Where does Daddy live? A 9/11 rememberance

"Where does Daddy live?"

"Heaven", Jack responds.

"Who does Daddy live with now?

"God. And in my heart.", Jack says.

The babies born to single mothers after 9/11 are no longer babies. They walk and run, play and laugh, sing and write. They are growing up with photos and tales of their daddies lost in the 9/11 attacks. Some businessmen, some firemen, all heroes. All an important part of history.

We remember all of these people regularly, but on this 10th anniversary of the attacks, we pause for a bit longer. We reflect a bit deeper. We thank God for what we have now, and we make sure those who were lost continue to live in our hearts.

Jack and his mother's dialogue is from an ABC News report. Also read: Son Honors the Father He Never Knew

Photos taken at The Field of Flags, Kennesaw Mountain battlefield park near Atlanta. A full-size flag was placed for every life lost in the attacks. Tomorrow morning, officials will read each & every name over the loudspeaker. A very touching tribute.

The jeans in the bottom drawer

Shortly after Amelia was born, my jeans were looking good. Through sheer exhaustion and first-time-mommy stress, I was skinnier than I had been in years.

Baby weight? Did not exist in my world.

Or so I thought.

It was simply delayed.

Today, my jeans are angry with me. They feel neglected and unloved, living in the bottom drawer, uncomfortably tight around my “mama middle”. My daughter and I graduated 'Infant/Toddler 101' last year and while she is more active than ever, Mama somehow moved into a sedentary phase (with a side of snacking).

My confidence faltered when I succumbed to a new jeans purchase last fall. I dragged my feet from the junior’s section into the grown-up world of pleats and elastic waistbands. No worries – I did not go that far. I did, however, succeed in finding two pairs of new jeans that fit well, felt comfortable, and minimized my muffin top.

Designer? Well, no.

But I do not believe I have fallen into the depths of “mom jeans”… yet. And if I have? Please, for the sake of human decency, please pull me aside one day and tell me. I promise not to cry. In front of you.

It is almost fall here, and I will soon dig out those new jeans for their seasonal debut. My old jeans? Are still waiting patiently for me in the drawer, buried underneath more recent (and larger) purchases.

I owe it to myself to get back into those jeans one day. My weight plummeted after the birth of my daughter; I know it is possible.

Don’t lose faith in me, skinny jeans. I will see you again one day. Just give me a little more time.

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The assignment this week was to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role.

WW: Far away in the sunshine

"Far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them and try to follow where they lead."

-- Louisa May Alcott

Rainy Labor Day - and what a surprise!

Monday was a day at home after a fun-filled visit with the grandparents. It was a completely rainy, stuck-indoors kind of day. I saw the tweets of other moms, lamenting the Labor Day holiday trapped alongside stir-crazy children. I pretty much expected the same at our house. But I was in for quite a surprise!

First, playtime.
We discovered that Amelia's favorite play gym was open, so we took Daddy to see this place he always hears about and can never visit. They chased and bounced and plopped into the pit of foam blocks.

Second, creativity time.
Satisfied that she was fullly exercised, we went home to spend the afternoon in good old lazy fashion. I watched a few HGTV shows and Amelia colored. And painted. And colored some more.

We didn't hear a peep from her for over an hour!

Third, constructive play.
Later, she asked us to play with her. We did a few puzzles together and Daddy helped make the dollhouse come alive with 4" Disney princess figures.

Fourth....
Then, completely unaided, Amelia cleaned the house.

Yes... she cleaned. Everything! Put all her art supplies away, placed snack bowls in the sink, stashed all her completed paintings, dropped the puzzle pieces into all the correct boxes, and stuffed her toy animals into the bins.

I could not have cleaned up any better myself.

She was gleaming with pride in her acomplishment, and I was overcome with love for this darling girl. I couldn't be more proud of the sweet heart she has inside that cute little princess package. Maybe we need rainy days more often!

Happy Labor Day!

For the "what if's" in life...

As parents, we do everything we can to protect our children. We hold their hands in parking lots, look both ways and back again when crossing a street, and strap them securely in their car seats.

We want to protect their little bodies, so we encourage them to eat healthy and exercise.


There is one really important thing that many of us forget... and that's emergency planning. Where will your family meet up if something were to happen in your city? Where is your safe outdoor spot if the fire alarms go off? Who will care for your children if something were to happen to you?

Even though it was a difficult conversation, my husband and I have drafted a will. We decided who will take Amelia in the event both of us are gone. We determined how our money would be saved and distributed to cover her needs as she grows up. And we bought life insurance.

Life insurance will allow either one of us to pay the home mortgage in full if the other passes away. It ensures that our medical/funeral expenses will be covered. It gives us the peace of mind knowing that Amelia will be taken care of, and we will not leave a financial burden on any loved ones.

Not sure where to start? Genworth Financial has a comprehensive and helpful website with answers to many common questions.

What is Life Insurance?
How do I calculate the amount I need?
How do I talk to loved ones about life insurance?

Take a look, then start that conversation. Because our children are worth it.

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The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago.
The second best time is today.

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This post sponsored by Genworth Financial. I was compensated, but all opinions are 100% mine.

The time had come to live again

This week's Red Writing Hood Prompt asked us to write about a season of change. I decided to revisit my prior short fiction piece, The Runaway. I gave you the end before; here is a bit more to her story:

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The aches pulsing through her back were nothing compared to the lightning stabbing her brain.

What happened? Where am I?

She surveyed the small dark room. The furnishings were old and small. The thin and scratchy linens lay rumpled on the bed. An old clock ticked and tocked on the wall. As the moments passed, the fog within her brain cleared.

The priest. My bags.

He was kind. He listened. He picked her up, literally, from the depths of filth. He awakened her fighting spirit. He helped her to grasp her self-worth that had been long gone for all those months.

She had agreed to follow him, simply for the promise of a warm shower and clean clothes. She trudged through the open doorway and let out a gasp as a smiling, chubby woman made a beeline towards her.

“Welcome! We are so glad to have you here!”

What have I done?

The gentle clergyman remained by her side and placed a hand on her shoulder as she signed her name with a trembling hand. Her body was screaming to run, far and fast, back to the street. Only the slight pressure of human contact kept her moving forward.

He is right. I need this. I don’t want to die.

Once the ink was placed to paper, the chipper woman nimbly snatched her tattered bag.

“We have to keep your belongings, hon. Any substances we find will be destroyed.”

No! Okay. No! But I need them!

She shook her head and forced aside the greedy pleadings inside. She remained silent, eyes cast downward, and simply nodded.

Shower. Sleep. Eventually… home.

The time had come to live again.

When you hear the word cancer

Today's guest post is from a very special friend. We met through an online "expecting club" about four years ago. We were both expecting our first child in April 2008. She was having a girl, I was having a girl also. And at the time, we both lived in the same suburban area of Atlanta.

Life threw my friend a few curve balls along the way, but she refused to strike out. She has since moved away to pursue cancer treatment at MD Anderson, and she recently launched a very special project to bring smiles to others in need. Throughout all her trials, she has never ceased to amaze me with her poise and integrity.

I am honored to feature her guest post here today:

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When you hear the word cancer I believe part of your brain goes into a place where all of life’s what if’s, why’s and everything else all come crashing down at once. I imagine this is the feeling that anyone in a dark place feels. My brain worked like that for a moment when I was pregnant and hearing the words cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, and all sorts of other terms I did not comprehend. As my diagnosis and illness rocked along, I felt like those words or that far place would eventually be replaced by something grand. I had a healthy and beautiful little girl and I was oh so thankful for that. I continue to battle with my illness but how blessed am I to say that I am BATTLING. I never gave up and never will; I have far too much to live for and one little person who is ready to see her mama take on new battles each day.

In my journey I discovered that although the people closest to you want to be your support system, at times it can hit too close to home, be too difficult, or they are just not equipped to think along those lines. Sadly the person who is battling begins to feel isolated and on this island of uncertainty. After trying to recreate the wheel in my own support system, a light bulb went off. I can be someone’s rock, or I can tell him or her THANK YOU for fighting. I realize I am only one person, but I am a person who is fighting too!

I thought of ways to get my praise out there and really reminisced over the lost art of letter writing, sending and/or receiving mail other than a bill or junk! How awesome would it be opening a letter from someone who you do not even know thanking you for your courage, the heart that a higher power gave you to take on so much and still try? The Soaring Swallow Project was born.

The idea is simple. I ask people who know of someone who is battling or fighting one of life’s uphill battles to kindly give me that person’s address, and I will happily send out a letter to lift that person’s spirits. I absorb the costs, I do not expect replies (they are welcomed) all I hope is that the person who is opening that letter smiles, or knows they matter.

Everyone matters - sometimes we just need to hear it from someone else!

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"We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love."
-Mother Teresa
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Follow the Soaring Swallow Project on Facebook

Visit her blog, Cupcake Earthquake