The Other One Where I Blog about Blogging: Part 2

In my previous post, I wrote about the numerous blogs that I began and never finished, and I have decided to post them.  I'm not sure what's behind my compulsive need to rid my blogger dashboard of my drafts, but I will fell better when it's done.  I think.  So, here they are...the good, the bad and the incomplete.

April 3, 2011 - Simply Celebrating Life

I love days like today.  Jackets were optional, windows were open and smiles were abundant, and it wasn't the weather that brought cheer to the Bogard family today.  I had never been to a party like this one before, and I won't soon forget it.  Today we celebrated the fact that Grandpa Ray is cancer free.  On Thursday, his doctor gave him news worth celebrating...so we did.  There were streamers and encouraging signs.  We hugged, we laughed, we ate, we shrugged off fears that we weren't brave enough to speak.  It was a simple celebration, and at the center was the idea that, as Grandpa said, "a weight was just lifted off [his] shoulders."

Tonight, while Faith prayed she said, "I am so proud of Grandpa for not being sick any more.  Thank you."  Cancer is scary, vicious and horribly unpredictable, and in many cases patients do not get to celebrate what we did today.

{I would have gone on to mention that Grandma Miller should have had a party to celebrate, but then I would have lamented the loss of Papa and Uncle Tim...so I stopped.  But every time I read this post I smile because I remember the joy of that day.  Simple joy.}

November 23, 2011 - Gobble, Gobble

Today I’ve asked my students to make a list of what they’re thankful for, and I thought I’d do the same. I love Thanksgiving for the obvious reasons: fun with family, friends and food. But I also love it because it forces me to pause and think about all of the good that is in my life…even when I feel like most things are bad, there is an awful lot of good.

I’m thankful for the tangible: my home, my car, my stuff. But more than anything I’m thankful for the untouchable stuff. I’m grateful for my job and my students…each and every one of them. I’m thankful for the students who are quiet and polite, and for the ones who are loud and talkative…for the ones who complete their work and for the ones who will “turn it in tomorrow.” I can’t explain how much I love what I do…some days more than others…but I am forever thankful that I am a teacher.

I'm thankful for the littlest Bogards because they make me smile more often than not.  I love Connor's cheek-to-cheek hugs and Faith's scrap-paper love letters.  I love their sense of humor and the way they are learning to play together...Faith is always the mean teacher or the bossy mom, and Connor is the faithful student or doting husband.  Oh my, that says a lot about how she might think of me.  I love snuggle time on the couch and watching family traditions grown.

I couldn't imagine my life without Kevin.  He's steady and stable in the moments I'm not; I admire and am proud of him.  He's a dreamer when I need it most, and he is my hero when he takes over bathtime.  He is the best father for my children that I could every have wished for.

{Not sure why I never posted this one...probably couldn't write a closing paragraph.  I still mean every single word}

March 9, 2012 - Untitled


As an English teacher I am obligated to have a few favorites, and today I am going to write about my favorite poem.  However, please note that as a woman, I have the right to change this favorite of mine every day.  Today, my favorite poem is "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams.  I believe that this poem is about mothers.

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends

upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Critics will tell you that this poem is about Williams' enigmatic use of words to paint a still life picture, or they may say he is a master of poetic structure.  They will talk about monosyllabic words and short and long vowel sounds.  They will make you dizzy with their crazy talk, and often I will ignore them.

For me, this poem is about

{See, I quit when the work was going to begin.  I would have told you that I often feel like that wheelbarrow, holding my family's life together and hoping like hell that I don't spill everything all over my chickens.}

October 16, 2012 - Nostalgia - My 32nd birthday

Since my last post the leisure of summer evenings has been replaced by the consistent rhythm and pressure of the school year.  The sun us setting sooner, and the autumn chill is here to stay.  It's difficult to justify writing a blog when lunches need to be made, homework needs to be checked and papers need to be graded...but this week I know it's time to squeeze it in.  The leaves are rustling and it's got me feeling a bit nostalgic: Starbuck's cups have warmed my palms, my brother, sister and I have visited County Line Orchard, my kids come in the house pink-cheeked after playing outside, hoodies and long sleeves have become wardrobe staples, everything tastes like pumpkin and spice.

Despite the chaos, life is good.

{That might be my favorite paragraph on this blog.}

November 2, 2012 - Untitled

I love photographs because they capture the essence of a moment.  They allow a second of time to be captured forever, and a good photo will allow me to recall the emotions of that moment in an instant.   That's part of why I always seem to imagine my life through the lens of a camera or from behind my smartphone; sometimes though, it's great to just live those moments and capture them in my memory instead of on digital film.

Last night was a hectic one for us.  Kevin worked late, Faith had cheerleading, Connor was feisty and I, as usual, was exhausted.  After coming home from practice the kids were ordered upstairs; Connor was sent to the tub for a quick wash and Faith's dry skin was slathered quickly slathered with aquaphor.  He cried about the speed of his bath, and she whined about my hands on her irritated skin.  Tensions were high, ease was nowhere to be found.  In the middle of the tears and discomfort, Kevin called to ask me to have the kids wait up for him since he was nearly home -- the excitement of waiting up for Daddy brought smiles to my sleepy kiddos eyes.

Then the moment shifted.  Gone {were the tears}

{This moment happened as we sat at the top of the steps, exhausted from the whirlwind of the evening's activity...after the phone call they melted into smiling puddles of love.  Faith smeared me with aquaphor and Connor probably wiped boogers on my shoulder.  But they were finally soft and lovely, and my Hero walked up the stairs to save our day.  I love them all}

December 17, 2012 - Untitled


Every night, I pray with my children and we thank him for every gift he has given us, and we ask God's blessing upon us as we go to work and school. We ask that he keeps us safe in all we do, and we pray for the health and happiness of those we love and care for.  When I say those prayers and hold their hands, the worrier in me thinks of Kevin's job as a police officer and all the "what ifs" that come with it.  I also think about our long commutes, distracted drivers and bad weather.  However, when it comes time to worry about the kids' safety, my mind moves to the bumps and bruises of childhood, Stranger Danger and the meanness of the class bully.  Never in deepest abyss of my motherhood fears could I have imagined the horror of Friday's events at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  My heart aches and I have no capacity to understand the evil that is becoming the norm in this world.

I kiss my children and send them off to school with their hearts and heads full of the promises of the day...today will be art, music and recess...after school we will...Tomorrow is your Christmas program...There are only 7 days until Christmas...This summer will be...  When I plant my kiss onto Faith's often-reluctant lips and receive Connor's delicious kisses I always have that passing moment of mom guilt.  It's fleeting and some days it's heavier than others, but it is always a mixture of uncertainty and longing -- uncertainty about what their day will bring and longing for a few more minutes of them in my arms.  But now that moment will undoubtedly contain some fear; it will be fear over knowing that I am letting my babies go in a world full of evil and hatred that I can't even fathom, and knowing that almost nothing could have been done to prevent the tragedy on December 14, 2012.

Some will find ways to assign blame: gun control, school security, mental illness, sensationalized media, God, or the lack of Him.  No matter where the fingers are pointed the fact remains that this tragedy has happened and this world continues to change.

{This was written with a heart so heavy that I couldn't continue.  On that day my perception of this world shifted, yet again because evil became so painfully clear, and I saw how little protection I have over those that I love.  My heart was also heavy because Sheriff Terry Marketti, Kevin's boss and friend died that same morning.}

So there you have it; my drafts are published and maybe I will feel better about all of these words that swirl in my head.  I think that I will post a bit more frequently without my own self-imposed pressure to make it great.  Instead, I will let writing by my form of catharsis.  I will write because I want to, free from pressure and full of satisfaction.

The One Where I Blog About Blogging: Part 1

I recently read that the ideas you think about immediately before falling asleep and just as you wake are the parts of your life that you love the most or that you are the most troubled by.  If that statement is true, then I have a deep concern for writing.  I think about it every single day.  It is the filter through which I process my life...day in and day out, like it or not.  When I lay down, after I've done a final sweep of digital media, said good night to Kevin and turned off the news, my brain begins to write about my day.  I don't just think about the events that happen, I process them through my writers "voice."  I find myself revising my words as they float about in my head, working through the perfect phrasing and diction while almost always trying to unify each of my days through some sort of theme.  It sounds crazy doesn't it?  That's because it is; and then, when I wake up, I do it all again.  My brain is always, always, always writing.  Not thinking...writing.  Drafting, revising, editing and forever considering publication, and it's that "publication" that seems to weigh heaviest on my mind.  But, understand that when I say publication I do not mean that someone will suddenly happen upon my intermittent, mediocre blog and tell me how spectacular my writing is while offering me an advance on my first memoir; instead, my version of publication is simply purging those thoughts and putting the words to "paper" and getting them out of my head.

I try to sit down and write when I can, but the whole wife-mom-teacher thing seems to get in the way.  Plus, the simplicity of my mental drafting is much preferred to the actual work of doing it.  There have been many days where I have started a blog post only to never finish it, which makes my blogger dashboard look like this:


Draft, Draft, Draft, Draft.  Those are my thoughts started and never finished...it seems like that is a commentary on my life.  It is a luxury to finish what I start these days, even though my head is full of my "handwritten" drafts.  Here are some of the blogs I would have written if life had let me make it to the keyboard:

1. The beauty of Connor's eyes when he smiles: breathtaking joy.  I am sure that I will still write this one someday.
2. My take on not getting the English Supervisor's position: written in the vain of Garth Brooks' "Unanswered Prayers" or Train's "Bruises" [insert deep sigh of satisfying relief].
3. Ode to my Husband: the fact that I am not a fan of digital PDAs makes this one difficult to write...Kevin knows how very awesome he is to me, but sometimes I want to share that with the world.
4. ND vs. Pitt - The Tale of Jimmy's Birthday Surprise: what a day of love and celebration, peppered with a bit of awkward family fun, followed with a completely unsatisfying win.
5. January 1, 2013: I will devote this year to simplicity, loving others and moving out of my home [subtitled: the day I packed my kitchen].

I know that I haven't finished the blogs on my dashboard or started many of the ones in my head because my idea wasn't unified, or my perspective wasn't witty enough, or the topic was too heavy for me to accurately explain my ideas.  Plainly, I just didn't think it was "good enough"...so I just stopped.  Left them there to dangle, unsure if or when I'd publish them.  So, I've decided that today the lingering drafts will be published, incomplete and inadequate as they may be.  You can find them here, in part 2.

There is always this hope that when I sit at the keyboard the words will flow from my fingertips with the same flourish and style that they carry when they are simply thoughts, but unfortunately I find myself stumbling and backspacing again and again.  I am constantly aware that my brain is telling me to write...so now I think it's time to listen.  My goal is that I will start to make time to clear my head while sitting at the keyboard...not everything I write will be as refined as finished as I would like it to be, but that's going to have to be okay.  After all, I am only writing my blog, not my first memoir...yet.

Social Media...the irony and the emptiness

As I type this, I have 202 Facebook friends; I follow 155 people on Twitter, and 50 people follow me. On digital "paper," I'm good in the friendship department...my social needs are surely being met, right? When I had a raging headache at 2:08 am today, I turned to my "friends" for the needed distraction. I read a few random facts on Twitter, I saw that my Facebook "friends" were happily entertaining themselves at the bars or posting witty and ironic postcards with bizarre quotes. There were the requisite "My life is awesome, wanna see?" posts coupled with the "Damn, I hate this shit" posts. It did little for my headache, and even less for my desire to feel connected...it was 2:24 am, my head still hurt like hell, and my fleeting experience with my phone just pissed me off.

I feel like this has potential to become an extended version of an "I hate this shit" post, so if you'd rather not proceed I completely understand...in fact, you better go hide/delete me on Facebook...Later.

I consider myself blessed in thousands of ways, and every night I do my best to count those blessings and thank God with an overflowing heart. Because of Kevin, Faith, Connor and Nora, my daily life is rich in love and full of simple pleasures. I consider myself to be a happy, well-adjusted wife and mother; life is good.  Honest.

However, I still feel really, really lonely...and isolated...and annoyed. I spend 9 months of the year in a classroom full of chatty, boisterous children...lots of them. I should be relishing the summer solitude, but I just haven't seemed to make it happen. Instead I'm frustrated by the lack of peace and people I've been able to find this summer. Aside from a few lunch dates and a few daycare days, it's been the kids, Nora and me; with Kevin coming in to help wrap it up in the evenings.  We've made a few summer memories, but mostly we've just moved through our summer days one lazy day at a time...please note that I'm super thankful for the lazy element of these days.

But today has just got me thinking about the irony of being lonely when I'm obviously "connected" to over 200 people. Some of my "friends" are family members who like my status more often than we talk on the phone, others are friends of friends who I've only met a handful of times, still others are students who I have not seen once since they've graduated, but then there are some people who really are or have become real friends. There are the friends of friends whom I value for their inspiring posts and kind hearts, there are the coworkers who make me laugh when it's needed most, the students who are "grown up" now, and there are the family and friends who love and encourage though their "likes" and posts...maybe we spoke yesterday or maybe it's been years.

I'm in a bit of a funk lately (nothing major...just a kids-are-making-me-crazy-when-will-this-get-easier kind of funk), and I've only shared that with a few people whom I have seen face-to-face this summer.  Yet, I still frequently seek a pick-me-up through those digital outlets that have become a consistent requirement of my daily life. Sometimes it is found there, but often it is not. Facebook, twitter, etc. have made us more connected then ever, but I think I prefer people lately. I want to look people in the eyes; I want to laugh with them instead of LOL with them.

Ironically, I have typed this in my backyard while 7 kids wrestle, ask for food, beg for the hose to be turned on and argue...I have ignored these people [children, only 2 of which are mine] while I stare at a digital device. Yet, as I began this post my littlest love came up to me, rubbed my arm with his tiny little marker-stained hand and asked, "Mommy, do you need love?"

Yes, Connor...that is what I need lots and lots of love from real people, just like you.

p.s. Found this article after writing this post...Interesting.  Is Facebook Making Us Sad?

p.p.s. No need to be concerned for me...see paragraph 3.  Also, if you need further reassurance, please read my previous blogs...life is good today.

Sweet Summertime?

The begining of this summer has kind of taken me by surprise...oh, it's June? Better pack up my classroom and switch gears because it's time to tackle summer. Yes, tackle it, because summer takes work...lots and lots of work. My dreamy summer plans are always laced with warm sunshine, sweet giggles and compliant children. Yet, my summer reality reminds me that I am allergic to the sun, I sweat like a man, giggles are often the products of forbidden, messy mischief and that my children may be genetically incapable of compliance.

Please understand that I relish the opportunity to spend the summers with my kids, it's one of the best perks of being a teacher [insert your teacher-bashing comment here]. However, I just can't believe how very far my summer hopes are from my summer reality...each and every year I find myself wishing I'd have done it differently. Wishing I'd have hugged them more, snuggled them more, encouraged them to get dirtier, asked them to splash me without consequence.

Yet, here I am, day 4 of summer vacation, struggling through the following tantrums and fights, all before 10am:
 1. No, CJ, you can't have candy at 6:32am.
 2. I don't think it's a good idea to stand on the top bunk and put hot wheels on the fan.
 3. Where did you get that golf club?
 4. "Mom, Connor touched my wallet. It's so important that he can't even touch it."
 5. Yes, Faith, pick out your clothes...No, you really shouldn't wear leggings...because it's going to be 85 degrees.
 6. No, Connor, you can't have a knife...no, not even if you're going to "feed me" with it.

They are quiet for the moment, Faith is eating a bag full of Cheerios and Connor is "organizing" the DVDs, so I jumped at the chance to write. And here I am noticing how cool these kiddos are, far from perfect, but so cool. Occasionally CJ will lean his head against "Fay-fee" and ask her sweet questions that she answers while loving the chance to be his teacher. He says thank you, and she smiles. It takes moments like that to make me see that I need to stop being so hell-bent on making summer look and feel a certain way...my summer reality is that the quiet moments will not last long [I'm now typing through Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at max volume, courtesty of Connor, while Faith flails around doing "ballet"], but that those simple moments are so worth waiting for.

I am frequently battling my own frustration and moments of crazy-ass-mom rage, and I need to find a way to control that. Connor will continue to throw tantrums (especially if Kevin's not home), Faith will probably never stop "doing gymnastics" off my couch, and my house will NEVER be as clean as I want it to be, but I hope that with a sincere and prayerful attempt, this can be a better summer. I'm crossing fingers for a summer where my hopes and life's reality come together.

It's four days in, and I need to change my approach. It's not going to be about the big, grandiose concept of summer. Instead, I need to embrace these dry-cereal-for-breakfast-watch-a-movie-on-the-couch kind of mornings as willingly as I do a day trip to the zoo or the water park. Rumor has it these days fly by, and my new summer goal is to linger in the simple moments.

Wish me luch, and I'll keep you posted...gotta go because Connor just grabbed that knife he wanted.

You learn what you live.

Raising children is an awesome responsibility, and I know that they will inherit the best and the worst of me.  Faith has already mastered my absent-minded rant where I speak to no one in particular, while expecting everyone to listen. However, she also is a beautiful listener with a sympathetic ear.  Connor has mastered his "teacher voice" (especially when he's angry with Faith), but he is so tender and gives lovely hugs and kisses.  Undoubtedly,  I see myself in my children through their words and deeds, and my hope is that more often than not, the good is what transcends.  I know that my job as a mother is to love them and teach them how to love others.

What is devastating and heart-wrenching is that some people do not view life through my lens.  Many believe that children should be seen, not heard; they offer their children "tough love," which is manifested through neglect and various forms of abuse.  Yesterday and today, Bremen High School was/is hosting the Clothesline Project.  It is a powerful display of t-shirts designed by survivors of and witnesses to domestic violence and sexual and emotional abuse.  It offers "an opportunity for survivors and family members to break the silence that often surrounds their experience, and bear witness to their personal experiences."  I could never have imagined the power of these handmade t-shirts.  Stories of neglect, rape, incest, violence, murder, and even stories of forgiveness.  The shirts told tales of violence and abuse done at the hands of those we trust: family, police, clergy.  

Here are some of the shirts that haunt me and one that offers inspiration.  

Many were far too gruesome to post here.

And here is the shirt that has stuck with me each time I've walked the exhibit with my students:

 "You teach your children what you have been taught.  No for Violence, Yes for Love."  Isn't that the core of parenting and teaching?  I pray that my children see the love I offer them, and share that love with others.  Love is what I hope to model for them every.single.day.  I falter, and sometimes I regret my words and my actions, but I always return to love.  

I literally keep crying over the victims words...faceless people with countless wounds...I cry for them.  In my life I have been fortunate enough to never experience this type of abuse, but I certainly know about those who have.  Today, I have seen my students hurting and seeking help for wounds that they thought they'd buried, and I cry for them too.  I know and love people who have been abused and who are abusers, and my heart is aching today because of the absence of love and protection and the sad abundance of violence.

Last night the kids and I added these survivors, victims and victimizers to our prayers, and we will keep them there.  I will also keep these words in my head as I parent my children and love those around me:

"You teach your children what you have been taught.  
No for Violence, Yes for Love."

Love, love, love...

Lessons Learned Through Princess Dresses and Ponytails...Faith is Growing Up

Faith recently marched upstairs, armed with a garbage bag, explaining that she was going to gather toys to give to goodwill, and of course, Connor followed her up with a bag of his own, declaring, "Me too!"  We recently rearranged her room, and it was already "junked up" again...she had enough.

After about 7 minutes of rooting around and a few outbursts, both kids came downstairs, bags in hand.  Connor's bag was clearly the reason for the outbursts, as it contained many of Faith's dolls, which were new Christmas presents and some of her new clothes.  Faith's bag was a bit more telling - it was full of "baby things" like princess crowns, dress-up clothes and play shoes.  I looked through the bag with a bit of surprise, and asked her if she was sure about what she had gathered. 

"Yes, mom.  Those things are for toddlers, and I am not a toddler.  I don't wear princess crowns and I don't play dress up.  You can give those to other kids who need them."

As quickly as that, Faith had packed up her toddler-hood into a tightly drawn trashbag.  And that was it.  She marched right back upstairs to continue to "organize" her messy little room.

Moments like those make me want to stop the world, pull her onto my lap, squeeze her tight, kiss her little neck and make her giggle.  Those kinds of moments lead me to nights where I want to pull my sleeping babies into my bed, or better yet, crawl in with them.  Where on earth did Faith's six years go?  How in the world can Connor be three?

That toddler-toys-in-the-trashbag moment came back to mind this morning as I asked my little girl if she wanted to do her own ponytail today.  Like a flash, she was out of bed, teeth were brushed, and she was dressed and seated at her new vanity.  She struggled through tangles, winced through knots, and finally gathered her hair into a haphazard side-pony, complete with a friendship bracelet clipped into the front for a fancy finishing touch.  To be plain, it was quite terrible, but she was quite proud.

I ask Kevin to help me out, "Daddy, what do you think of Faith's ponytail?" 

He diplomatically said, "I love where it is, and I like the clip, but I think that Mommy needs to use the brush to smooth out the lines."

"Where?  I don't see lines."

So, I swooped in, while she was still contemplating how there could be any imperfections, just to smooth out the rough patches.  I removed the ponytail holder, and all hell broke loose.  Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set.  I crushed her...completely crushed her when I pulled out that pony.  I offered advice, I offered to let her do it again...nope...the damage had been done. 

As quickly as that, she set me straight, "No, Mom.  Mine wasn't good enough.  You do it [tears welling up]."

Then I realized that all I really wanted was a do-over.  I wanted to leave that snarly-looks-like-she-slept-in-it ponytail in her head and send her to school with a shrug of my shoulders which said, "Hey, what can you do?"  But instead, I was left to deal with a sad-faced, pout-lipped little girl with a perfectly smooth ponytail...I drove her to school wishing I could have loved her pony just the way it was.

Faithy girl is over her pretty dresses and party shoes and into trendy outfits and big-girl boots.  Her look is becoming much less fairy-princess and much more edgy-fashionista...and I'm okay with that.  Honestly, I am. 

But, I guess her independence just caught me by surprise today - who knew that her ponytail could mean so much to her?  Then again, who knew a princess dress could mean so much to me?

I can promise that tonight you will find me giving ponytail tips while playing with her Cabbage Patch Kid and Target Brand "American Girl" Dolls...all while wondering when those will get packed up and given away because they are "kids" toys.

The Comforts of Christmas

I am a sucker for the feeling of Christmas, yet it seems the older I get the harder it is for me to connect with the Christmas vibe. Yes, it's awesome to experience Faith and Connor's anticipation for Santa, and their Christmas lists are amusing to say the least. Yes, the decorations are beautiful and the lights sparkly, but year after year I feel like I'm losing the ability to quickly connect with the spirit of the season. It's wonderful to hear Faith tell be about why Christmas is really important, to read Christmas stories and to watch Christmas movies with the kids.  But I still am having trouble connecting.  Perhaps it's because I'm "getting older" or maybe it's because sometimes the world just kinda sucks: families can't make ends meet, people steal money from charity, families lose loved ones, students lose their homes days before Christmas, and on, and on...

But this year, thanks to a beautifully written blog by my friend Kelly, I am thinking about Christmas with a different perspective.  In her blog, she reminisces about her grandmother's store-bought cookies which she was accidentally able to replicate in a what-can-I-make-that's-quick-and-easy kind of moment.  She also reveals that, for her, "Christmas tastes like butter and sugar."  In other words, Christmas tastes like comfort...and for me, comfort feels like a mug of hot coffee held between my hands; it gives me that warm-from-the-inside-out feeling.  It makes me pause and think about how wonderful it is to be still and to have that mug in my hands.

So that was all it took this year.  Reading that blog made me realize that for me, Christmas is about comfort in all its various forms - from the ease of family time after bustling days to the unexpected warm and fuzzy moments provided by strangers. It is comfort in knowing that when Grandpa Bogard opened his presents this year, he did so with a full head of hair - a visible sign that his fight with cancer is now behind him.  Perhaps a few moments of comfort will be provided to the two families that NHS has adopted for the holiday; their gifts (basic necessities) were picked up yesterday afternoon, and I can't stop praying for their comfort in this trying season.  Comfort is also found in knowing that my father-in-law is happily employed and seeing that they can take a deep breath, which  they might not have been able to take last Christmas.  Comfort is frequently found in those comfy-PJ-moments with Kevin and our kids...On Monday night, Kevin watched home videos with them while I dipped pretzels for the teachers' gifts - there was a sense of perfection mixed into the mess and chaos.  Lunch dates with friends, four full weeks with my sister, liberally poured glasses of wine, finding just the right gift paired with short lines, watching Polar Express, listening to the kids say their prayers, turning in my last set of finals, Kevin's promotion, hugs from people I love, celebrating life...comfort, comfort, comfort.

Each night when the kids and I pray, we celebrate the love in our lives: friends, family, colleagues, teachers...because without that love there would be so little to celebrate.  So, this Christmas and for all of next year, I wish you moments where you can be still enough to enjoy that warm-mug-in-your-hand feeling. 

Sending you so much love,
Sarah