very special. In the last few years, I have met many people who do amazing things in the animal rescue world and I admire them so much. And the brave friends who help us “escort our beloved pets to the rainbow bridge” I could never do without. There is one such friend, in particular, Colleen, who does this for people having a tough time saying goodbye to their dear pets – family members, really. Colleen has a special gift and if you don’t know someone who would lay down their own life for an animal, I recommend you seek one out – they are beautiful souls!

How About Some Sunday “I Need Cheering Up” Lemon Tea Cakes?

Moist Lemon Tea Cakes .... make life a little easier to swallow! — Moist Lemon Tea Cakes …. make life a little easier to swallow!

There are many days when I just need “a little cheering up.” And…..I will often head to the kitchen and start a very messy baking project as my antidote. In her infinite wisdom, my Mom made sure I had my own little “kitchen” in a closet playroom growing up along with my very own Easy Bake Oven. I am sure we ordered and re-ordered those cake batter packets hundreds of times, but the preoccupation with my Easy Bake kept me out of Mom’s way in the real kitchen!!!

Mom was not much of a gardener, either, though we lived on 3 acres surrounded by beautiful farmland. So, I took it upon myself to begin my education in plant life by purchasing an Encyclopedia of Gardening through some mail-order offer. I remember sending in my money and thanking the Publisher for helping me to enjoy “gardening through the mail”!

The succulent is consistently reliable in its beauty and health....great addition to any happy place1 — The succulent is consistently reliable in its beauty and health….great addition to any happy place1

All this to say, a little something sweet baking in the kitchen and something pretty and green in a pot usually go a long way towards cheering me up whenever I feel down. And I am “feeling” the back-to-school furor and dread that many parents do this time of year. A new beginning marks an ending too soon forgotten – and a day closer to our babies leaving the nest. I have many friends who dropped their beautiful children off at college this weekend for the first time – the day they never thought would happen arrived. And so, in the spirit of “cheering everyone up,” I offer this post with a new yummy lemon recipe to enjoy.

Moist Lemon Tea Cakes

Time: 40 minutes
Print

Ingredients:

3/4 cups butter, softened
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1-1/2 cups sugar
3 eggs
1 1/2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon extract
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
1 1/2 cups flour

Glaze:

2 cups confectioner’s sugar
1/4 cup 2% milk

2 teaspoons lemon extract

Directions

In a large bowl, cream the butter, cream cheese and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in the lemon juice, extracts and lemon peel. Add flour; beat until just moistened.
Fill 2-dozen greased miniature muffin cups two-thirds full. Bake at 325 degrees for 15 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes before removing from pans to wire racks to cool completely.
In a small bowl, combine glaze ingredients. Dip tops of cakes into glaze; place on waxed paper to dry.

Learning to “Hold Place” for Myself in My Recovery Journey

I can reach for the support and encouragement I need at any time.

I have 38 days of sobriety. This is very encouraging and exciting! I am not frightened or fidgety, in need of a drink. But I am tired – bone tired. I have discovered a wonderful author, Heather Plett, and her writing about self-care gives me encouragement as my steps toward whomever I am meant to be at the end of this journey feel more like impossible efforts against a rushing tide of water.

But Heather’s work reminds me of something very important: it is my job to take care of myself first. She recounts a recent lesson she learned from a jewelry maker about this:

A steady mind before a steady hand (what I learned from a jewelry maker)

She chose a beautiful wooden image of a tree that has taken root in an unstable place as her reminder that she is capable of caring for herself, as long as she does that first.

Youngest of 7, my sister closest in age to me, Susanna, helps me out in a muddy situation.

But what if, like me, you have lived 49 years of “making messes” and surrounding yourself with people who clean them up? My only choice is to forgive and love myself or I won’t be able to maintain my sobriety or fully love the children my husband and I brought into this world.

Isa, my older child, is extremely strong - inside and out! — Isa, my older child, is extremely strong – inside and out!

Mario, the younger child, shares his conquest with pride then sets it free (like a good boy!).

You’ll notice a lot of water in my post today. Throughout my life, during times of intense change and uncertainty, I have always dreamed of rushing water. It carries me to the place I am meant to be – my destination. Although I am terrified daily of losing myself, losing my family, losing my way – I know these fears are irrational. Learning to quickly access my “quiet place” deep inside – my source of strength – helps reassure me (sometimes hundreds of times a day) that all is as it should be.

I am not alone on my journey, thank God! My partner and husband, Michael, is with me every step.

So, for one more day, I believe I can continue this journey – as exhausting as it can be. My family and friends that know me and love me understand I may not be the “Queen of Perky” for awhile…..but she will be back and when I find her LOOK OUT!!!!!

5 Years Ago Today, We Gave Up a Dream

25541_1306794802621_4203366_n — The beginning of the journey, the day we bought the land and picked the location of what would become our beloved Tango Canyon.

I have mentioned in previous posts, our family has experience “transplanting” from the City to the Country. We lasted 8 years. Sometimes dark and lonely, sometimes like a cable television show where city folks learn how to manage their lives surrounded by unfamiliar creatures like scorpions, wild turkey, tortoises, vultures, newborn deer and copperhead snakes. But one thing remained constant: My husband’s dream to be close to his children and provide a simple lifestyle our family would always remember. We fought with the neighbors, our friends/employers and sometimes each other throughout the highs and lows of our time in the country. But we never stopped loving each other or our dream.

The children and I made daily sojourns out to the place in the country that was to be our home and they christened it with their laughter and love.

Along the way, my husband and I learned that giving up on a dream is not failure or surrender. It is just an unexpected twist in life’s path that may leave scars but also offers great gifts. When we returned to the City and the comforts of old friends and family, we had stories and experiences to share that others had only dreamed of. As one of Mike’s lawyer friends put it, “You have been away from the reservation. Not many of us have the courage to do that.” There’s something about going away that is terribly frightening and inspiring at the same time. On my horrible days, I would frown and tell people, “If you want to get to know yourself really well, move to the f—–ng PRAIRIE!”.

The children's handprints in front of their country home. — The children’s handprints in front of their country home.

The part we are proud of is that our family made its mark on the people and community we grew to love – and they on us. We did not fit in there nor do we really completely fit in back here in the City because of the lessons we learned in our small town. But that’s okay. We had a dream, we lived it for awhile and then gracefully left it behind…..and survived to tell about it!

Our safe haven in the country.....the place we asked our children to leave in search of a new life in Kansas City. — Our safe haven in the country…..the place we asked our children to leave in search of a new life in Kansas City.

So, on the 5th anniversary of our departure from the home we loved so well we named it after Mike’s father’s homeland’s national dance, “Tango Canyon,” I am proud to report that all is well. Transition complete. Our journey unfolds before us everyday and it is good. And we are better for having known the rugged world of Southern Kansas and its inhabitants.

An Apple Crisp for Suri

Last year, I decided to do several things to “educate” myself in hopes it might lead me to my next “thing” in life. I enrolled in Community College – but it didn’t take long for me to realize what a dumb idea that was. I’d been away from the rigors of school too long. THAT’S the “big lesson” I learned from that. But earlier in the year I committed to volunteering a few days each month at a local Food Pantry. Starting to get the sense that this is where my “big learning” took place? For months, I was too shy to work directly with the visitors to the pantry – I would smile and greet them while packing away food items in the back. It took a lot of courage for me to be ready to face them one-on-one and feel that I could answer questions with confidence and sufficient cheer. You see, I am a bit of a crybaby! When I see suffering, sometimes I cry. And I certainly did not want to repeat that horrific scene from 25 years ago when I broke down in tears in front of a Cancer Survivors group as their guest speaker! I was not expecting their faces to be so young – I panicked and suddenly the room closed in on me and I got hot and then the tears started rolling down my cheeks in spite of my wish to appear “professional.” It happens. Vulnerability. Compassion. It catches us by surprise throughout life. Well, it was never going to catch me by surprise again. So I remained in the back of the Food Pantry dutifully stuffing bags for people to take home. Until the day Margaret told me she needed me at the front counter. She was too busy to do her ordinary job at the Pantry that day and I had been there more than long enough to be able to check id’s and cross off names. I heaved a big sigh and headed over towards the counter. I tried not to let Margaret see the enormous panic I was feeling as the line outside the door began to grow. One by one, our visitors politely stepped inside our Food Pantry and graciously accepted whatever we had to offer that morning.

Things were going really well. Until the thing that caught me off guard happened. Until the opposite of my “image” of what a Food Pantry patron ought to look like stepped up to my counter.

He was in is early 40’s, very physically capable looking and quite handsome. And his smile and cheerful attitude would have made you think he was shopping somewhere really special. I realized I had a few misguided preconceptions about pride before this moment, too. As naturally as if we were longtime friends, he initiated the conversation, “Oh, my goodness! You have fresh apples today! I have already picked up my oats and my flour. Is that butter I see behind the apples, also,” he pointed toward the back of the table I was managing but that thing was starting to happen to me when I am caught off guard by big emotions – I could not see anything around me and I was getting hot!!!! Margaret noticed right away I was not myself and, fearing I might be afraid of this man, she answered very nonchalantly, “Yes, we have lots of free butter for you today!”. That helped, I had a moment to take a breath. The man smiled an even bigger grin and let out a robust laugh then said, “Suri is going to be so happy when she gets home from school today!”. Before I could ask, he started to tell me, “Suri’s my girl – it’s just the two of us. She’s five and she loves school. And more than that, she LOVES a fresh apple crisp!.” I began placing fresh apples and butter in a bag for the gentleman and my thoughts immediately went to my own children when I heard his words. I love baking for my kids, too – and I especially love surprising them with their favorite treats after a long day at school. We’re not so awfully different, then, from our Food Pantry patrons, are we?

After Suri’s Dad was long gone and we were preparing to close the Pantry for the weekend, I noticed a slip of paper that someone had dropped in the hallway. When I looked at it, I recognized Suri’s Dad’s name and the date was the same day. Before coming to the Food Pantry, Suri’s Dad did something I’ll bet he hated – so he’d have weekend cash for his little girl. He had been to a Pawn Shop and left some dvd’s – and in exchange, he was paid $10.00 plus 423% interest due when he retrieved his belongings! But precious Suri would have her apple crisp and her Dad will have provided for his child – and experienced the joy we all do as parents when we are able to give our children special treats. He just had to pay a much bigger price than most of us to do it. This lesson is sticking with me. It makes me profoundly humble for all the abundance in my life. It makes me appreciate that unique feeling that not all parents can enjoy all the time – of being able to provide for my children. For to give really is much better than to receive!!!

3 Things I Learned Over Breakfast With My Son

Lately, my husband and I have become concerned that our 14-year-old son could be “lost.” The things he used to care about haven’t seemed to matter anymore. When we try to talk to him, we HOPE for a monosyllabic answer but only get caveman grunts. Other parents have told us this is not unusual. But for our vibrant Mario, it is. We’ve tried patience and kindness – no changes. So now we are trying tough love – there is a tiny glimmer of hope. But today, I tried something brilliant: Breakfast OUT, just the 2 of us!

As long as it does not conflict with Mario’s sleeping or Jayhawks Basketball schedule, he can usually be talked into sharing a good meal – especially breakfast. I seized my opportunity this morning while hubby is away performing “Dance Dad” duties with our daughter.

“Mario how about a quick, greasy, grubby breakfast this morning at one of Mom’s favorite divey restaurants, ” I beckon. He rubs his eyes and hangs his enormous apelike arm around my shoulder and grunts. This is more or less acquiescence. Before the mood changes, I quickly throw the first sweatshirt on from my closet and off we go to Dagwood’s.

He is pretty quiet at first, but when breakfast is served, suddenly we are BOTH 14-year-old LINEBACKERS. “Jesus, Mom!” Mario laughs as I greedily hover over my food and pick my French Toast smothered in powdered sugar up with my hands, fold it and inhale in one gulp. “Calm down!”. I become Chris Farley from the SNL scene with David Spade and Adam Sandler, “BACK OFF! I’M STARVED!”. We begin laughing hysterically and fortunately, because it is Dagwood’s and we don’t see any snoots from Johnson County, nobody cares.

Mario starts talking. Immediately, he goes to football and his most recent season with his beloved Coach Pat. “We killed every team in the league,” he reminisces – but not in a braggy way. “The Johnson County Moms would be clapping politely for their sons,” he recalls with a smile, “and the Missouri players’ Moms were like, ‘Come on, D’Anthony! Get your head in the game!”. He was always afraid his loud Mom would go to a game and get into a “Mom Fight”! I draw a deep, happily reassured breath and tell him, “Mario, do you have any idea how cocky I am going to be when you play D1 football?”. He doesn’t even flinch. “It’s not that hard, Mom – no big deal.” But there is a flicker in my son’s eye – I see that he wants something and he cares.

I thought to myself, “My teenager who has been on a hormone-induced journey away from us is on his way back.”

I change the subject back to food, since my understanding of football is extremely limited. Like the Food Critic from the movie Ratatouille, just the sight of French Toast transforms me into a happy child again. I tell my son, “Mario, in the summertime growing up, Grandma Rhetta made stacks of French Toast a mile high, “(he has heard this story many times and does not comment that I grossly exaggerate the height of the French Toast stack every time). “We would grab pieces of it, shake a bunch of powdered sugar on it, fold it, and stuff it in our mouths! Then we would go play in the pool all day while Grandma Rhetta made homemade ice cream.” I am sharing with my son and he is listening. He is definitely not lost.

So 2 miraculous things have occurred between myself and my son over this simple greasy-spoon breakfast: he has shared what he cares about, I have shared what I care about – and for a few cherished moments, we are One.

Then in the car on the way home, Mario shares the most shocking evidence that he is far from lost – he is HOME and he is FINE. He tells me, “I remember the day Dad stuffed me into that bag on his Harley. How old was I?”. Uh- barely 1, Mario! He is telling me he feels connected to our family and he has shown me, in one simple Saturday morning outing, that everything is going to be okay. This has been my 3rd sign today.

Even though he is back in his dark, musty “teenaged boy cave” just upstairs – and we are worlds apart again – I know I have my son back. And yes, I WILL be the LOUDEST, most OBNOXIOUS college football Mom on the planet – he can count on that! I am looking forward to more breakfasts.

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Moist Lemon Tea Cakes

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