Open Doors

If it's not the open door to the storage room or the closet, it' s the cabinets in the kitchen. My husband is home and I know exactly where he has been! In his process to find the books he needs from the multiple boxs that line the walls of our storage room to that jar of peanut butter from the kitchen, every door is opened and left that way. A few months ago, this would have infuriated me and I would have told my sweetie exactly what was pulsing through my head. Shut the door! The difference now is the reminder of how I felt about three years ago. Mark and I were miles apart trying to make a nine month long distance relationship not only work but develop into what we hope would be forever. Each and every time we had to leave each other nothing could consol me, for days on end. What I wouldn't have given for traces of him being near. Now, three years down the road, a few days from two years together and a one year old asleep in the other room, I see what a blessing open doors are. I don't have to wonder where he is and what he is doing. The evidence is right before my eyes and all I have to do is follow those precious traces to find the love of my life...and what he did with the peanut butter.

Mother of Two

For all the mothers out there that have two or more children of their own, I humbly bow before you. I have one beautiful, baby girl who just turned one year old and I've been blind at just how easy I have it. Up until now, handling one child has been a large piece of decadent, dark chocolate cake. How I enjoyed every bite! But now I get it, those women that have more than one child or were even blessed to have two at once earned the mother of the year award and I stand in humble amazement. Today marks the day when I learn that naptime is even more sacred when two are sleeping at the same time. My beautiful vibrant daughter is napping right now and so is her new playmate John. They are exactly two weeks apart in age and are the best of buddies...except when John has had enough of Hannah's chattering and constant hugs. I guess the female and male tendencies start early. But for me, I am savoring the quiet and enjoying a nice big piece of, no longer cake, but of humble pie. Koodos to the mothers who have survived!

Irony

I was browsing through a name-your-child-book just for the fun of it and found that (by a little searching and manipulation) that my name means the Princess of the Ball. Sarah in Hebrew is Princess and Marie in Japanese is ball. SO I put the two together and became what I have always wanted to be. I totally avoided the fact that Marie in Hebrew really means Bitter. Ok... the irony is so thick here that you can cut it with a knife. The Bitter Princess...sounds like a bad children's book. So I'm going with being Japenese for a while.
Growing up the Princess of the Ball was never a discription that fit me well. I was awkward, totally opposite of graceful, very talkative, clumsy in such a way that provided many laughs and well... just never the belle of the ball. So when I saw the description of my name, I had to laugh. The irony being, ten years later, nothing has changed. I've grown up in many ways however, who you are and what your life is always stays with you. But if you are looking for someone who is depressed or disappointed, you will not find it here. I love to laugh but, ironically, now I have to laugh at myself and know my life is fabulous!
So instead of being a Bitter Princess I am going to be the Princess of the Ball...my Prince Charming just has to deal with how irony is going to be stepping all over his toes during our dance!