Measuring Growth

Measuring growth is a big deal in our home. Since our daughter was born three months premature, we have always paid close attention to her growth patterns. With the addition of our almost full term son, it’s been amazing to see the difference three more months in the womb make, even after they are welcomed into the world.

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Second-Guessing Motherhood

Bruce and I had been married nine years when we found out we were expecting our first child. Joyous tears streamed down our faces as we looked at the plus mark on our home pregnancy test. I had dreamed for years of cradling a sweet baby in my arms, gazing into the eyes of a precious innocent child, curling fingers around mine and sweet butterfly kisses. We were going to be parents! I was going to be a mommy.

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Spring Fever

I’ve had the symptoms for a few weeks now. Long strolls through the garden department at my local discount store, spending more time looking at seed catalogs than my favorite decorating magazine, Googling vegetable names to learn new planting techniques. Yes, I’ve got spring fever.

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Simple Life

With the economic downturn over the last few years, there’s been an increased interest in living a simplified life. Planting gardens, coupon clipping, staying home and playing games are all on the rise. People are getting back to the basics. Much to the dismay of movie theaters, eating establishments and other cost inhibiting activities, people are choosing to be conservative in their spending, hoping to protect the few assets that have endured this tough economy.

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The Old Pink Robe Ain’t What She Used to Be

Years ago my mom bought a pink chenille robe for a hundred dollars. It was a special robe – floor length, pockets and an attached belt – everything she had been searching for in a robe. For ten years she’s worn the robe faithfully. Cuddled up on the couch, down the sidewalk to grab the paper, standing out on the deck to take the dog out, in a suitcase from Georgia to Texas and back several times – that robe has seen a few miles. However, like everything else in life, over time the robe is beginning to look a little worn. Years of washing and wearing have taken a toll on the precious pink garment. The chenille is worn out in places, leaving thin patches of fabric polka-dotting the robe. The color has faded to a pale shade of baby pink. The shawl collar is limp and the coffee and ice cream stains that dribble the front of the robe don’t add anything to its already humble state. 

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