Mommy Movie Moments

I have a new best friend and her name is Mindy Lahiri from Fox’s “The Mindy Project.”  On the surface we do not have a lot in common.  Mindy is an attractive Indian (South Asian American) woman living the single life in the big city.  I am a disheveled, married, Caucasian Southerner raising triplets.  We have one soul binding characteristic: we both love movies.  Mindy searches Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan films for love advice.  I have a mental file full of "Mommy Movie Moments" that I access when I need guidance in all things motherhood.  So on this Mother's Day 2013, I share with you those silver screen selections that keep me from pulling all my eyelashes out.

(1) Aurora Greenway,  Terms of Endearment:  I believe in pharmaceuticals.  If a member of The Trifecta is suffering from an ailment that can be cured with a drug, I want it.  I'm not interested in what nature may or may not heal in time.  Sometimes doctors say things to me like, "It doesn't look like an infection," or "It must be a virus."  These are not words that ring well with me.  Because when my little ladies are suffering, I WANT TO MAKE IT BETTER.   That is when I transform into Aurora Greenway from “Terms of Endearment.” If you are not familiar with the fabulous Mrs. Greenway, please watch the clip below. And also try to picture my face on Shirley MacLaine’s head screaming, “GIVE MY DAUGHTER AN ANTIBIOTIC!” I love Aurora's character for many reasons in this moving picture, but mostly because of her total willingness to unleash her inner crazy in order to stop her daughter's pain.

http://youtu.be/A1AIroyiLEM

(2) Mrs. Parker, The Christmas Story:  When I need patience and a glassy eyed acceptance in order to dull the chaos in my household I play Mrs. Parker from, “The Christmas Story.”  Because that lady laughs and remains emotionally unabridged even when her son consumes his dinner like a “piggy in a trough.”  Mary Ellis loves to slather her body in tempura paint from head to toe.  She has an addiction to showers and she knows I cannot refuse her if she is covered in Crayola colors.  Instead of crying, screaming, and running from our house I just find my Mrs. Parker voice. 

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/62365/Christmas-Story-A-Movie-Clip-Mommy-s-Little-Piggy-.html

(3) M'Lynn Eatenton, Steel Magnolias:  If you know me, you know I love me some Steel Magnolias.  It is my favorite movie of all time ever made in the history of all screenplays.  Sally Field's character, M'Lynn is the epitome of all Southern Mamas.  I think one of the reasons I love her is because she reminds me so much of my own Mommy; as delicate as a magnolia and as strong as steel.  I relate to M'Lynn because of her control issues.  Throughout the story she's as solid as a rock.  Host a picture perfect wedding in her home?  She's the hostess with the mostess.  Daughter needs a kidney?  She's got one to give!  I have not had the need to access my inner M'Lynn yet.  However, I have three little girls with the big personalities.  The day will come.  And when it does I'm going to say, "Cooperate, please."

http://movieclips.com/LAcr-steel-magnolias-movie-too-much-insulin/

(4) Professor (Minerva) McGonagall, Harry Potter: I know, I know, Professor McGonagall did not have children.  Technically.  I look at her as the mother to many.  All those little witches and wizards living at Hogwarts.  I need a little more McGonagall in my Mamahood.  I need her fairness and her sterness.  I need her courage.  Also, it would be awesome if I had a magic wand that I could wave around my house and say things like, "Clean my house!"  and "Stop that tantrum!"  and "Fall asleep!" and "Shower my body and blow dry my hair and put make-up on my face!"

(5) Edwina, Raising Arizona:  I am not a police officer and Chris Jackson does not have a criminal record.  But we there was a time when I didn't think we would be able to have children.  And I wanted to steal one.  I really, really wanted to steal one.  But I didn't.  At the time I wanted to steal a baby, this movie gave me the hope that I would someday have a family of my own.  At the end of the movie Edwina's husband H.I., played by Nicholas Cage, has a dream.  He dreams of a baby that they someday adopt.  At the end of his dream sequence he says, " It seemed like us and it seemed like, well, our home. If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. This whole dream.  Was it wishful thinking?  Where all parents are strong and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved." 

Maybe that's why I love motherhood in motion pictures.  Because I want a world where all parents are strong and wise and all children are happy and beloved.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all. 

 

 

The Lottery

 

Chris Jackson and I have a favorite game called, “When We Win the Lottery.”  I will teach you how to play.

Chris:  Did you know the lottery is up to 37 zillion dollars this week?

Me:  No.  Did you buy a ticket?

Chris:  Not yet.  We will take the cash option.  After taxes we will be left with roughly 6 million dollars. 

Me:  6 million?  Wow!  What do you want to do with all that money?

Chris:  I will continue working for insurance benefits and because I enjoy my job.  I don’t think we need to buy a new house or anything.  Maybe a new car?  We will set up trusts for the girls.  Give a large portion to the church in a trust.  We will put the rest in a mutual fund or some other investment vehicle.

Me:  Sounds good to me. 

But I just told my precious husband a lie.  Financial responsibility pulsates through his veins and breathes life into his non-materialistic lungs.  He means every word he just said and I love him for it. 

However, I have made other plans for this money. 

1.       Live-In Super Nanny.  Think sober companion for a mother of four year old triplets.  Super Nanny will be required to stay by my side all hours of the day and sleep in a cot by my bed at night.  This will give me the freedom to pick and choose which tantrums, melt-downs, explosions of crazy, fist fights, scratch combats, and verbal prizefights to facilitate using my outstanding parenting abilities.  When exhaustion kicks in (at approximately 8:43 am), I will allow Super Nanny to take care of the character building.  Clearly Super Nanny has what it takes to raise The Trifecta into the prison free citizens I hope them to be.  Nothing will bring me more joy than to someday reply to the question, “What are your girls doing now?” with the answer, “They are not serial killers.”

2.      Clutter Picker Uppers. Visualize the Tennis Ball Boys at Wimbledon.   Much like Super Nanny, Clutter Picker Uppers, or CPU’s, will work from sunrise to sunset.  They will wear clothes and face paint that camouflages their existence into the walls of our home.  Once a toy, book, stuffed animal, article of clothing, shoe, or piece of food hits the floor, they are required to move faster than a speeding bullet across the room, sweeping up dropped item and returning it to the designated area.  I understand that this may require some stunt moves.  That’s fine.  Now that I think of it, in addition to speed and willingness to wear “Everyday Khaki” paint color from the Sherwin Williams collection, CPU’s should probably know how to perform a back hand spring and corkscrew air spin. 

3.      Car Robot.   A robotic engineer will construct an android to assist me in all things involving the car and triplets.  Car robot loads The Trifecta into their car seats.  This may involve temporarily stunning them (there are a lot of melt downs seconds before we have to leave the house) inside the house before carrying them to the garage.  If a fight breaks out over who has to ride in the middle car seat, Car Robot manages the situation.   Well, now that I think of it that may or may not fall under the responsibilities of Super Nanny.  I’m not giving up on this dream.  I’m getting a Car Robot.

I also may or may not have plans to cover every square inch of our home in Lilly Pulitzer fabric.

A Legacy of Lessons

I met Dr. John Hoyle in the spring of 1998.  He and his wife, Carolyn, agreed to escort twelve naïve females from the Texas A&M College of Education to our summer study abroad program in Italy.  Prior to our expedition, we met with Dr. Hoyle each week to learn about Italian culture and to discuss the “need to knows” of our upcoming study program.  At that time I did not know the important role he would play in my life or how much I would grow to love him and sweet Carolyn. 

 Dad and Mom Hoyle in Venice

Our summer in Italy provided adventure, escape, and amazing opportunities for exploring another culture.  It also created a little Italian-American Aggie family.  By the end of our journey Dr. and Mrs. Hoyle became Mom and Dad Hoyle and forever secured a place in my heart.

Dr. John Hoyle died on Tuesday, March 12 from complications of leukemia. The impact he left behind is wide and great.  I have struggled with his death.  I have been working on this blog post since I learned of his passing.  I want to share some of his goodness with you.  So, after sifting through my memories and my journal, I have compiled and transcribed five of the many lessons I learned from Dad Hoyle that summer in Italy.

Lesson #1:  For our first assignment Dad Hoyle challenged us to write about our lives fifteen years into the future.  He titled the project our, “future scenario.” When outlining our instructions he noted that our future scenario had to paint a positive picture of our lives because we were all amazing people.  He said that when we look in the mirror we may not like all that we see but we should be pleased with most of it.  Little came true from my future scenario paper I wrote fifteen years ago.  I did not earn a law degree.  I did not open a charter school.  I can, however, continue to apply those instructions from Dad Hoyle each day when I wake up and assess the dark circles, crow’s feet, and smile lines.  No one likes the wrinkles and the grey hairs.  There are even some things about my insides that I don’t like.  But I should be pleased with most of it.  And so should you.

 A Father's Day Celebration for Dad Hoyle

 

Lesson #2:  The corridor that leads into Michelangelo’s David holds the four, fantastic, Unfinished Slaves.  “The slaves” are some of Michelangelo’s partial works and they are trapped in their stone.  We stood there gazing upon the cold, hard, unfinished rock.  Dad Hoyle broke our silence, “These statues may also represent how some children feel about learning.  Trapped!  It is up to us as educators to free those children.”  During my ten years in education I came across dozens and dozens of children who appeared ensnared in their minds, in their learning, and in their processing.  Intelligent, capable, even gifted children; square little pegs that did not fit into the round holes of institutionalized learning.  And now I have my own little work of art who sometimes seems trapped in her mind and it is up to me to do all  I can to free her.

Lesson #3:  Dr. Hoyle instructed, “Never build hurdles in your mind, because the hurdles on the track are much smaller than the hurdles in the mind.”  What are your hurdles? I feel like I spend my whole day jumping over hurdles.  Sometimes I can even visualize them in front of me.  Some hurdles are taller than others.  For example, the “how am I going to get them dressed and out the door” hurdle is slightly higher than the “what are we going to eat for dinner hurdle,” because usually we order out and the girls have chicken nuggets or PB&J.  Anyway, I try to keep Dr. Hoyle’s advice in my mind at all times.  And it helps.

Lesson #4:  At the end of our study abroad Dr. Hoyle gave each of us a clear marble.  He told us that the marble represented a crystal ball.  He said, “You are all exceptional people.  During your life, when times get rough, when you get kicked around, look into the crystal ball, think good thoughts, and know that things will get better.”  I still get emotional when I think about his “you are returning to the real world and soon you will have to be grown-ups” address.  From challenges in teaching and graduate school to the pain of infertility – it all got better.  If you are going through a difficult time now I encourage you to find a clear marble, look inside it, think good thoughts, say a prayer, and tell yourself, “things will get better.”

 Me.  Crying. After Dad Hoyle gave us a crystal ball.

Lesson #5:  “Three Coins in the Fountain” is a 1954 romantic comedy.  In the film, three American women dream of finding love while working in the city of Rome.  Dad Hoyle sang the lyrics to the theme song throughout our trip. 

Click on the link below to listen to the song.  You will like it, I promise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YxRNdgY5vg

Three coins in the fountain,
Each one seeking happiness.
Thrown by three hopeful lovers,
Which one will the fountain bless?

Three hearts in the fountain,
Each heart longing for its home.
There they lie in the fountain,
Somewhere in the heart of Rome.

 Amy in the fountain

Our little Italian Aggie family found love during that summer.  Not romantic love. I love my Italian sisters and my Italian parents more today than I did fifteen years ago.  I think they will all agree that we have experienced blissful blessings following our coin throwing ritual into the Trevi Fountain. 

There is not another soul like Dr. John Hoyle’s on this wide and wonderful planet.  Maybe that is why I felt so sad when I learned of his death?  In my heart I wanted him here spreading laughter and happiness and Aggie spirit. I wanted his GOODNESS here with me.  But that is my own selfishness.  I cannot imagine the party that took place when Dad Hoyle arrived in heaven.  I cannot imagine the line of people who waited in line to embrace him and welcome him into God’s kingdom. 

For now, I will keep his lessons in my heart.  Until I see him again.  I hope he’s singing “Three Coins in the Fountain” when he hugs me in heaven.

 

Join Me in A Journey

Dear Family and Friends,

I need you to join me on a journey.  On January 4, 2012 my precious friend Ginger Birnbaum told me her newborn son, Kenneth King, had Cystic Fibrosis.  After she shared the news of his diagnosis she said, “Never in a million years would we ask for this, however we are prepared to fight like crazy for his health."

In 2012 King was hospitalized twice.  He takes 40 enzyme capsules a day as well as a long list of other medications, receives between 2 and 4 one and a half hour breathing treatments of albuterol, hypertonic saline, chest physical therapy, and pulmozyme, and receives a 10 hour feed through a gastrointestinal tube at night. The Great Strides Walk gives their family hope.

The Great Strides Walk for Cystic Fibrosis is one of the many ways the Birnbaums fight for King. GREAT STRIDES is the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation's premier event nationwide that raises awareness and funds to treat and cure cystic fibrosis. Great Strides is a platform to bring together various individuals while giving them the opportunity to walk with community leaders and like-minded philanthropists in support of cystic fibrosis research.

I need you to join me on a journey.  The first step is to become a member of Kenneth King’s Believers.  Please walk with my family and me on May 18, 2013.  The walk will take place at Central Magnet School in Murfreesboro, TN.   If you are willing to participate in the walk as a member of our team please email me at amy_aggie98@yahoo.com.  I will send you instructions for registration.

I’m always afraid to ask friends and family to donate money.  However, fundraising is one of the most important components of finding a cure for Cystic Fibrosis.  The money raised through the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation is directly correlated to King's health and well-being.  I have set a team fundraising goal of $1,000. Please consider making a $10, $20, $50, or $100 (or more!) donation to Kenneth King’s Believers- Team Murfreesboro.   To do so please complete the following steps:

1)      Go to http://www.cff.org/great_strides/

      2)      In the boxes under Find A Walker enter Amy (first) Jackson (last)
      3)   For state of residence, enter: Tennessee
     4)      Click: Find a Walker
      5)      My information will appear on the page.   Double click my name.
      6)      You will arrive at a page titled:  Welcome to Amy’s Great Strides Home Page!
      7)      Click the yellow button that says, Click to Donate.
      8)      Fill out the information and make your donation!

I need you to join me on a journey. In 2009, the median predicated age of survival for CF patients was the mid-30s.  We can change that in King’s lifetime.  Please sign-up to walk with me on May 18 in Murfreesboro at Central Magnet as a member of Kenneth King’s Believers.  Please make a donation to our team.

Thank you in advance for your support!

Watch this to learn more about King!

 

http://www.youtube.com/embed/VsaxFlDomJg

Love,

Amy 

Three Turn Four

I have a stack of parenting books on my bed side table and also I have a little secret that I will share with you.  Leaving the books in a neat pile on my bed side table has done little or nothing to make me a “better” parent.  That really disappoints me.  Apparently, you have to read the books and then make changes to current parenting strategies and/or implement new toddler tactics.  I think that if one takes the time to search “parenting books” on Amazon, browse literature selections, place a paperback in the shopping cart, and then make payment…then the knowledge in the book should flow from the pages into the children, parents, and household.  Who’s with me?

I did read something I liked once.  It stated that infertility can lead certain parents to believe that God did something extra miraculous by finally bringing a child into their family and that belief creates a layer of crazy pants in the parents’ decision making process. I jumped on that faster than a Kenyan marathoner…because I love to blame infertility for my crazy pants.

I still battle the belief that I have to “show” God I can be a good parent.   During our pregnancy struggle I heard people say over and over and over, “God has a reason for everything.”  I took that to mean, “God doesn’t think you have the social, intellectual, and/or emotional capacity to parent and that is why He hasn’t blessed you with a viable pregnancy.”  I know that is not true.  But infertility is a naughty little bugger.  She puts foolish thoughts in your head and a pair of crazy pants in your sock drawer.

So this week, when The Trifecta turned four, I found myself pulling on my XXXL crazy pants…and they felt TIGHT.  Aren’t parents supposed to feel happy on birthdays?  I did not.

All week long my brain felt broken.  Every time I looked at The Trifecta my chest got tight.  Because the time I have left with them at home before they start the rat race of formal education is ticking faster than green grass through a goose. 

I went to Campus School to place them on the list for the 2014 school year, knowing that with our March birthday, we have little to no chance of three spots on the kindergarten enrollment list.  But I went.  The sweet lady behind the glass handed me a clip board and three forms.  Name?  Date of birth?  Address?  Phone numbers?  Simple enough.  All of a sudden my hands began to tremble and my palms began to sweat and I felt very shaky and some throw up crept into my throat.  A stranger stopped, put her hand on my shoulder and asked, “Are you ok?  Do you need a glass of water?” I declined her offer, tightened up my crazy pants and filled out the forms.

After the girls went to sleep I gave Chris Jackson a 45 minute presentation in which I shared my fears and hopes and also an awesome plan to move to the mountains of North Carolina and teach The Trifecta math skills through seed planting.  My husband listened intently.  He then offered a calm, rational, and thoughtful reply.  I don’t remember most of it, because by that time of day my Adderall has worn off.  My brain began weaving, “How does this man have such faith?  How has he managed to remain un-medicated after all these years? He really has lost A LOT of hair. I love this guy so much.  When he finishes talking I am totally going to kiss him on the lips.”  Chris Jackson interrupted my day dream, “Amy?”  “Yes,” I replied, “I have heard everything you just said and I could not agree more.  We are going to pray about this.”  Then I kissed him on the lips.

Currently, I’m ready Trophy Child, by Ted Cunningham.  If you are a sane parent with reasonable expectations and high parenting self-esteem, this book is not for you.  If you own one or more pair of crazy pants in size M-XXXL, I think you may find some comfort in the pages and words of this paperback.  The author instructs me to attach my children to Jesus and not to me.  I wrote, “I am not convinced of this,” in the margin.  It’s probably true though.

I love my three little four year olds.  I want to keep them close to me and I don’t want them growing up any more.  Right now they are attached to me and I love it bunches and bunches. I know I’m not supposed to say that.

There may or may not be a book to “help” someone like me.  I may or may not get over my feelings I have to prove my parental worthiness to God.  I will probably always need Adderall. Someday I may or may not exchange my XXL crazy pants for a smaller size. But, I worry that I will always want my three miracles attached to me. 

Happy Birthday, Tiny Toes Trifecta!

Momtastic

I used to have a safe and peaceful place inside myself called, “The Shopping Zone.”  I could sort through sale racks faster than a speeding bullet.  I could fill the largest dressing room full of clothes and go back for more before the sales associate could ask, “How’s it going in there?”  My Dad coined the term, “buying season” to explain the financial damage done to his bank account following a shopping spree with my Mom.   We could have a twelve hour shopping bender and not even stop to hydrate.

The first time I went shopping after The Trifecta’s birth I felt tired before I even left the house.  I had an event for Junior League. The girls were 5 weeks old.  I had a belly the size of a woman in her third trimester (minus the baby/babies), and milk producing organs the size of a micro-planet.  I also had nothing to wear.  “Listen to me,” I hissed at Chris, “I’m going to ONE store.  I’m going to buy a dress, shoes, and SPANX.  I don’t care how much the items I need cost us.  If I find something that fits, I’m going to buy it.  I’ll be back by the next feeding.”  “That’s a great idea,” he replied with a supportive hug.

That’s how I shop now.  It’s a sprint race, not a marathon.  I go to one store.  I find what I need.  I don’t even look at the price tag, because I cannot be distracted by the proposition to bargain shop.

And so, when I had to make a shoe purchase for an event several weeks ago, I did my best to prepare myself emotionally and spiritually for my shopping expedition.  I would depart for Dillard’s following bath, story, and bed time.  That would give me approximately one hour to venture into the shoe department, search for needed shoes, try them on, and secure payment. If everything went according to the plan I had mapped out in my mind, I could still be in bed by 10:00 pm.

The air of the automatic doors hit my face and as I bee-lined for the shoe department. I made my selection in record time.  The shoes only slightly cut off the circulation to my toes and barely sliced into my heels.  They would do just fine.   I raced to check out and pay for them.

The young specimen working the cash register could not have been less impressed by my Momtasticness.  Perhaps in was the frizzy hair falling out of my pony tail holder into my eyes.  Or, maybe it was my worn yoga pants streaked with food, finger paint, and Trifecta mucus.  I didn’t care.  I just needed to pay and get home.  I reached into my new Thirty-One handbag.  It has 962 secret zipper compartments.  I could feel my wallet, but I could not FIND my wallet inside the bag.  I smiled at Young Specimen.  “It’s in here somewhere,” I explained, “I bought it because it has secret compartments.  I have to hide wallet from my triplet daughters.  They are almost four.  They like to look through my things.  One of my girls likes to hide my paraphernalia.  So I have to, you know, put my wallet and keys where they can’t find them.”  Young Specimen continued to stare at me.  I continued to search.  Seconds turned into minutes.  Minutes turned into a panic attack.  I took my 007 purse off my shoulder and began to shake it violently upside down.  No wallet.  I turned the device inside out in hopes of finding another zipper.  No wallet.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” said a soft voice over my shoulder.  (And yes, the voice TOTALLY just ma’amed me!) “Are you talking to me?” I replied.  “Yes,” answered Soft Voice, “I sell Thirty-One purses.  I actually I have that bag.  I think you are overlooking the zipper around the edge of the bag.” 

I located the wallet, paid for my purchase, and left the store.  By the time I got into bed it was 10:27 pm. 

That safe and peaceful place for shopping lives in me no more.  It has been replaced and filled with three precious little girls and the desire to build pirate ships, solve puzzles, paint pictures, and read stories.  And I know it’s not just the shopping.  I live in yoga pants and a ponytail.  It’s my Momtastic season of life right now.  And I’m totally ok with it.

 

 

Accidents Happen

I haven’t written a blog post in 100 years.  At least it feels like it’s been that long.  I haven’t felt much like writing lately.  I’ve been feeling a little Mommy-Manic.  One minute I’m thinking, “We just assembled a pirate puzzle together!  Motherhood is the best thing EVER!” And the next I’m all like, “I’ve been singing ‘Clean-up, clean-up, everybody do their share’ for the last ten minutes and no one is helping me therefore I am all alone in this world.” 

Last week I hit an all-time low.   The Trifecta had “Hibernation Day” at school and felt excited about wearing their pajamas to school.  I selected a trio of cuteness… smocked pink pajamas.  As I started to dress the girls a riot broke out; screams of discontent and opposition.  They have a closet full of smocked threads, custom applique and monogrammed garments, and Lilly Pulitzer shift dresses.  But what do they want to wear? Hendley will wear whatever I select for the day.  Elizabeth wants mismatched leggings and torn tutus.  Mary Ellis wants shorts and MTSU and ATM t-shirts.  A harmonious parent would just go with it.  But I fight them.  I can’t tell you why.  I may live in sweatpants and workout clothes, but I want The Trifecta to look tidy and together.  So we bargain.  I pick their clothes on school and church days.  They pick the other days. 

After several minutes of intense negotiations I decided to let them select their pajamas.  I dressed them.  I put on their socks and shoes.  I announced the time had come to go to school. 

I turned off the television.

Anarchy.  Rampage. Revolt. Chaos.

I stood in silence for a solid thirty seconds as my precious angels WENT COMPLETELY NUTSO.  My heart raced.  My armpits began to sweat.  My pulse hit the roof.

I snapped.

I threw my keys and purse on the ground.  I clinched my fists.

And.  I.  Roared.

“GET INTO THE CAR RIGHT NOW!” It was one of those screams that made my throat sore and my ears pop at the same time.  Somewhere in the house a light bulb exploded (probably).

And also I may or may not have threatened to give gypsy children all their toys.

Mary Ellis and Elizabeth started to cry and ran to the car.  Hendley stared at me with her intense, honest eyes.  “Mommy,” she whispered, “Don’t talk to me that way.”

I picked her up and put her in her car seat.  We drove to school in silence.

When we arrived at school the excitement of hibernation day seemed to replace the events of the morning.  I kissed Mary Ellis and Elizabeth good-bye.  I pulled Hendley into my lap.  “Hendley,” I began, “I’m sorry I lost my temper this morning.  I shouldn’t have yelled like that.  I felt overwhelmed.  Can you forgive me?”  She smiled and shrugged her shoulders at me.  “It’s ok, Mommy.  Accidents happen.”  She wiggled out of my lap and joined her class. 

Was my temper tantrum an accident?  Accidents cause injury, harm, and damage. 

As I drove away from the school I started to blubber…a big, fat, snot-spiller, soul cleansing cry. I cried because I haven’t had a solid six hours of sleep in seven months.  I cried because a pile of clean laundry the size of Mt. Everest waited for me to fold and put away.  I cried because the dishwasher is always full of clean dishes I have to put away and the sink is always full of dirty dishes that need the dishwasher.  I cried because I REALLY want to be a patient, loving, and kind mother and at that moment I felt like the opposite of all those qualities.  I felt reckless, irresponsible, and rotten.

And then I thought of Hendley.  “It’s ok, Mommy.  Accidents happen.”  I spent summers working for State Farm Insurance in high school.  One of my many jobs required me to take accident reports for auto policy holders.  Some involved senseless drivers, another involved pit bulls, and this one time a brand new $100,000 Mercedes drove off the lot and crashed into a guard rail.  I decided to file an accident report on my own self.  I don’t have a deductible and there isn’t a body shop to repair the damage.  

I want to do better and I want to be better.  And also I hope to have less laundry to fold.