I started a ritual, about a year and a half ago, where Friday is the celebrated "Candy Day" in our family. This means that after school we go to one of a variety of stores on our favorites list and every Sombar (those of us with teeth) gets to purchase the candy items of their choosing (depending on the store, this could be one treasured item or 12 bulk pieces) and eat to their hearts content. I came up with this as a solution to the constant begging for sweets that was going on, daily, in my home. Now, don't have any romantic delusions about this, folks, my children guzzle sugar laden treats every minute they can get their sticky fingers on them (playdates at Auntie Stacey's home, for example, always result in the robbery of her goody bowl, and the bulging pockets of my boys, as do visits with my parents) they just don't get candy from me, until Friday.

Dinardo's Candy Store, just up the street from our home, is a popular spot. Run by a local mom, this quaint little nook on a street filled with upscale shops and spas, sells every sweet treat imaginable, including many favorites from the 1970s- like Lick 'Em Sticks with the flavored sugar and Pop Rocks. Though you often have to pummel about seventy-five middleschoolers just to get through the tiny doorway, once we're in the confines of this treasure trove, my kids are nothing short of hypnotized by the choices at hand and have great difficulty leaving in what I feel is a timely fashion. On alternating Fridays, when I've had just about enough of the mobscene, we head to our grocery store which stocks a rather impressive bulk-candy section. Secretly, I love it there because you can get small sizes of all the best the sugar-world has to offer. We each grab a produce-style plastic bag and pick twelve pieces from the bins and head to the check-out lanes. For me, its double-bubble, raspberry jolly ranchers, lemon heads, an atomic fireball, and a Werthers. Lily loves the chocolate stuff- fun-size Twix, Butterfinger, Hersheys, and Snickers. Liam and Ben both go for the gummies (worms, bears), the dum-dum lollipops, the lemon heads, and the smarties.

Last week, in a moment of creativity, I invented a game I termed "candy concentration." I bought twenty-four pairs of candy (two kisses, two gumballs, etc.) and two large packages of styrofoam cups. I then came home and placed a piece of candy under each of the forty-eight cups on the floor of our foyer.

Each of the kids took turns trying to make a match with the candy, and when they were successful, they got to keep the pair! This was a sensation and one we'll play again in the future.

Tomorrow is candy day everybody!! GRAB SOME AND ENJOY!!

I opened my mailbox this morning to a wonderful sight- two of my very favorite magazines had arrived, after what seemed to be a very long respite: Cottage Living (a/k/a DECORATING PORN- a clever phrase coined by my soultwin Mary Anne Darling), and Mothering (what i would call CRUNCHY LIBERAL PARENTING PORN- for mamas like me who breastfeed til their nipples hit the floor)- both gifts from my mother. I am a magazine junkie. I relish long lines at Giant Eagle just so I can stand there and get my fill of Hollywood garbage- like US or the CBS Soaps chronicle (since I don't get to watch those anymore- very inappropriate for the youngins). I gage the quality of Doctor's offices based on whether or not they purchase a subscription to my all-time favorite GOSSIP PORN- People Magazine. If the waiting room contains only a few old National Geographics (though I will read those), Golf Digest, or the dreaded AARP, I know that my experience in the exam room will be equally as lacking.

A magazine addiction is a nasty little habit that will break the bank and eat up all your grocery money if you aren't careful. After years of spending more money than I or my husband want to know, on monthly issues, I got wise and asked my closest peeps to shower me with subscriptions for my birthday, last July. Now, every month, or every other month, the best gifts await me from my friendly postman. In addition to the previously mentioned titles, two other triple-x decor zines grace my box- Better Homes and Gardens (from my good friend Stacey Walls) and Southern Living (from my Mama-In-Law Rose).

Now for those of you who read my post from several days ago, you will undoubtedly be sitting there, reading this confession of sorts, shaking your head- because no one who reads magazines can ever feel contentment- especially none with titles that end with "...Living" (in addition to the aforementioned topics, there is the infamous Martha Stewart Living- which could drive any normal person into a frenzy of decorating and crafting insanity, or Coastal Living- which will show all of us middle class dwellers truly how deprived we are. Even the zen-guru of all things altruistic- Ms.Oprah Winfrey- her glossy dose of O-PORN is more than most of us can bare- really, friends, can the average joe afford anything she recommends on those pages. No!!!). If I felt compelled at all to live a more monastic lifestyle, as far as simplicity and gratitude were concerned, I'd call off every one of these subscriptions and ask for homemade granola and perhaps some windchimes, instead.

Now if I could only stop singing B-I-N-G-O at the top of my lungs and neglect my children long enough to find the time to sit my happy-slappy down on the sofa and indulge my senses in the fantasies of furniture arranging and natural parenting. Ah...

A couple of years ago, my big sistah Wendy
(I am an only-child but she's the closest thing to blood I've got)introduced me to the angelic and gripping sounds of Eva Cassidy, a musician from a town in Maryland very close to where I grew up. I was immediately captivated by her soulful voice and saddened to hear of her untimely death a decade ago, in her late-thirties. If you purchase her final CD, you can read her father's poignant description of the beauty that was her life and the sorrow which surrounds the fact that her success and acclaim have mostly been realized posthumously. She never felt that her talent was worthy of the attention she drew and therefore she didn't pursue her dreams as ambitiously as she might have otherwise.

I wonder how many of us withold success from our lives, and from those around us, by belittling the gifts we've been given as ordinary? Sometime back, an old friend copied this for me (I've heard it credited to various authors) and I thought I'd share it with you, this cold and snowy Wednesday in Pittsburgh:

Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are we not to be?
You are a child of God; your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are born to make manifest the glory of God.
It is not just in some of us, it is in everyone; and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

I'm sitting here in the dark, on the loveseat in my "writing sanctuary", remembering back to the days where my friend Tony and I would practice a ritual we'd created called "getting life"- we'd lay on the floor of his Arlington, Virginia apartment, with a bottle of wine, close our eyes and breathe in music like it was the very oxygen we needed to exist. The distant lights from all over D.C. reflected in his livingroom window, we would feel more alive than ever, and I never wanted to leave that place. Fifteen years later and a piece of me is still there- entranced in the melodies...

Judy's Gettin' Life Playlist

Lying here with you,
Listening to the rain,
Smiling just to see,
The smile upon your face,
These are the moments,
I thank God that I'm alive,
These are the moments,
I'll remember all my life,
I found all I've waited for,
And I could not ask for more.
Looking in your eyes,
Seeing all I need,
Everything you are,
Is everything to me,
These are the moments,
I know heaven must exist,
These are the moments,
I know all I need is this,
I have all I've waited for,
And I could not ask for more.
I could not ask for more than this time together,
I could not ask for more than this time with you,
Every prayer has been answered,
Every dream I have's come true,
Yeah right here in this moment,
Is right where I'm meant to be,
Here with you, Here with me. . .
These are the moments,
I thank God that I'm alive,
These are the moments,
I'll remember all my life,
I've got all I've waited for,
And I could not ask for more. . .
I could not ask for more than this time together,
I could not ask for more than this time with you,
Every prayer has been answered,
Every dream I have's come true,
And right here in this moment,
Is right where I'm meant to be,
Here with you, Here with me. . .
I could not ask for more than the love you give me,
Cause it's all I've waited for . . .
And I could not ask for more,
I could not ask for more.
EDWIN MCCAIN

Philippians 4:12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.


I've been thinking a lot about contentment lately. It is a particular weakness of mine, and one which probably makes me a stranger to holiness more than any other of my many iniquities. As Americans, we are ingrained with the idea, from an early age, that happiness belongs in the getting of more- more toys, more food, more education, more power, more house, more cars, more luxury, more, more, MORE... and I have fallen into this trap and am constantly flailing around trying to free myself, only to slip back in when I lose sight of what matters the most. It has taken me longer than many to understand that contentment lies not in the finality of a dream or desire but as a state of mind- deciding that where you are is okay. Most of the time I don't feel this- but I'm beginning to learn that its not so much a feeling as it is a committment to putting forth gratitude instead of begging for a better _______.

My Dad asked me, last spring, while driving past my alma mater, if I could go back to the days when I was in there, would I? Without even a split second of consideration, I retorted "you must be kidding...heck no!" Don't get me wrong, friends, I had some really good times in college- I forged friendships that are still invaluable to me, I studied under some remarkable professors in subjects about which I was very passionate,and earned two degrees, and the bulk of a third, in the process. But I consider those just building blocks for my real life- which is now. This is everything I ever hoped for and more. And none of it, or most of it, is not tangible. I have a husband whom I love with a raw sort of fervor, surpassing anything lustful or romantic or human- a much deeper soul partnership, without which I would not be whole. I have four children who amaze me everyday and make my purpose in life extraordinary.



Looking for the lunar eclipse, on a freezing cold night, in our pajamas, in the middle of a parking-lot somewhere in Pittsburgh, in the snow. We'd jumped out of bed, mid-chapter of Harry Potter: Chamber of Secrets, piled into the van and drove around forever trying to find it, and even though we were unsucessful, we had a blast. These are truly the best minutes of my life...





They each possess a spirit that leaves me awestruck at our creator and the miracle of creation itself.



Seth Paul Sombar, perhaps the happiest baby on the planet. Here he is, the little booger, in the doctor's office, where I am swearing up and down that he is so sick- DOES HE LOOK SICK? No, I look like an idiot but, God, do I love this kid. His smile just lights up a room!

On any given morning, it is a mystery as to what will entertain my five year old. Last week, after the daily snowfall had hit our town, Benjamin got himself dressed and out the door to shovel. Just don't tell Norm, our neighbor, that he was dumping our snow into his driveway!


Liam is the quiet, brooding brother but one who is extremely loving and kind toward our littlest family member. Here he is playing Peek-a-Boo with Seth one morning before school.




Lily, my glamour girl. Ah- what can I say- she's a mini-me in all the good ways, ONLY BETTER. And, really, that's all we ever wish for as parents- that our kids will have a terrific life, even better than our own!










I have family and friends who accept me as I am and love me unconditionally.

And during times when I am feeling especially self-loathing, like when my jeans require that I lay down on my mattress to zip or when it feels like I will never have time to myself again (like NOW- when my five-year-old is counting to 100 in my ear, as loud as possible, hoping that I will play Bingo with him instead of taking a much needed break- "mommmmmmmmmmmmmy- when I stop counting you need to get down here and play with me.....mommmmmmmmmmmy....how did Abraham Lincoln get shot?....tell me nowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy....who's that Bush guy?.....what his name mama? he didn't get shot? nobody shot him? that's you blog, mommy? why why why why why why why why why why why why? )....or when I can't stop thinking about things I want, that for some reason I currently can't have (more money, another bedroom in my bungalow, hair that doesn't fall out everytime I touch it, a second car that can hold our whole family, cats who don't pee on my area rugs, nicer clothes, whiter teeth, perkier breasts, and everything in the pottery barn catalog that arrived in my mailbox today...)I take a deep breath and I remind myself, that for all the things that disappoint me right now, about myself, or my life circumstances, or for all the stuff I think I need but don't possess, if I die tomorrow, the most significant dreams I've ever had have all been realized and I'm walking the most abundant path.... I can be content with even the most imperfect parts of my journey because the life I'm living right now, regardless of financial stability, which is fleeting, or social acceptance, which is fickle, is divine.

I found this on a magnet at my local grocery store. You think I'm a nut about bumper stickers? I'm a real lunatic for quotes (on magnets, on shirts, on cards...)

I love this. It should be in the bible, its so profound and wonderful and certainly, inspirational. Actually, I think it is in the Bible, spoken by Jesus, just with a few more thous and thys and therefores.

Something to ponder in your soul today...

THIS IS WHAT YOU SHALL DO: LOVE THE EARTH AND SUN AND THE ANIMALS, DESPISE RICHES, GIVE ALMS TO EVERY ONE THAT ASKS, STAND UP FOR THE STUPID AND CRAZY, DEVOTE YOUR INCOME AND LABOR TO OTHERS, HATE TYRANTS, ARGUE NOT CONCERNING GOD, HAVE PATIENCE AND INDULGENCE TOWARD THE PEOPLE, TAKE OFF YOUR HAT TO NOTHING KNOWN OR UNKNOWN OR TO ANY MAN OR NUMBER OF MEN, GO FREELY WITH POWERFUL UNDEDUCATED PERSONS AND WITH THE YOUNG AND WITH THE MOTHERS OF FAMILIES, READ THESE LEAVES IN THE OPEN AIR EVERY SEASON OF EVERY YEAR OF YOUR LIFE, RE-EXAMINE ALL YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD AT SCHOOL OR CHURCH OR IN ANY BOOK, DISMISS WHATEVER INSULTS YOUR OWN SOUL, AND YOUR VERY FLESH SHALL BE A GREAT POEM AND HAVE THE RICHEST FLUENCY NOT ONLY IN ITS WORDS BUT IN THE SILENT LINES OF ITS LIPS AND FACE AND BETWEEN THE LASHES OF YOUR EYES AND IN EVERY MOTION AND JOINT OF YOUR BODY...

I love my children. I love my husband. And on most days, I would choose to be with both my children, and my husband, pretty much all the time. But on this frigid, icey morning, after a night of mere shards of sleep due to two sick children, and an 8am ROOT CANAL (can we all sound a collective "poor judy", please), I longed to just return to my home, to someone's bed (i'm not that picky anymore), throw the covers over my nest of a hairdo, and pretend to be in hybernation. Even for an hour. However, Mr. Sombar, my less-than gracious, tyrant of a husband, felt it necessary to speed his happy slappy off to work, barely slowing the car down to let me out, in my novacaine stupor (actually- that is a lie- he did slow the car down- in fact, he parked it, let me out, along with 3 of my 4 children, then proceeded to announce that he had not, indeed, fed the baby this morning because he'd given his other offspring chips for breakfast- and the baby couldn't eat them because he has only 2 teeth. after ten minutes of bickering over the very obvious issues here- he agreed to put Seth in his highchair, pour some jarred food down his throat, after which he quickly handed him to me, as I lay grumbling in Ben's bed, to nurse and put down for a nap. Upon leaving Seth's room, still in my stupor, I noticed my less than compassionate husband reading the latest issue of Newsweek in the kitchen, which he justified by saying he was just waiting to say goodbye to me- i.e. waiting to see if a peck on my numb lips would soften my very bitter attitude- it did not!).

So, here's my problem friends. We all know by now that when you choose to be a full-time mother- you've chosen to go without a paycheck, an identity, fancy clothes, a car that doesn't resemble a house on wheels, the words "thank you" and pretty much anything else you may have had in your previous life as a career woman. And, believe it or not, I'm down with that. But, in comparison to the poor souls of the less than industrialized nations, who slave away in factories for little pay and almost no benefits, I'm not so sure that my plight is much better. Okay- my living conditions are enviable in comparison- but i work for free and when I'm sick or just had major surgery on my tooth (by a man with a heavy Russian accent, probably named Boris- I can't be sure because I couldn't understand him behind the surgical mask, whose assistant spent most of the hour and a half that he stuck needles into the pulp of my bicuspid, snarling) I don't even get time off. Not even an hour. A miserable frickin' hour. Not a whole day, not even half a day...AN HOUR PEOPLE!!! That's all I wanted- just to ease back into my life with some dignity- perhaps to take a warm shower, put on deoderant, or eat a healthful breakfast. NO. No. No No. And my husband, when begged for just 60 minutes of his a.m., replied- but YOU ARE WASTING OUR VACATION DAYS!!!! Yep. Sweatshop.

So today, fellow mothers, will you all get out your male voodoo dolls (i know you've got them hiding somewhere) and stab them repeatedly, with fervor, in the groin, in honor of me.

That's it. I'm done with my mid-grade pity-party, and I'm off to find myself a Union. Don't you think a mother's union is a good idea?

Tom and I have run the gamut on our dietary philosophies throughout our thirteen year relationship. For a couple of years while we were dating, and then after we got married, we practiced "relaxed" vegetarianism, consuming fish but no other meat products. After Liam was born, and I was forced to give up dairy, nuts, and soy in order to breastfeed him, due to his plethora of food allergies, I reintroduced poultry for lack of any better ideas, combined with my profound dislike of many vegetables. I have toyed with the idea of veganism on and off throughout the past year, for both ethical and health reasons, but have always come back to my love for the taste of meat and my less-than creative taste buds and culinary skills.

This morning, in an usual moment of getting to read The Washington Post, online (Tom has a rare holiday from work and thus, I have the luxury of reading something other than books meant for the under 10 crowd), I was horrified by this article, regarding the California beef recall. I cringed at the images of sick cows, who could not stand on their own, being given electric shock and sprays in order to make it to slaughter, and, subsequently, into the lunches of thousands of public school children, and the burgers of fast-food restaurants. All I could do was feel disgusted that we, as a society, including myself, have turned a blind eye to the plight of factory farm animals, who are clearly mistreated and suffer greatly to provide us with marginal quality "food." So people, my carnivorous ways are again being called into question and I must grapple today with how to further justify my support of the livestock industry by consuming meat. I don't think I can get past this one.

By the way, Thank God I'm not Oprah, or the Cattle Industry would be suing me for this post.

As I lay in bed with Benjamin, my five year-old his morning, on his cozy flannel snowman sheets, dreaming peacefully of God-knows-what (something nice, which I have since forgotten), Tom hands me Seth, who could wait no longer for his sunrise feeding. So there we were, snuggled in the twin bed, barely able to breathe for fear we'd all plummet to the floor, Seth having "mum" while stroking Benjamin's hair with his free arm, Benjamin softly repeating to his baby brother "I love you Sethy- I love you so much Sethy." All evidence of the normal day-to-day chaos hidden beneath the serenity of these moments. And I felt, with every inhale and exhale, what Myla and Jon Kabat-Zin speak of, in their book Everyday Blessings- the significance of mindful parenting- taking each minute as it comes, soaking it up, giving the whole of yourself with no multi-tasking or distractions. And I felt the gift of life, of parenthood surround me, and without uttering a word, I praised God for the beauty that enveloped me- and for the fact that I am me- not the skinny girl down the street, or the wealthy girl around the corner, or the mom who's got it all together across the way. This is my life and I'll keep it.

I have posted here before about my pervasive ADD issues, most of which is evidenced by my continuous loss of important items, such as glasses and cell phones. Every morning I am challenged to find either of those things (I had my glasses replaced two weeks ago and my phone is currently AWOL), as well as gloves, hats, credit cards, etc. Today, after taking Seth to see the Dr., I found myself lamenting, as I drove the boys to get some lunch, how miserable I am when I feel so disorganized and the lengths I would go to just to find a solution to this life-long frustration. But then, as I took a deep breath, in and out, I noticed how my insides seemed to be racing, as if they were in a hurry and I wondered to myself if part of my problem isn't that I've got this inner-clock that whispers to me that I must hurry-up- about everything. So I took some more really deep breaths and I started to talk back, to that voice (okay- people, I know what you are thinking....), reassuring it that we could take our time today and that life would wait for us....there wasn't anything we needed to do that required that sort of urgency. NOTHING! This is a lightbulb moment for me (if you will forgive my Oprah-ism there)...and I'm going to try, today, to slow down, on the inside, and take the time to be purposeful about everything that I am doing- whether it be fixing myself a healthy lunch, or nursing Seth, or putting away my coat, or picking up my kids. Perhaps the solution to my inner-chaos lies here, in the slow lane. (NOW IF I COULD JUST FIND MY PHONE.....)

Okay. I think I've concluded that I could easily spend my monthly grocery budget on bumperstickers (pathetic?). My husband has banned their display on our vehicles however so I guess I'd have to use them as wallpaper somewhere in my abode, which doesn't really suit my decorating tastes. For those who don't know me that well, I am a retired La Leche League leader and a very passionate advocate of breastfeeding and child-led weaning. Here's my latest find, which made me laugh out loud.



For those of you with similar interests, you may want to take a gander at this mama's web shop, where you can find the above vehicle adornment, as well as other novelties, equally as clever. I'm considering a t-shirt inscribed with "boob man" for my current beast o' breast, Seth.

School's out due to the mini-blizzard which hit the Burgh last night. The kids and I crossed our fingers in unison before we dozed off- hoping to have a pajama day today. Lily got up first, checked the school district website and came bounding up the stairs to inform me of the exciting news! We celebrated by snuggling in my big bed for a while, all four kids as they woke up and I (Tom was off to work early). Then it was on to our own individual pursuits- Lily watching Sister Sister in my bedroom or helping Liam on my laptop as he was playing Webkinz

Benjamin watching Little Einsteins in the basement, and



Seth
having a variety of gourmet entrees, mashed to perfection for his nearly toothless self.



I baked some peanut butter cookies then began scouring my kitchen to relieve it from its days of cleaning neglect (with a little assistance from the marginally helpful Roomba-robotic vacuum-
my husband's idea for extra support around here which only sort of works- I spend a lot of time monitoring its progress, which totally defeats the purpose, people, and sends my OCD into high-gear!! LOL)

I love these days, when we can all just be ourselves-no obligations or appointments to run off to- no school to separate us or homework to fill up our free-time.

The boys got suited up to go sled riding and treasure hunting in the backyard.






Lily again enjoyed having the remote control all to herself, though she did take a break from her TV fest and offered to cook me an omelet


(what a kid! I breed 'em good, I tell ya! LOL) The baby napped and I took care of some administrative tasks, like ordering the final piece of countertop for our ever-lingering kitchen remodel and scheduling estimates to have central air installed before the sweltering days of summer arrive (ha! as if any of us can even imagine those temps when its 4 degrees here this morning).

Question of the day (from Benjamin): How Do You Breathe In Outer Space? Answer: If you're going to get outside of the space craft you do need a suit. There's no air in outer space and Spacesuits provide oxygen, temperature control and some protection from radiation.



The boys were overjoyed to find a box on our porch, amidst the snow and ice, containing shoes from my good buddy Jenifly
They occupied themselves by trying on the different styles and then fighting over which ones belonged to whom


We ended p.j. day, still in our pajamas (though some of us changed into different pairs throughout the day), nearly finishing Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone (how have I lived this long without reading that awesome series?!!). Once Tom arrived home, with yummy soup from Bonnie, my dinner exchange pal, a massive pillow fight ensued, with Daddy bludgeoning three of his four children(Seth was already asleep) with our extra large denim cushions.

Does it get any better than this? Maybe with a margarita for mommy!

Trust Children. Nothing could be more simple, or more difficult. Difficult because to trust children we must first learn to trust ourselves, and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted. * John Holt, How Children Learn (1967)

Liam with his rocket- built from recycled household stuff.

You may have noted my unusual absence from the blog world last week. We are having some difficult days, Tom and I, as parents who care so deeply for our four children. Things are not going well for Liam in first grade and the things that my heart wants for him become all muddled when I try to really get to the bottom of what I believe he truly wants (and needs). I wonder if I don't hear my instincts so well anymore. Or maybe this mothering thing is just a lot harder than that. And Liam is a kid who doesn't voice his feelings so loudly, and maybe, sometimes, not at all. I have sobbed hours and hours over this kid's spirit, just in the last seven days- and what I think "school" is doing to him is awful but the answers aren't so simple anymore.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how
to remain an artist once we grow up."

- Pablo Picasso

In addition to a plethora of beautiful valentine cards, the kids have been busy molding objects out of Crayola Model Magic-

a wonderful though rather expensive sculpting medium, which I bought in bulk from Michaels. Here are some photos of their work

Liam's laptop, complete with electrical cord.

Lily's tucan and bear.


I am a succer for art supplies. You name it, markers, crayons, paper, scissors, staplers, tape, stickers, stickers, and more stickers, ribbons.....the list goes on and on. I love creating with my children and we could go broke in the process, believe me. In my dream home (not that I don't have a dreamy home-don't get me wrong), we would have an art studio where we could be messy and fabulous and full of paint and chalk and water and glue- whenever the mood hit us. If I can ever clear the junk out of my garage, this will be my new campaign with my hubby- an art space. Wouldn't that be sublime? :)

If you know me, or you follow my blog, you know that I am an avid collector and reader of children's literature. Some of my favorite books are those who feature diverse characters. Here are some of my recommendations, in honor of black history month:

Anything illustrated by Jerry Pinkney, but specifically





Anything authored by Brian Pinkney, such as








Anything illustrated by Kadir Nelson, especially













Books illustrated by James Ransome, like








Books by Patricia C. McKissack like

You hear a lot, these days, about the dangers of driving while talking on the phone. In fact, many states, and the District of Columbia, have outlawed this activity. However, might I add that I think they should further protect the safety of motor vehicle passengers and their drivers, by outlawing bumper-stickers- for no other reason than how distracted I become while driving and trying to read them. I am curious to a fault and can't help but rubber-neck my way into other people's philosophical thinking.

Patriotism seems to invoke quite a bit of sticker prominance: "Freedom Isn't Free" (and ever annoying are those people among us who talk in bumper sticker jargon- these three words being the most popular that I've heard as of late), the standard "God Bless America" or, the polar opposite leftist statement of "God Bless Everybody- No Exceptions".

I've seen quite a lot of political messages recently, especially given that our current President has apparently angered a lot of folks ("Drunk Frat Boy Drives Country Into Ditch" "At Least The War On The Middle Class Is Going Well" "My German Shepherd Is Smarter Than Your President).

Of course, there are your standard, over-stated theological placards of the Fish, the fish with feet, the fish eating the fish with feet, the shark that originated from the fish which has no feet but is now a cool shade of tie-dye, the fish with horns that is channeling satan- you get the point.

And, we mustn't forget the ever tired and annoying "Honor Student" acknowledgements (except for the clever "my honor student beat up your honor student" ).

Sometimes, there are some that are just plain odd, like the one I saw two weeks ago, on the back of a newer model minivan, deep in suburbia, that proclaimed "I Love Vaginas"- causing me to lose momentary control over my own minivan, swerving and nearly hitting a tree.

But then there are the stickers (or mudflaps), and you know what I'm talking about people, that just get my blood boiling. I mean, I start to feel the rage from my toe nails to my scalp, my eyelashes fluttering out of control and my middle finger just aching to leap out of the window and up into the open air(as I am a decent mother of 4, this probably wouldn't be considered the best example for my younguns... I guess). I don't care if you are a republican or a democrat or where you stand on women's reproductive rights. I don't care who you love or what your favorite dog looks like. But there is never, ever, ever a decent human being driving a vehicle upon which there is 1) a confederate flag, and/or 2)the silhouette of a naked woman in a compromising position. I mean, seriously, I just catch a glimpse of such expressions of stupidity and I begin to contemplate acts of violence that could surely land me in the slammer for life. So, the other day, while searching the web for quotes, I found this - and I nearly kissed the screen, I was so overjoyed. I ask you now to join with me, comrades, in saluting the genius who created and/or is marketing this most excellent slap in the face to the afore- mentioned ding-bats- may they all careen off the road into a ditch:

I've been surprised very little in my life. My daughter, whose conception was not "planned" , was not really a surprise (we all know how these things happen, right?). My husband's testicular cancer diagnosis, four and a half years ago, was horrible and disappointing and bewildering and frightening- but not much of a surprise either (we'd had that testicle investigated two years prior to no avail). Two weeks later, when my mother's breast cancer was found, I was too numb to feel surprised. But, as my husband drove me to "lunch" the Friday afternoon before Mother's Day, 2005, and we ended up taking a detour to the airport in Baltimore, where we boarded a plane for a weekend in Miami, I WAS TOTALLY SURPRISED (yes- he is the real thing, people. the best husband on earth- even though he makes me crazy most days). Then, there is my unbelievable friend, Nancy Sanders
, who I have wanted to post about for sometime now...this woman has stood by me like a statue for almost a decade, after our lives first collided at a La Leche League playgroup in 1998

Nancy's daughter, Amelia, and Lily, the babies we were nursing almost ten years ago, when we met. Now they are all grown up (kind of) and they have a lot of fun when we can get them together.
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The girls with their respective silly brothers, Sam Sanders and Ben Sombar, born four months apart in 02/03.



Well, late in May of this past year, when I was appearing to have swallowed a wildebeast- I was soooooooooo pregnant, I got the shock of a lifetime...I came downstairs to what my husband had told me was dinner on the frontporch (I was hardley moving, laying in bed, and considering a long slumber), to find Nancy standing in my livingroom, having left work early and driven the 5 hours from D.C. to visit me, by herself (she has two beautiful children) for the weekend. She and my husband had been in cohoots for a long time, and I hadn't even the slightest clue. She attended my "surprise shower" the next morning Large and not in charge- that's me, very preggo, sitting amongst some of the most incredible souls on earth- including Nancy, who Karin T so graciously allowed to crash my ultra-gourmet shower, at the last minute (second), before I arrived.



and then we just did my life for two days- hanging with the kids, fixing supper, playing a late night game of scrabble, trips to the Uptown Coffee shop...nothing grand and extraordinary- except that she showed up like that. And that's Nancy. I love this woman. Like you love your very first friend whom you grow old with...she's the most amazing soul... (she's also an undiscovered talent with the camera- check out some of her fantastic footage).

I was completing a financial document yesterday evening, which, at one point, after a slew of other invasive questions, asked for my job description. Upon searching the drop-down box for something that even remotely resembled what I do everyday, the closest explaination available was "housewife." I bristle at that term. HOUSEWIFE. Yes, I married a wonderful man a decade ago, so, proudly, I am indeed, a wife. And, yes, every morning I wake up in a house- my house. But neither house nor wife, nor the combo of the two, identifies me or my significance as a human being. I am not a housewife. I am a woman, a mother, a powerful soul who has chosen the path of full-time child rearing as my career- not out of convenience or because i'd exhausted my other options, or because of economic prosperity (to the contrary- actually- for anyone who has given birth knows that there is nothing convenient about mothering and for my husband and I, the financial road has been a difficult one at times, as a result of our decision to live solely on his income). Rather, this occupation of mine- it is an intentional path for the mutual benefit of my own soul, coupled with the spiritual growth of the children I chose to bear. I am a feminist- I am grateful to the women who came before me, the pioneers of the women's movement, who bore the cross of oppression so that I could be free to choose full-time mothering with these beings that I helped to create, and I respect the choices of some of my dearest friends, who are equally grateful for their opportunity to venture outside of the family nucleus everyday to pursue paid employment. My hope, for my own daughter, as a future woman and perhaps, mother, is that she is fully able to perceive her choices in life, not in an either/or kind of way, but in stages, if she feels so inclined. And that when she has to check the box on a form, devulging her occupation, I dream that she will find "mother" listed there with as much dignity and respect as all of the other professional careers she could also pursue.

The big kids have a 10am start this morning, delayed due to an ice storm that hit Pittsburgh in the middle of the night last night. I have to say I'm a little disappointed- I was secretly praying for a total cancellation so we could lounge around in our p.j.s sipping hot cocoa and acting silly. But we did have some fun this morning anyway....Lily, Liam, Benjamin and Granny played the game "Sorry"
which I found at the thrift store yesterday- until certain of the kids got ants in their pants and decided to play full contact basketball in my kitchen
. Lily made peanut butter hershey kiss cookies (yum)
and I fed Seth a variety of concoctions whipped up fresh in my little mini chopper(mango and banana, fuji apples)
. Now we are rushing around to get ready to head out in the frigid temps- Lily and Liam to school and Benjamin, Seth and I to our friend Kim's house. HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYBODY!!!