Club Sandwich

There is a space in between
When the kids aren't grown
still needing your constant care.

And the parents aren't gone
But they're no longer young.
Crown of wisdom grey in their hair.

Kids need detangling
and reminders to brush
And grounding from 3DS.

Parents need explaining
And repeating of plans
Understanding of natural regress.

The hustle and bustle
Of concerts and Scouts
Homework and flute in between.

The listening to stories
For the umpteenth time
With a smile so as not to demean.

There's a place in between
Of worry and care
For the child, young and old.

When the "kid" in the middle
Pours out to both
Helpless to time's unfold.

Little girl's not so little
Gloss on her lips
Don't grow up too fast.

Grand getting grander
Memory eclipsed
Wanting every moment to last.

Settling in
To the space in between
One day, one struggle at a time.

Embracing the moments
Seizing the days
Girding my heart for the climb.

A few weeks back, Matt walked in to the room and said, “Do you know how old my dad is going to be on his birthday?”  I didn’t.  “Seventy-seven,” he said.  That was a light bulb moment for us.

While I know our parents are getting older, I don’t think about it too much.  We often talk about our desire to spend more time with them and our regret at missed opportunities.  We only have two parents left between us.  We, of all people, know the frailty of life.  But we still forget.

Last week I accompanied my mom to the doctor.  Don’t worry.  No big issues.  Just a desire to have a second set of ears.  But it was another moment of clarity for me.  I still think of my mom’s age of seventy as pretty young.  In fact, the older I get, the younger her age feels to me.  But there was a minute, I asked the doctor a question and he answered, when I sort of stepped outside of myself and looked at that interaction.  Me and my mom’s doctor talking about her.  With her in the room! 

Don’t get me wrong.  She was most definitely a participant in the discussion.   But something about it made me feel old, and her feel small, to me. 

And all of that has been on my mind lately.  Because I don’t like it very much.  I’m newly arrived to the parenting scene and still adjusting.  So I’m not quite ready for my mom to be getting any older!  But alas, she is.  (Don’t tell her I used the word “older” to describe her…)

We are in an “in between” time.  And I’m embracing it.

Bulimic

I need a purge

Of my churning thoughts

Making me sick at heart.

A bitter rumble

Of anger and judgment

Ripping my brain apart.

Each dark thought

Simmering, burning

Acid in my brain

Begins to seep

Down to my lips

Raining words of pain.

I need a syrup

Of ipecac

Vomit my viral thoughts

Cleansing purge

Of bitterness

Healing brain of rot.

I went to bed frustrated on Friday night about things totally out of my control.  When I woke up Saturday, my mind continued to spiral.  Irritation and anger made me grumpy, and my joyful hope for the weekend began to wane. 

I knew that part of my problem was the very difficult two weeks of school I’d just completed.  I was emotionally exhausted and mentally drained.  Sometimes my job is so much pouring out that at the end of weeks like these, I’m running on fumes.  Eventually I come to a sputtering stop.

After a very sweet flute concert, I sent my loves off to the museum, Grandpa, Dad, and daughter.  I knew I needed the time by myself to regroup and refill.  But I could not shift the focus of my brain.  I was so annoyed and could not seem to stop fixating on the source of my ire.

I was texting with my BFF and trying to explain my need to purge my brain.  I knew that I was only making myself miserable, and that I needed to let it go.  I’m a counselor for goodness sake.  I know the toxicity of bitterness.

I’d planned to do my big Thanksgiving grocery run but had forgotten my purse at home, so I ended up back at the house.  It seemed like a good idea to put in a load of laundry while I was there.   And like the mouse and the cookie, that one load lead to dusting, another load, folding, organizing, picking up, and a third load.  Eventually, with the help of my Casting Crowns station on iHeart Radio, I had a much cleaner house, an organized grocery list, a less cluttered brain, and a spirit at peace.

High School Counselor

Today I watched a parent humiliate her man child in front of me and two other women.  It brought him to tears.  And when he tried to cover those tears, she scolded him more.  It was one of the most heartbreaking scenes I’ve watched play out before me in a long time.  It is still replaying in my mind, a horrifying loop of brokenness of spirit in his wet, red eyes.

Earlier in the day one of my frequent flyers showed up with fresh scratches marking her anxiety over the loss of a friend .  As we colored, she played songs for me on her phone that spoke feelings she wasn’t ready to articulate because this wasn’t the first time she’d lost someone to suicide.

Yesterday I decided to take on a basketball project.  I have this gifted player who didn’t make the team because of grades.  And brains aren’t the problem either.  The problem is moving to a new school and being fifteen and hormonal and unorganized and unaccountable.

Before that, there was a call from a fellow high school counselor in another district who had a student report that one of my students texted her student about wanting to die.

But before I could speak with that student I had to track down another student who has figured out that texting his mom about hating school and his life and wanting to die…is a great way to get to go home.

And both of those conversations led to lots of phone time with parents and documentation and research about resources and did I mention phone time with parents?  Because the parents needed to talk too.  Understandably.

I also made a CPS report yesterday.  Reluctantly.  Because you never quite know if that will be beneficial or harmful to a 15 year old high school student.  They are unpredictable…CPS AND high school students.  But I erred on the side of caution and made the report, after getting timed out three separate times due to inactivity while I conferenced with children who thought they might want to die.  Meanwhile, this child most definitely did NOT want to die. 

And today, a police officer showed up to ask me questions about that same student.  And then he interviewed the student.  And then he went and got money from an ATM to put on her account so she could eat. 

I can’t even remember what day it was, but another day this week one of my kids who graduated in 2013 came back to see me.  He checks in periodically.  Because me and another couple of people up at school are the only reliable adults he’s ever had in his life.  And sometimes he needs to talk.  And it takes time and energy I don’t have left.  But hugging his neck four or five times a year is one of the best things. 

Tomorrow is Friday.  And in the counseling center we are counting down the class periods to a much needed respite.  A break where we can deal with the craziness of our own families instead of someone else’s.  I’ll begin the day with Starbucks and end it with basketball, because even counselors have their vices…I mean coping strategies.  And in between, I may change some schedules.  Because that’s what counselors do…

Biggest Loser

Mom bought Ipad

Won that round.

With trampoline

Dad gains ground.

Easy Bake

Brought a grin,

But homemade cookies

For the win.

Mom’s attention

To herself.

Daddy’s shared

With someone else.

Tooth fairy mom

Gives a ten.

Tooth fairy dad

Ones again.

Vacation time

Which is best?

Local trips

Or Disney fest?

Edging closer

Mom bought phone.

Daddy’s lead

Swiftly blown.

Always tracking

Keeping score.

Stressing presents

Who spent more?

Feels like love’s

A competition.

Isn’t that

A contradiction?

Constant stressing

About the plan.

Good enough?

Or lesser than?

Throw in towel

I give up.

I can’t compete

To win your love.

Even when we

Aren’t the loser

Always fear that

She will choose her.

You can say all you want to that it’s not a competition, but until you’ve been on this field, you cannot fully comprehend the pull of the game.  When children are involved, divorce is the ultimate game of tug of war.  No matter how hard you try, or how many times you give it over to God, there is a constant inner struggle for the desire of your child’s loyalty and favor.  When you only get to see your precious one Thursday nights and every other weekend, you long to be the winner on occasion.

With Halloween, we have officially entered the competition season.  It is closely followed by birthday and Christmas in our home, and nothing brings out the desire to win your child’s affection quite like those holidays.

It isn’t always a conscious battle.  Sometimes it sneaks up on you in subtle ways as your child begins listing her birthday and Christmas wishes.  You begin to think about the budget and the gifts and the all important question of the mother’s gift plans.  And that is a rabbit hole that will cause you madness beyond any un-birthday tea party.

It is the beginning of wondering if your gift is good enough.  If your love is good enough.  If you are good enough.

This past weekend of birthday, we chose to purchase within the budget and within what we considered reasonable and appropriate for our family.  We provided a great birthday weekend and celebration.  But we knew that we had not purchased the most desired gift.

After hearing about the mom’s birthday gift tonight, we knew our girl had gotten the really big thing.  I asked Matt how he felt about that.  He said, “It’s just the way it is.  We do something while mom waits and does something bigger.”

That made me sad.  Until he went on to say this, “But what we are giving her is what she needs most.  And I’m comfortable with that.”

He wasn’t referring to our birthday gift but to our family.  And he is right.  If we ever are going to “win,” I want it to be a win of heart.  Of family.  Of boundaries.  Of stability and consistency.  Of a Christ centered home.  Of unconditional love.

Boundaries

Out riding the fence

Looking for weakness

Where the wire is getting stretched

I’m looking for breaks

Where intruders invade

Where new trails get slowly etched

Repairing each strand

Standing my ground

Protecting the herd from attack

Laying new wire

Stretching and tying

While also watching our back

Out riding the fence

Looking for weakness

Cow gets tangled and stuck

Approach with caution

Watching her hooves

There may be reason to duck

One section repaired

Another one waits

Along the never ending trail

Out riding the fence

Our hedge of protection

Praying boundaries don’t fail.

I’ve spent hours and hours over the years contemplating the idea of boundaries.  Healthy ones are critical to healthy relationships.  In my job as a counselor, I am constantly reminded of the problems that can develop when boundaries are neglected and  ignored.

In a blended family, I feel the urgency for boundaries more than ever.  Between parents and kids.  Step parents and step kids.  Between ex-spouses.  There are so many levels of boundaries that have to be carefully built and maintained. 

I’ve come to think of them like fence on a ranch.  The outer fences often have another row of wire the inner ones do not.  And there are carefully planned gates at various places for appropriate movement between sections as well as crossings in and out of the property. 

Boundaries in relationships are a lot like that.  The blended family fencing is a fairly complex system that takes time to learn to navigate.  Occasionally, I find myself getting cut by the wire or trampled when there has been a break.  The building and repairing is often a painful process, but the maintenance is essential to the emotional safety of everyone living on the ranch. 

Last night, both Matt and I had to work on various stretches in the wire.  It was painful and tiring work.  I’m so thankful though for a partner who is willing to ride the fence with me, sharing the miles of upkeep and rescuing me when I get tangled.

The Golden Rule of Cookies

As a counselor and long time baker, I have developed a sixth sense about people and their cookie needs.  Today I sensed that my administrative team was in need of a cookie boost.  Sometimes a random batch of homemade cookies is just the spirit lifter for which a stressful week is calling.  Fortunately, today’s disturbance in the cookie force just happened to coincide with my need to try out a new recipe. 

I came across a recipe on Facebook recently for white chocolate, candy corn cookies.  I briefly glanced at it but forgot to snap a picture as I normally would.  I’ve always felt that recipes are just nice suggestions anyway, so I decided to simply use a variation of my normal chocolate chip recipe but with white chocolate chips and candy corn instead.

About the time I had mixed up the cookies and done the super official dough taste test, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with Matt and Isabelle Friday night.  While we were waiting for our Brother’s Pizza, I asked them a couple of questions.  What is the best thing about our family?  What is the worst thing about our family?  What do we need to work on?  (Oh the joys of living with a counselor.)

Isabelle’s idea of what we needed to work on was cooking.  She was NOT suggesting that I’m a bad cook.  She was asking, in her way, for me to include her in the cooking more.  I told her that was a great idea and that we could definitely do more cooking together.  So tonight as I was about to scoop cookie dough on to the cookie sheets, I wished she was here.  And then I wished that I could deliver a few of these cookies to her at her mom’s house when they were finished.  I just wanted to share the moment with her.

And that random thought took me back to last Halloween night.  Isabelle was scheduled to get ready for Trick or Treating at our house.  I’d brought home a goodie bag with spooky pencils, rings, erasers and activity book along with some very tasty Halloween cupcakes.

When her mom picked her up from our house, she delivered a very large and fancy, single packaged cupcake.  Isabelle saw it and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  All thoughts of the cupcakes I’d brought home for us were gone.  She only had eyes for the cupcake her mom had brought.  For me, the evening sort of deteriorated from there.

Tonight as I was thinking about how much I would enjoy sharing these cookies with Isabelle, I think I realized more potently than ever before how acute the loss is that her mom must feel when Isabelle is with me.  How many times must her mom think of her and what she would like to share with her daughter when she is with me.

I understand logically that this must be so as I am very aware of Matt’s sense of loss and lost opportunity when Isabelle is not with us.  It is a wound that does not heal.  But before tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever really felt like I was missing out on anything.  Just him.

My heart hurt for Isabelle’s mom.  I had the tiniest taste of what she must feel every time Isabelle is with us.  Her cupcake delivery last Halloween wasn't meant as an attack on me.  It wasn't about me at all.  It was about wanting to share a moment with her daughter.

So though it was tempting to deliver some cookies to Isabelle and her mom, I didn’t.  I also understand what it feels like to have the good thing you do pushed to the shadows while someone else’s good thing takes center stage, however unintentionally.

It’s really all about the cookie golden rule.  Deliver (or not) unto others as you would have them deliver unto you.  

Out of Step

He's living for the weekend
Ironically, so am I.
Him to have his girl
Me to have my guy.

Thursdays and every other
The clock that guides our life.
The schedule of my stress
The constant guilt I fight.

Parenting in silence
Whispers in his ear
Texting him my thoughts
So that she won't overhear

Biting my tongue again
When sarcasm's at my lips
Beating myself up
When occasionally it slips

Counting down the minutes
Feeling like a fake
Anticipating grocery runs
And a secret Starbuck's break.

Our weekend free approaches
My rope is tied with knots
They are sad and mopey
I am forever caught

Between my guilty happy
For a weekend that's kid free
And sorrow for my other half
Who is fathering absentee.

We are living for the moments
When everything's in sync
When it feels like we are "normal"
Not some monstrous family freak.

I'm learning to trust my Love
Unpacking my bags of fear
Letting go of voices past
Still whispering in my ear.

The hardest part is letting go
Of things I can't control.
The tug of war within my heart
Eventually takes a toll.

Most difficult job I've ever done
A mix of joy and strife
Being stepmom to his gal.
But it's the calling of my life.


Recently, a friend told me I made being a stepmom look easy.  While I appreciated the praise, it made me realize that I have probably been answering "Fine" too much to the question "How are you?" lately.  The truth is that being in a blended family is a struggle most days.  Some of the struggles are bigger than others, but the struggle is real.

Over Labor Day weekend we went on a camping trip as a family.  It was a great long weekend, but it also had some rough moments.  On Sunday afternoon I took some time to sit outside under the trees and do some writing. This is one of the pieces that came out of those quiet moments. 

In case you were thinking I've got things all together, I definitely do not.  This is me keeping it real.  

SOS!

I need help.   Being a stepmom in a blended family is absolutely the hardest role I’ve ever tackled.  I drove to Dallas this weekend to attend the Sisterhood of Stepmoms Retreat looking for help.  I figured a group called SOS ought to understand my desperate need for a life saver.

I was not disappointed.  The Sisterhood was started by Laura Petherbridge, co-author with Ron Deal of The Smart Stepmom.  She and the other ladies brought years and years of experience, wisdom, and Godly principles to the table for the nearly 100 fellow stepmoms desperately thrashing about in the tumultuous stepmom waters crying for help.

I have been extremely blessed with my Stepmom Sponsor, Peggy, this past year, but I was hoping to get connected with other stepmoms on the journey as well.  With Dallas as the location, I thought finding connections in the Houston area would be easy.  It wasn’t.

By Saturday afternoon, I’d connected with several ladies from Oklahoma, and one special gal from Dallas, but no one from the Houston area. 

The second to last session I wanted to attend made me fairly nervous. It was a special breakout session for stepmoms who did not have children of their own.   This is a very tender spot for me, and I almost chickened out because of a desire to avoid what I knew would be a painful subject.

Sure enough, my heart broke listening to the stories and thinking about my own situation.  The tears poured down.  Laura’s story hit me especially hard as she shared her own struggles with the reality of not having children to take care of her someday as she gets older. This is a fear I’ve had for years.  While no parent really wants her children to have to take care of her, there is comfort in knowing you have children who would.  I don’t have that.  Laura reminded me that the Spirit who has been my comforter for the first 41 years of my life isn’t going anywhere.

As I stood up to leave from the session, a lady at a table in front of me stood up and turned around.  Our eyes met.  She was crying the same tears as me.  Our gaze held for a moment, and I considered speaking to her.  Because I knew in that pregnant pause that she got me.

But the moment passed.  I turned and walked away trying to gather myself on the walk downstairs before the final session of the day, on prayer.

The final session closed with a song and an opportunity to journal a prayer.  I sat quietly, fighting tears, not writing.  I listened to the song without words of my own.  All kinds of emotions swirled through me as my heart cried out to God.  It is in moments like these when I am grateful for a Holy Spirit who knows my heart and speaks to God on my behalf.

I left that session exhausted and a little discouraged that I hadn’t met anyone from the Houston area.  I texted Matt about the possibility of coming home early.  His response, “Why would you want to come home?  Why don’t you spend the time up there and network with others?  I miss you too, but I would hate for you to miss out on a possible opportunity.  Do you want to call me?”

So I called him.  And I shared and cried and eventually felt better.  And I stayed.

As I was walking past the pool to dinner, I heard someone call my name.  I turned to see Stephanie from Dallas waving me over.  She was so excited to introduce me to Brenda.  From Houston.  The same lady I’d locked eyes with earlier.  The one I was sure would get me.

The rest of the evening the three of us visited and got to know each other.  Brenda mentioned that when we had shared that teary eye contact earlier, she had wanted to speak to me too.  During the last session, she had journaled a prayer asking God to connect her with someone in the Houston area.

God tossed me a lifeline this weekend, and I finally swam out to grab it.  As I pack up to head home, I am renewed in heart, refreshed in spirit, and reminded of God’s faithfulness.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

After years of delicious indulgence, I’m breaking up with my long term breakfast sweet, Poptarts.  It was the discovery of their sneaky deception that led me to this drastic departure.  They lured me in with their preparation ease and portability then sealed the deal with their tempting flavors.  But no more.  Last week I glanced at the 200 calorie label and something sinister caught my eye, “Serving Size – 1 pastry”. 

Who eats one poptart?!?  That is 400 calories for breakfast!  The name is “Poptarts” not “Poptart”!  That implies more than one!  They are packaged in pairs. 

Thus began my search for new breakfast options for the gal who has an hour commute and eats in the car.  Oatmeal and cereal are great, but spoons are more than I can navigate at the same time as Westpark, 59, 610, 45, and Beltway.  (For you non-Houston residents, that is 3 major highways and 2 toll roads.)

I came across a recipe for some “clean” zucchini, banana pancakes that inspired my creative juices.  I don’t know much about clean eating other than the 15 second rule, but I figured I could rework my homemade pancake recipe to something a little heartier and healthier.  And that is just what I did.  I substituted whole wheat flour and oatmeal for the white flour, honey for white sugar, and added grated zucchini and mashed banana.  A delicious result.  I often eat pancakes without syrup and enjoy them very much as they have a touch of sweetness already.  This version was also enjoyable without the extra calories.

My recipe makes 12 pancakes, so I bagged them in servings of 2 and put them in the freezer after they had cooled completely.  If you don’t let them cool, condensation will freeze in the bag, and you will have soggy pancakes.  Last night I moved one bag from freezer to refrigerator.  This morning, I popped them in to the toaster, just as easily as the evil poptarts.  Grabbed my travel mug of coffee and pancakes to go.

Hearty Zucchini Banana Pancakes

1 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 cup oatmeal

2 ½ teaspoons baking powder

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 small zucchini, grated

1 banana, mashed

1 egg

3 tablespoons honey

1 cup milk

3 tablespoons butter

Makes 12.  ~238 calories per serving of TWO pancakes

Hearty.  Delicious.  Portable

Yes.  I know it has 3 tablespoons of butter.  I said they were healthier, not healthy.  But I’m considering dropping the butter next time.  We’ll see. 

While Actively Monitoring...

I have a dear friend who is very much like my husband.  One of the qualities she and Matt have in common is their knack for trying to fit in 57 things in the time available for 33 things.  It is a quality that is both endearing and challenging for a spouse.

She recently asked me if I ever felt like I was being dragged along in Matt's wake.  My immediate thought was, "No."  But it's an interesting metaphor that I've thought about frequently in the weeks since she first posed the question.  Today, while "Actively Monitoring," I had an opportunity to put this together in my head and jot it down a line at a time during my brief foot/leg rests.


Slipstream

Pulling me along
In your wake
We fly over waves
Ferocious and free

Wind on my face
Lightening speed
My heart races
Excitement and fear

Exhaustion's undertow
Pulling down
My legs kick faster
Cramping and sore

Always checking
Looking back
You never leave.
My partner in pain.

In quiet waters
You reach out
My hand in yours
Contentment and rest

Ghosts of Heartaches Past

Revenants.

Whispers of fear

Lurking in shadows

Tendril fingers reaching.

Tripping me on pain.

Apparitions.

Waiting patiently

Biding their time

Blitzing from nowhere.

Choking my spirit on dread.

Specters.

Stalking stealthily

Sneaking in uninvited

Sucking out life.

Stealing my breath away.

Phantoms.

Nearly forgotten

Hiding in corners

Brushing against bare skin.

Shivering my soul.

Guardians.

Gently reminding

Rescuers in waiting

Erasing secret doubt.

Soothing my heart.

Confessions of a FB Bragger

Some time back, I got sucked in to one of those random articles that shows up in my newsfeed on Facebook.  It might have been from Huffington Post, but it was something along the lines of “Facebook Personas You Should Avoid”.  I don’t really remember too much about it except for one.  And I’m afraid the worst has happened.  I must confess I’ve turned into that person on FB who always brags about her man.

Last week I posted something about how love is putting a heating pad at the foot of the bed for your wife, etc.  The next day I had to resist the urge to post another “Love is” status update.  In fact, I’ve been resisting the urge quite a lot.  I wouldn’t want to offend someone with my constant praise of my husband…so I’m blogging it instead.  Ha!

As it turns out, I don’t quite agree with the article.  I think praising your spouse is a good thing, especially to him.  But I also think it’s extremely healthy to praise your spouse in front of him.  But this FB posting thing, it’s a whole other thing for me.  My spouse is rarely on FB, so when I post something, he may or may not ever see it.  And I kind of get a kick out of all my FB peeps seeing how awesome he is without him even knowing.  I DO want to brag on him.  Not to make anyone jealous, it is definitely not a “nana nana boo boo” kind of thing.  I just want to share my joy.

And maybe more than that, I do not EVER want to take for granted how awesome he is and how blessed I am.  I see people do that all the time.  I’VE done that before.  Some people think we are just in the “honeymoon” phase.  Maybe.  But I’m ok with staying here.  At least as it pertains to being always grateful for the gift that Matt is to me.

So here are some things that I’ve jotted down recently, and some are things I do for him.  Not to brag about me, but to make a point that I’ll get to in a minute.

• Love is taking the wife’s car back out to get gas at 8:00 p.m.  so she has a full tank in the morning and doesn’t have to fill up in the dark either going to or coming from work across town.
• Love is staying up way past pumpkin regularly to bandage the husband’s head wound after his shower that was long past her bedtime.
• Love is putting toothpaste on your partner’s toothbrush each night when you do your own.
• Love is setting up the coffee the night before so that your partner can get caffeine in his/her system immediately upon becoming vertical.
• Love is making lunches for your wife every single morning including Friday’s when you could sleep in a little.
• Love is a candle lit dinner on the porch with the crystal glasses.
• Love is homemade cookies, just because.
• Love is homemade pancakes, bacon and syrup on Saturday morning.
• Love is knowing that 3 emojis in a row means “I love you.”
• Love is never running out of things to talk about.
• Love is being ok with Friday night takeout and movie at home instead of going out or a home cooked meal.
• Love is doing laundry and cleaning on your day off so the weekend is free for fun stuff.
• Love is holding hands as you fall asleep every single night.  Seriously.  Every.  Single.  Night.

Mostly, I think love is kindness.  I’ll never forget the first time Matt put toothpaste on my toothbrush at the same time as his own.  It wasn’t any big thing.  But I thought it was such a thoughtful and kind gesture.  Every night since then, whoever gets to the toothbrushes first puts the toothpaste on.  Not because it is the expectation, but because it’s just a nice thing to do.

I’ve never  met someone as thoughtful and kind as Matt.  His generosity of love makes me want to be more so in mine.  Is he perfect?  Umm…not even close.  Does he mess up?  Yes.  So do I.  All the time.  Do we talk about it? Absolutely.  And that is different for me.  In my past, I avoided confrontation.  Not anymore. 

The thing about FB and this blog is that once it is out there on the internet, it’s out there.  It is saved.  It is a reminder.  It is a place to look back and see what was.  It is a reminder of how I want it to always be.  So, if you don’t like my husband praising status updates, ok.  I’m totally comfortable with you not following me or even unfriending me.  But seriously, my husband is A-Maz-Ing!!!

How To Write A Love Note

Writing a love letter is not as complicated or difficult as you might think.  In fact, 

very few words are required at all.  Just speak from the heart.

I enjoy love notes that are a reflection of their author.

Love notes can be written on any kind of special stationery.

Thoughtful wishes for the day are nice.

Sometimes flattery is just the thing.

It doesn't take much to make a girl smile.

All that really matters is speaking from the heart.

If you don't think you can write a love note, you should give it a try.  It is the easiest thing.  It only requires a moment of time.  Valentine's Day is great.  But a girl who gets love notes daily, is blessed beyond measure.  Our Valentine weekend has had forensic photographer interruptions beyond our control.  But my sweet Valentine celebrates me every day.  He is amazing, and I am the luckiest.