I’m not sure what I was thinking when my mother-in-law asked if it was still alright for her and our two nieces, to come visit over spring break (after I told them we in the midst of packing and getting our house ready to sell) and I said SURE! We welcomed them into our very small, two bedroom/one bath home last night and I’m already dreading the fact I’ve got to go back and touch-up all the walls and baseboards that I just touched-up with paint this week.

I thought that today we’d get out of the house and destroy someone else’s property. So off to the children’s museum we headed. Great plan considering every child in the tri-state area is out of school and every mom on their last frazzled nerve headed there too!

It was fun and the kids did enjoy the exhibits and a special dinosaur presentation, but it only lasted a few hours before we were back home and bouncing off our own walls again. Really it isn’t the fact that they make messes and seem to go through drinks like small camels. My issue is the yelling. And the door slamming. And the whining. I can’t handle those three things for very long without losing it entirely.

You know how it is with disciplining someone else’s child. I’m stern and not afraid to tell either of them to stop jumping on the bed or to pick up their toys, but I feel out of place telling them to knock it off or else - over and over again.

Ethan’s been a little upset with the fact that he gets in trouble for doing the same things his cousins don’t get in trouble for. We don’t tolerate a lot of the behaviors that they are allowed to display. At the museum today I had packed snacks and drinks for everyone. When we sat down to eat, one of my nieces threw a fit about getting a snack from the vending machine and not eating one of the 3 things I packed. My MIL quickly gave in and then offered to get Ethan something as well. I refused stating that he could eat what I brought or do without. He didn’t protest, because he knew that is how we roll.

It’s the little differences like that which make things hard. But he is enjoying spending time with them, even if they are bouncing all over 1,000 square feet of our home. My husband worked today leaving me to provide the entertainment, but tomorrow night I’m headed here to watch my friend try not to break anything.

Have you seen the commercial advertising that Paige Davis is returning to host Trading Spaces on TLC? I loved that show from the beginning, but when she suddenly left I lost interest. For some reason her almost annoying perkiness and antics made that show fun to watch. Without her you were left with two arrogant designers and a few nervous homeowners.

With Paige back, TLC is switching things up. In the advertisement they ask if you could trade spaces with your ex or your mother-in-law. Can you imagine? I can’t, which makes me all the more excited for the upcoming show on Saturday’s (January 27th is the premiere).

I don’t have an ex, unless you count that guy I refer to as Rat-Boy that I dated back in high school, but I do have 2 mother-in-law’s. (No, we don’t live in Utah. My husband’s parents are divorced and his father is remarried.) I get along very well with my husband’s mother and we have similar tastes in decorating, but his step-mother and I differ in this area quite a bit.

I shop at places like Big Lots and outlets, so I can proudly tell you the price of most of the items I display in our house. My step-mother shops at very pricey stores and insists that your pillow cases match your lamp shade. I’m lucky if our pillow cases match the sheets!

Now if they cast me on this show and I was trading spaces with Rat-Boy, I would honestly staple rubber rats all over his walls. Maybe I’d add a few snakes in there too just for fun.

Honestly, I can’t say that I have any particular style. I like to be surrounded with warm colors and things that remind me of family. I couldn’t tell you the difference between French Country and Contemporary. A designer would probably take one look at my style and classify it as, “What Was On Sale!”

Why is it when we are hurting, we punish those around us?

My brother has had a lifetime of hurt inside and rarely lets anyone in. He’s experiencing a down time, but it certainly isn’t something he can’t turn around.

His personality thrives on down times though. Instead of using the negative to fuel his motivation to change things, he uses it to justify his mood.

Life is never going to be perfect for him, but he could find happiness if he would recognize all that he has going for him.

God knows no one has tried harder to be his constant support than my mother. She has gone above and beyond for him, and been his cheerleader through the good times and the bad. That is a tough thing to do when the person you believe in has all but given up on themselves.

Despite everything she has given, he decided not to show for her birthday dinner tonight. It angers me that controls her feelings like a puppet-master, deciding when she can feel happy and relieved, and when she should be sad and worried.

I’ve seen the good within him and it’s absolutely beautiful. I feel like he’s missing something within his heart that would give him a sense of peace.

How do you help a person realize they are their own worst enemy?

Tomorrow’s is my mother’s birthday. Since I had all of 2 readers last year at this time, I’m going to re-post what I wrote after her birthday last January. Not much has changed. She’s still crazy, only now she’s 59. And I still love her craziness. She cooked her own dinner last year, but this year I’m cooking.

Don’t laugh! I am cooking three new recipes. We’ll see how it all turns out. My family gives me a hard time about the fact that all they ever let me bring to get-together’s is green bean casserole. I’m going to show them tomorrow night. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Here is my menu:
*Presto Pesto Chicken Pasta
*Olive Cheese Bread
*Salad (from a bag)
*Easy Heath Bar Dessert

My mother celebrated her 58th birthday in January. She did so by cooking her own birthday dinner. We had invited her to our house and I was going to provide dinner (remember I do not cook, so it probably would have been in the form of a square box via delivery). When she arrived wearing oven mitts I knew I was in trouble. Towards the end of the delightful dinner my mother announced she had a wonderful year, thanks to all of us.

Alright. You’re welcome.

There was more. After gushing about how we all made her year she handed us each a sealed envelope. Everyone got one, including our 4 year old son who can’t read. First reaction was “What the hell is this?” I mean come on, first you cook your own birthday dinner, then you hand us cards? I know we’ve always been a little on the dysfunctional side, but this is high-society creepy weird.

It was a thank you card - with those exact words on the front. Mine stated:

Emily,
Thank you so much for being a daughter I can be so proud of.
It has been another year in which I am in awe of the young lady you are.
Thank you for another great year.
Love, Mother

I don’t know if they make a medication for that kind of crazy, but isn’t she a beautiful crazy 58?

Some people make resolutions for the new year, but I’ve never been good at making promises to myself. This year our family has made some goals to move on with our lives.

Our biggest goal is to sell our home and buy a larger one. In some ways I am sad to move because this was our first house and we’ve created a lot of memories in this small brick space.

It was in our small outdated kitchen that I told Nate we were having a baby. It was in our living room that Ethan took his first steps and in our backyard that we’ve celebrated many of his birthdays. It was from this front porch that we’ve watched many storms roll in and out. It was this front yard that held a welcome home sign from the neighbors when I came home from the hospital. It was this sliding glass door that my mother came through to tell me we’d lost my grandmother and cousin. It was in this home where my husband and I learned exactly what love and sacrifice entail.

But as much as I love this house, it doesn’t love me back in the same way. Our laundry is in the basement and I don’t do stairs very well with an ankle that doesn’t bend quite as it should. I’ve fallen a few times, once resulting in an ER visit and subsequently a surgery on my elbow a year ago.

My biggest reason for wanting to move is a noise. (No, it’s not the old lady next door who runs her leaf blower every single time we have people over to grill out.)

We live about 2 blocks from one of the hospitals I frequent. Each day you can hear a helicopter coming in and out, hovering above our home. Maybe I’m more sensitive to the sound, but it brings feelings and emotions to a boil on certain days. All from the sound of the blades.

There were very few things that I remembered from the car accident, and the vivid memories I did have seem to intensify times ten. One distinct memory I recall is listening to the helicopter land in the field near me at the scene. I knew it was for me.

While my life hung in the unknown, my body was stuck in a vehicle. My mind traveled while I listened intently, wondering if what I was hearing would be the last sound. Turns out the last sound I remembered was of the helicopter taking off and ironically I hear that same noise every single day.

Every time I hear that same sound from the comfort of my safe home, it brings up a world of emotions that even three years later I am not fully equipped to handle.

It is just a daily reminder of where I once was, trapped in a car waiting to be airlifted to a place where my life would be examined by medical professionals, who probably never stopped to listen to the sound of a helicopter’s blades cutting through the air.