Recently, while at work, I received some bad news; a friend of the family had passed away. She left behind 4 children.

I was beside myself with grief. I grieved for her family, for her husband who no longer had a partner, for their young children who would grow up without a mother, and for the parents who outlived their child.

February is almost over. Black history month is coming to an end. It has been a big topic in my house, and recently I took the conversation to a friend’s house in hopes of taking it to a new level.

That’s what I am, a working mom. I would love to “just” be a mom, but there are bills that need to be paid, sports that need to be played, and shoes that need to be… okay, want to be bought.

I am fortunate in that my 2 year old is at my mother-in-law's house while my husband and I are at work. I don’t pay for daycare. I was not so fortunate with my older daughter. We paid about $200 a week for her to attend daycare.

How many times have you heard someone say they wish they had said I love you more after someone has passed away? How many opportunities to say I love you have passed without the words being said?

Perhaps love should be expressed 365 days a year, maybe we don’t need a special day to show people we care, but the fact of the matter is, too often, we don’t.

That is why I like Valentine’s Day.

When Tom and I got together, my step daughter was only 7. On the weekend, she turned 12.

Twelve!

OneTwoThreeFourFive...SixSevenEightNineTen. Eleven. TWELVE! You should have heard that song from Sesame Street as you read that.

12 is a big number...big enough to have its own song! Almost a teenager. No more little girl.

12 is old enough to stay home alone. 12 is old enough to baby sit. 12 is old enough for a house key.

Black History has been on my mind a lot recently. It started when I was reading The Help, and my daughter asked me what it was about. I was embarrassed to tell my bi-racial daughter about the story…embarrassed, not because of Black History, but because of White History.

Tom and I both work, and we have 4 children who we taxi to school in the morning (it’s not a local school) and to sports in the evening. It doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for house work.

Full disclosure: There are 2 hours in the evening that could be used for house work, but we are usually so tired that we end up on the couch in front of the TV or computer.

If you know me, you know I announce everything on Facebook. I announced when we bought our house, I announced when we got married (moments after it happened changing my name to include my husband’s last name), I announced when I was pregnant, and I announced the birth of our baby.

I even announce non-monumental happenings. Things like “Maureen Turner Rasmussen is baking cookies!” Who doesn’t want to know that?

Seems logical that I would announce my death as well…right?

Siobhan, our youngest, is fast approaching the terrible twos…well, actually, I think they’ve arrived early.

She sits, hand in mouth, drool on chin, rash on bum, snot—everywhere, and she cries. She is cranky ALL. THE. TIME!

Wait, I take that back, she stops crying as soon as the Toopy and Binoo theme song comes on. Then she sits, and she watches without moving, until the show is over.

Then, she looks at me with her little, red cheeks and her tired eyes and she says “More Toopy Toopy, Mommy.”

SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) has been stopped, for now.

We win!

Right?

While my last post was decidedly balanced in the pros and cons of this act, I did see the threat to freedom of speech and freedom to share. I did sign a petition saying I was against the bill, and I am happy that it was stopped.

So why aren’t I celebrating?

As someone who writes, shares and connects on the internet, the idea of not being allowed to share information on the internet scares me. On the other hand, as a writer who one day hopes to publish a novel, I embrace copyright laws. Even as a blogger, having once had my work reposted without any acknowledgement, I like the idea of owning my words.

November 14th 2009. I was 3 months pregnant, and I was visiting The Burlington Humane Society. I was there strictly to gather information for a blog post I was writing. I even brought Tom, my husband, to be sure I didn’t go home with a dog.

Perhaps it would have been better to bring someone who didn’t like dogs because we ended up with Angus. Almost 100 lbs of drooling love.

I have yet to meet a couple who agrees with one another 100 percent of the time. In any long term relationship, whether it’s a sibling, a parent, or a spouse, there are going to be times when you just don’t see eye to eye.

While I have written about the merits of divorce and often say that if people are unhappy they should get divorced, I’m not talking about he-left-the-seat-up-again unhappy. Divorce is about deep-seeded, personality altering discontent.

Let me try to explain.

There hasn’t been a whole lot of routine at our house for the past few weeks, so I knew this morning was going to be a little hectic.

To my surprise, everyone was up on time and ready well before they needed to be. Since I am always the last to get ready, after shipping off two kids with Tom at 8:00 and making sure the other two are dressed and ready to go, I expect those last two to entertain themselves for 40 minutes while I get ready for work.

Over the holidays, I wasn’t well. Thankfully, the flu was kind enough to wait until after Christmas to hit, but there were a couple of days when I was down for the count. As unpleasant as it was, it did give me some much needed rest, and allowed me some time to read. 

I have been eyeing the book The Help, wondering when I would ever get a chance to read it. As chance would have it, my mom loaned me her copy the day before I got sick.

A few weeks ago, Tom and Ethan walked into my mom’s house to pick up Siobhan and she ran to Ethan and said “I love you, Ethie”, clear as day.

It was the first time she said I love you despite some prodding from various people. One thing I can tell you for certain, Siobhan does everything on her own time and there is no getting her to do something she doesn’t want to do.

Last Christmas was Siobhan’s first Christmas, and while it was very special, this year was the best Christmas yet!

I stressed about Christmas right up until Christmas eve because I was so behind schedule. I thought I would never finish my shopping, and I worried things wouldn’t be perfect, like I always do. I know this stress is self inflicted, but I can’t help it.

Dear Song Writers,

If you are planning on writing a Christmas carol, there are a few things you should consider. I have gone ahead and made some guidelines to help you make a good Christmas carol.

1. It should not involve abused children.

2. Exes should not meet and drink beer in a parking lot.

3. No-one’s mother should die

4. As a matter of fact, no-one should die.

5. Don’t ask Bruce Springsteen to sing it

The stockings are not hung by the chimney with care at our house yet, nor is the tree up. There is no holiday baking stashed in my fridge, no presents are wrapped. For that matter, I have only half of my gifts purchased, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Christmas is less than a week away.

The one thing I do have done is stocking stuffers. You know why? Because stockings are the best part of Christmas!! They hold the coolest items and are the most fun for Santa’s helper (me) to take care of.

T'was the weekend before Christmas and all through the mall
all the crazies were shopping and starting a brawl.
The sale signs were hung in the window with care.
You can get a good deal, go in, if you dare.