Charley doesn't believe in the Easter Bunny anymore= my heart is completely breaking

So this year Charley let me know she doesn't believe in the Easter bunny any more. No matter how much lying and finagling I tried to do she was not buying it. Here is how the conversation went.


Char: Mom is the Easter bunny real? (said with a menacing smirk)

Me: Yah! Why?
 
Char: Well we have that whole box of plastic eggs and our baskets down in the basement.
 
Me: Yes, well I keep those things for the Easter bunny and he then fills up the eggs and the baskets when he gets here. What you think he can carry around all that stuff to every kids house?
 
Char: Well, then using your same logic how can he carry around all that candy and stuff to put in the eggs and the baskets?
 
Me: Uhhhhhhhh.. Maybe it's like on Tom and Jerry where they have like a little pill and they add water and poof all the stuff pops out!
 
Char: Like dehydrated food?
 
Me: Yes, sort of.
 
Char: I don't think you can dehydrate Easter grass and hollow chocolate bunnies.
 
Me: I don't know that shit is magic! Don't ask me to explain magic! That's like asking me to explain a shooting star.
 
Char: That's easy. That is an asteroid or other space particle that hits the earths atmosphere and burns up as it's entering.
 
Me: Yes... you are right but isn't it nicer to imagine the magical star shooting across the sky and making wishes and what not?
 
Char: Yes if you are a child! I'm not a child!
 
Me: Don't get all analytical and jaded on me already!!!!! YOU ARE NINE!
 
Char: Yes, but I'm no child.
 
Me: Well then what exactly are you?
 
Char: A young adult!

Me: Oh Lord help me... I'm' going to be drinking heavily when we get home! This is the saddest conversation I have ever had.

And it was not until later that night. She caught me trying to stuff  three baskets into our suit cases since we were headed out of town for Easter weekend. I knew that the jig was up then and in an effort to control the damage I decided to give her the following letter. I could not bear the thought of her possibly discussing her new found information with her little brothers.



Dear Charley,
Thank you for our talk the other night. It was a very very good question: “Are you The Easter Bunny? Is he real?” I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.
The answer is no. I am not The Easter Bunny. There is no one Easter bunny.
I am the person who fills your eggs with candy and baskets with presents, though. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)
I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Easter morning. You will love seeing their small faces lit with excitement.
This won’t make you the Easter Bunny, though.
He is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch, He gives them hope and lights them with magic.
It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.
Magic things like the Easter Bunny are our teachers, and I have been a student of this magic. Now you will know the secret of how he fills all those baskets and eggs across the world, and now you will learn this magic, you will help others believe in this magic. The Easter Bunny has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.
With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping the Easter Bunny do a job that would otherwise be impossible.
So, no. I am not the Easter Bunny. He is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too. Together help me guard this magic. Please help me keep it alive for little Finn and Juder Bug too. I hope they believe as long as they can. It’s important to hang onto that magic.
I’m proud of you and I love you and always will.- Mom and Dad

I adapted it from another I saw like it on the Internet about Santa.  When we read it together she simply smiled a wry and self important smile. One of some kind of pride at being "let in on the secret."

      All the while I bawled my eyes out. Yep- leave it to me to be the one crying and not her. She actually comforted me. She really is the more mature one in this relationship anyhow you know? But I just sat there feeling crushed. Feeling like I was looking at a 20 year old who'd just told me she was having kids of her own. Feeling like I was no longer looking at my innocent child but instead looking at this girl, this pre-woman, this mature,kind, and smart little lady. And well- I was.

Today I feel a mixture of happy and sad. Sad at my little girls growing up and happy at how it is happening. I don't think we give ourselves enough credit as mommies. Always second guessing our decisions. But today I feel good about this one thing. She is me- she is a reflection of me and what I am teaching her to be. Kind, compassionate, loving, smart, and mature. I feel such pride in her. So for today I will feel that same pride in what I am doing here raising these kids. Good kids, because I'm a good mommy.

Tomorrow I'll go back to flogging myself.

Shhhhh Don’t tell the others….

I was watching the video Ann Imig did for Listen to Your Mother and was suddenly reminded about the “validation” we lack as mothers. I wish I’d have written more way back in the day when I was new at this but as I have heard so many moms say, I just did not feel comfortable in my own skin yet. I did not feel safe or that I was doing the right things in my journey of motherhood. I felt for sure I was doing some major permanent damage to these babes. Ha, little did I know -9 years later- that clearly the damage has been done to ME!

Permanently disfigured, serious loss of brain function, limited memory skills, and endless exhaustion is what I am left with. Jaded, bloated, and frumpish (yup I made that word up.)  And I have to ask… Why do none of the others  tell us, WARN us that this would happen?  They know (I think)? I will give them this small leeway that there is in my opinion a slight bit of Mom-nesia going on here but the rest? Well that is just blatant lack of disclosure.

From the start- “Hey, I wanted to warn you that since this is your first pregnancy, one afternoon very soon you will be out walking across a parking lot and will be unable to take one more step as your hips will actually dislocate and begin to spread so that the babies head will be able to fit through. And by the way it will hurt like a mother fucker but don’t worry, it’s totally normal.” Ummm okay? Or how about this… “Yes, well I wanted to give you a heads up, people will tell you that you are glowing and that pregnancy will make you radiate beauty, but in fact you will be bloated, swollen, completely off your meds bat shit crazy with hormone flux. You will fart like a fat bean burrito eating dog. You will have horrific acid reflux, nightmares that’d scare a vampire, and will get no sleep because you will feel so uncomfortable all the time you want to chew off your arms.” Do they tell you that stuff? No! Oh yeah! How about that if you don’t do some major work on stretching out your vaginal opening that you will most likely tear from the head coming out, or that you will probably poop all over the table as you are birthing? Little sweet factoids like these are politely left out and why I ask??

This is only where the lies begin. They seem never ending to me. Lies lies lies… “Oh my kids never watch TV.”  “We don’t cuss in our home EVER.” “My laundry is always done.” “I get along so well with my in-laws.” “My child was completely potty trained at age 2.”  All lies designed to make us feel as if we are keeping up with the Jones’s but in fact we are all lying about just how impossibly hard it is to get it all done. “These cookies are baked from scratch.” “I hand sewed her communion gown.” “I made all the party invitations myself.”

Like we just want to make it all seem so perfect so that when we recruit some other poor sap into motherhood we can somehow feel secretly better knowing that she is now a part of the quiet suffering too.

Well I’m going rogue ladies. Here’s what’s up. From now on when a mommy says to me, “Oh I don’t know how you do it all?” I’m going to tell her this- Xanax is your friend- quick get some. Then that my laundry is piled to the ceiling. That at least once a week I will open the washer to the sour smell of clothes left in there for a few days. That I scream at my kids until my throat hurts, my bathtub needs scrubbing, my landscaping is non-existent. My “craft table” should be called my “crap table” as it’s piled with junk from unfinished art projects and class party leftovers. I shave my legs only once every two weeks and that “made from scratch” in my house means I took a box of something and added a few extra ingredients that the label did not call for.

".. yike a poop swirter!"

Like living with completely wild animals sometimes is what it feels like living with children. I can not tell you how many times the phrase.. "What the What???" has crossed my lips. The things I have seen and experienced thus far in life would amaze, bemuse, and bewilder the intentionally childless and the yet to have children folks I know. So today is no exception.

BFD (That lovingly stands for Big Fat Daddy): "Oh my God Leslie help me!! Help me!!"

This is what he shouts from the shower. Hmmmm... within seconds I deduce the following. #1. it was not the sound of a terrified or mortally wounded man. #2. Ummm that phase uttered by a naked man can mean nothing good. #3. 1...2....ummmm where is the third child? and why would he be with my naked husband in the bathroom.. What the What? (tempered only slightly by the fact that we have only one bathroom in a five person household!)

So I get up from my comfy spot reading a book to go into the abyss and find out why it is I have been so urgently summoned. Knowing nothing good can come of this.

Here I find a scene I can only describe as utterly unexplainable and DISGUSTING. Fi Fi- who is 4 is straddling the toilet with no pants on and approximately oh I dont know 8-10 spots of nasty yellowed brown diarrhea poo on his legs. Across the throw rug in front of the shower is a squirt pattern of same said diarrhea  that appears to come from the direction of the tiny butt-hole pursed over the toilet. I try with all my might and for a good maybe five minutes to understand how he missed the toilet entirely and how the poo ended up shooting across the room practically and onto the throw rug. I have only ever seen one other thing quite like this. Once when Charley was a baby she had Jaundice and the doctor took her temperature through her tiny baby butt and when he pulled out the thermometer poo shot across the exam room about six feet. Our doctor was a funny guy who only said "Huh... well she wins the record for distance." And thankfully I did not have to clean that up.

I think that because Finn was leaned slightly back and pushing him self up with his hands his tiny butt was aimed forward. I dont know. Why do I even bother to try to understand how this happened. Oh! I know because it takes more time away from the realization that I am going to have to clean this up!

 BFD is like hiding behind the shower curtain and when I ask what happened he says through his hand over his mouth and nose to keep out the smell: "I dont know. I did not see it happen!"

So I ask Finn who responds in his sweet four year old language all L's are pronounced as Y's and the QU combination comes out as a W: "Sowwy mom! I dont know. The poop just shot out my butt yike a poop swirter!" 

Why I find this so hilarious I do not know. But between my husbands snickering behind the shower curtain and the utter poop-tastrophe I have to clean up it just seems hysterical. I laughed until I peed.

I mean that literally as I have three babies with giant heads and well things just have never been the same in that department since childbirth. And there you have it too much info about life in the old Kohlmeyer house. Peace out. Hope your Friday night was more fun filled than mine.. or at least less poo filled!

It's a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

     I am giving birth right now.

     Deep long sobs.

     The kind of sobs that rock you.

     The kind of sobs that make your eyes puffy even the next day.

      I am giving birth to me.

     Ok so it’s a bit metaphorical but try to follow me. I have said in the past many times that Leslie is dead and her rotting corpse lies on the kitchen floor while everyone in the family keeps stepping over her pretending not to see all the flies. It seemed true at the time. It was my truth. I think it is the truth for many mommas. We die a little when our children come into the world to make room for all the nurturing love and painfully deep selflessness we have for them. It’s okay. We do it and we never look back. We never regret but we give up that thing that made us who we were in order to help them grow into who they will become. Now while it is far from over, at ages, 9, 7, and 4, they can stand on their own two feet (literally.) I only pick them up when there is a fall or a bruised ego. They can think for themselves. While not always making the best choices (a velvet tufted kings crown to school or a popsicle for breakfast) at least they are attempting and don’t need me to hover. They can brush their teeth, eat their own food, dress themselves and use the potty. Finn still needs the occasional but wipe…ha ha. But they are becoming self sufficient little people. Beautiful self sufficient little people, and here I am empty arms. I have always been one to need to fill them in one way or another- so here I am arms outstretched and ready to give birth. I am giving birth to Leslie. My next incarnation. The new me, and I am sobbing so deeply it hurts. I welcome her from inside of me, with these open arms. I grab her, and hug her and I sob in her shoulder. Welcome back new-old friend, it’s so good to see you.

     What is the catalyst? Today… today is the day. I have worked hard my whole life in one way or another. Had odd jobs and gone to college but one constant has remained. I have always written. Occasionally, frightfully, I have put myself out there for folks to see and hear. I have accepted the criticisms and the praise. Yet always in me there lurked the doubt that I was not good enough. To call myself a writer and artist was a scary thing, but it’s always been there hidden in my gut. Sometimes it pours out of me and other times it’s been evasive and a struggle. I think most truthfully it hides behind the fear of success rather than failure. If I succeed at this then I will be out there with no cover, no shelter, no armor. While those of you who know me may think I’m tough. Truthfully I am fragile and have the insides of a marshmallow…  Today is the day and I think it’s time. I’ve heard it said that at 40 we are given the gift of WTF. We care less and less about the image that we portray to the world and FEEL more and more the selves we are truly on our insides. I FEEL that. I FEEL like this strong beautiful talented Leslie that is in my head and less and less like the timid, scared, overweight one I see in the mirror. I welcome that. In honor of that I took a chance. One that I might not have taken before but one that I believe in and one that I’m so deeply grateful that I did. I submitted a piece from the blog to “Listen to your Mother.” If you don’t know what this is, I suggest you Google it right now. Run don’t walk. It’s amazing. “Giving mother’s day the mic,” they say. They are giving this mother more than a mic. Unknowingly they have become my birthing coaches. Yelling from my side as I push. “GO GO GO YOU GOT THIS…” They are helping me deliver this new self into the world.  I can’t thank them enough for this chance to shine, to grow, to share this new me, the chance to be reborn. I’m so excited at the possibilities. 

 This new journey, this next phase of Motherhood will be one where I get to be this mom to my kids but also where I get to be some of me again. I will spend some time nurturing and mothering me. Motherhood takes on so many shapes, so many phases, so many truths. Today is the day-It’s time. My bags are packed and I am ready for this journey. 

 Please visit www.listentoyourmothershow.com for details on my upcoming performance and for a listing of events around the country.

" SHE"S ALIVE!!!"

Wow, Forgive me father, it has now been two years since my last confession... oops.. wrong place and time. It has been two years since I wrote to you last. That is not an hiatus, that is a missing persons report. Is she dead or alive? So what have I been doing with myself? Hmmmm... As usual I have immersed myself in my children's lives. I have planned school parties, done fundraisers, hell I am even so crazed that I have gotten myself elected to the Board of Directors at their school. Committed to them and should be committed to an asylum. That's my life in a nutshell. But I have been thinking so much lately with Char in third grade, Jude in first, and Finn to join the ranks not too far off... What will I do with myself when they are all in school and busy with their own lives? As I had discussed in previous blogs it's time to raise the dead! It's time to come out of my hibernation and start to be ME again and not just MOM. Oh and yes, I absolutely know that you can relate. We all do it at some point in time as women, and we do it for how ever long it takes. I've even seen some do it for so long the damage is permanent. Not this ME. Nope this me is taking back the reigns of this crazy horse. A mad scientist on a mission to revive. I recently regained an old friendship. Love ya Facebook! We had lost touch because as lives happen and in a world back then of no email, computers, facebook, or cell phones ( yes bitches I AM that OLD). She moved away, I moved away, and there you have it. No more or less. But I have found her and she has reminded me of the ME I once was. I always feel the need to insert the disclaimer here that I do not regret any loss of myself so that I could be with my kids. I am even writing this damn entry with Finn on my lap with naked buns since he is still potty training! ha ha ha, and a load of laundry spinning in the background. ...But I do want to make sure I am moving forward and yet a little back- to ME in the process. So thanks "D" for reminding me I'm ME and that I was a great ME and will be an even better ME in the years to come. So back the the beginning. I started writing this Blog so far back and I named it "I blame Enjolie" because that stupid commercial and song always rings in my head when I have fifty things going. "I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget your a man.. cause I'm a WOMAN.." I blame you Enjolie... For making us all think we needed to be that woman. To do it all and smell nice and look so good while doing it not a feathered hair out of place. IMPOSSIBLE. But I also blame me for buying into it. I'm suspect number one in my own homicide. I spent so many of my early years of marriage and motherhood trying to live up to that commercial image. Something I am not, something maybe even unattainable? I'm the queen of my own little proverbs. One of them is, "No one can do it all and do it well." People always ask me, "Oh my gosh how do you do it?" If I am being honest the answer is, "I'm not doing it.. it's an illusion." Every "perfect" mother and wife you know has at least one dirty little secret she keeps hidden so well. She looks great, her kids look great, she has a clean car but dont look now, she cant cook-all her meals are eaten out or ordered in! She looks good her kids look great, they are always on time but her car is a pigsty! In my case, my kids look good, my house is clean, my kids are happy and I'm always volunteering and still working from home a 40 hour a week job but man dont look in a mirror because my appearance is atrocious. We cant do it all. There has to be some area of our lives that is over looked or else we'd be bionic. I recently took a side job cleaning a woman's house. Man she is super cute, ridiculously kind, kids are smart and cute, she speaks like 5 languages, is a lawyer, and lives in an insanely gorgeous house, hot husband, and perfect dog. I was pleasantly surprised to see that she was behind on laundry, hires a cleaning lady, and has little piles all around the house of things that need to be done. She seems perfect but she is me... I am her. We are one in the same. We are human. Not bionic. She wasn't perfect she was normal. (Sigh) She was normal. Say it with me now- SHE WAS NORMAL! I am normal. So shattering my perceptions of what being a perfect mother and wife are have now allowed me to start to rebuild my image of what LESLIE is, not perfect just LESLIE. And since I'm in the process of rediscovering/ reinventing/ reanimating her why not do it the way I've always wanted? Not just be as good as the old me but better. I have this opportunity to sort of Frankenstein myself. Take all the good parts of the old, sew them together with all the dreams of the better me, and zap them with some serious electricity and see if she wakes up new and improved, yet with the knowledge that she's not perfect, never will be and doesn't care if others think she is or isn't

. Yes folks... "SHE"S ALIVE"

The Tool

Ok so I haven’t written in a while... I really wanted to get back to talking more about “The Happiness Project” but some interesting things have happened today. In fact up to this very minute in time that draw my attention elsewhere… I was starting to wonder if my blogging and talking about my frustrations was only adding to them instead of somehow in a way ‘coping’ with them. I am still wondering that in fact. Am I only exacerbating the problem by adding angry energy to it? Maybe on the one hand but on the other I am left to ask, “How do I get this angry energy out of me and how do I work through it?” Does getting together with my friends and complaining about our husbands solve anything or does it only make matters worse???? I still have no answer but the bottom-line is that at the end of the day, at the end of my complaining… I FEEL BETTER….ME… I start to feel somehow validated and somehow BETTER. It is some kind of tool with which I get at least some need met. Which brings me to my title for this blog, “The Tool.” This tool is both very very literal and somewhat metaphorical.
Men always get their needs met. Men will not stand for one second if something is not the way that they envisioned it or wanted it to be and they will either make the necessary changes or insist that YOU make the changes. For example my husband …in an earlier blog I mentioned that he “insisted I not fix chicken any more” This is the kind of thing I am talking about. If they want to watch a sport then they will, eat steak then they will, go fishing then they will….. You name it and they will make sure it gets done and done how they want it done. Their needs met. I haven’t eaten mushrooms on my food in like nearly a decade because my husband does not like them. Did I stop liking them? No, I just stopped eating them because he doesn’t like them. I love singing at the top of my lungs. My music, the kind I like, yet I haven’t done that in a long long time because we have different taste in music. He hates what I like. Did my tastes change? No, I just shelved them because he complained if he had to listen to my music even for one minute. They even cum first… and sometimes they are the only ones who do. Do they feel even remotely bad that they are finished and you are not? NOPE. They get their needs met. The Tool… I am left to wonder if it has something to do with the Tool? I am of course at this point in time referring to the penis. There it is protruding from their bodies, even limp it still seems to have presence, to hang in a proud manner. Hard it really commands attention. It sticks out away from their bodies like a sword. And yes, go ahead and laugh because I am. At this point I am imagining a man with his hips thrust forward, hands on hips and penis armed. Almost getting ready to take on the world with his Tool… is that the main difference? Imagine us now… there we are with a hole… ours hidden inside and black and dark and almost afraid seeming, cowering. Not at all like the protruding meat sword ready to stab at it’s enemy.. Ok so I’m out there on this one, try to stay with me. Think for a minute about it. Is that penis the source of all their force? The source of their ability to get what they want in life. They are out there and pushing forward commanding attention and getting their needs met while and we are back here hiding and changing and morphing to fit them all the while our needs being over looked and shelved. We are losing ourselves.
I sometimes joke that there is no more Leslie. That Leslie died a long long time ago and that her dead and decomposing corpse is on the kitchen floor drawing flies and stinking up the place and you all just keep stepping over her. HA ha ha.. but really a more appropriate way to put it is that Leslie is hibernating. Have I crawled inside my own hole and am lying dormant? Have most of us done this? As women aren’t we sort of trained from birth to be the flexible ones, to go with the flow, to bend to the will, not to rock the boat? We are ingrained with this idea that our needs are secondary at best to those of our kids, and our husbands, bosses, mothers, fathers, etc.. the list goes on…
Just a quick for example.. Put yourself in this scenario. I am using this because it fits my life but I think it is most likely fairly universal. We all need to leave the house. We are going to dinner and the kids to a sitter. We have to bring a gift to the dinner. Let’s say there are three kids, a wife and a husband on their way to a birthday party of a friend of the husbands. To make it more interesting let’s say that the wife doesn’t even like the guy. Now that you are there in your head what is the husband doing? See it clearly… What is the wife doing? What are the kids’ doing? The husband is taking a shower. He is taking his time so he looks nice. He is getting out of the shower expecting that his wife will have picked out something appropriate for him to wear. He is putting it on. He is checking himself in the mirror. He is ready to go and heading to the door. His head is on the route they will drive to get there and what kind of food they will be serving as he is starving. Now the wife… She showered earlier as to leave her husband enough time to get ready. She is now running around trying to pack and overnight bag for three kids with every little creature comfort they might need. The blankies, the stuffed animals, sippy cups. Is there enough wipes in the bag? What if one of the kids gets cold? She is running around finding her shoes and throwing an outfit for her husband on the bed. She is getting him some clean socks that match from the dryer. She is thinking about whether or not the gift she got will be ok? She doesn’t even like the guy but is thinking about if his gift is acceptable. She is getting a diaper bag ready. Now she is finally able to look in the mirror at herself and shrug because even if she doesn’t look great there is just no more time to worry about it. The man did exactly what he needed to do to get himself ready to go. TO GET ONLY HIMSELF READY TO GO. The woman not only got herself ready but her husband, and three kids. She also packed a bag, and bought a thoughtful gift for his schmuck friend. She was the last on her totem pole and when there wasn’t really even enough time left for her, she just shrugged it off and moved on. This is how we live day to day, week to week, year to year. Even if you are married to the sweetest, most thoughtful helpful man in the universe he still puts himself first. Why do we not do this and does it all stem back to the stem? Really does having a penis make you more assertive? I’m tired and I have way more to say about this but I need time to mull it over. I keep thinking about getting a strap on just to see if it makes me feel different. I don’t even want one for any sexual purpose… I just want to know if somehow having it out there and pushing back at the world makes me feel somehow more empowered. Does having the right Tool for the job really make all the difference?

Day two a the attmept to be happy

First of all I would like to reiterate that this is not my own original thought. "The Happiness Project" is a book written by a very awesome woman named Gretchen Rubin. I am only beginning to read the book and beginning to try some of her suggestions. I would like to point out, however that this is the perfect example of what I have been talking about. I am not alone in my thoughts or feelings here.. It is not just me and I am not crazy. There are thousands, maybe even millions of women out there that are in the same state. Wondering why we are looking at this life that we always dreamed we'd have, the kids, the house the station wagon (70's nod) and the handsome husband and why we aren't just happy. Instead we are desperately unhappy. It's a conundrum? The article about "The Happiness Project" was also in my Woman's day mag and I feel like Gretchen might be saving my life.. ha ha ha ha... sorry girl to put that weight on you but really just knowing that others like me, with the yearning are out there is like a life raft. So I started by creating my "personal commandments". Gretchen has 12 I came up with 17 for now and may pare it down later but I think I might need all 17 for now. Here they are.


17 New and Improved Personal Commandments
• Be Leslie
• LET IT GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• ACT the way you want to feel.
• Do it now.
• Be polite
• Turn off the Television
• Do at least 1 thing today that is just for you for at least 10 minutes.
• Identify the problem. And then kick its’ ass
• Remind yourself that failure is AS important as success.
• Sing out loud
• Enjoy the hugs from your kids.
• Have loving and meaningful touch with your handsome husband
• Do one thing each day to make yourself FEEL prettier
• Embrace Creativity
• Remind yourself “There is only love.”
• Touch one person today with a smile, a comment, a compliment, or a word.
• Set small and very easily attainable goals.

The last one is funny since I think all 17 might be a bit much and in Leslie fashion I always have to set the bar high and make it difficult for myself. A few I borrowed from Gretchen as they are good lessons for all of us, but most are pertinent to my life. The next thing I plan to do is sit down and make a list of 200 things that make me smile that make me happy. I had a book once that had like 2000 things in it and it included things like new white sock and the smell of a new born baby and such. It always did make me smile and I think it is also an important lesson to get back to the appreciation for the small details that go into making our happiness a regular occurrence. So in the past two days I have sung out loud and VERY loud to boot. I have slowed down when my babies hug me and closed my eyes and really felt their love and stayed in the moment instead of rushing onto the next thing. I have made a point to touch my husband and connect with him in the eyes and get close to his face. I have worn makeup and fixed my hair and put on perfume. I have looked for ways to build others spirits, and I have WRITTEN. Written, sewed and painted. But writing is so spiritual for me and I think might be the key to my golden gates. After yesterdays post this one might seem like night and day. Maybe from the outside it looks a bit manic. It's true, the ups and downs of this coaster are a bit much for me and that is why I am seeking this change. A friend who is a LCSW once told me she read in a text book a saying that went something like this.. the people who are the most depressed and suicidal are the people who are the most in touch with reality. My reality has left me feeling a bit insane. It's left in me a deep deep yearning for some kind of happier and better life. This happiness project is bringing me a small bit of peace that I desperately needed. Tomorrow I will tell you about another lady I am interested in reading with, Aidan Donnelley Rowley.. She was recently interviewed by Gretchen Rubin on the subject of happiness and some of her thoughts blew my mind. So good luck and good night.. oh and happy thoughts.....