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Moms are everyday heroes for a variety of reasons.

And one of the main reasons is, they manage to get their kids to school every day – fed, clothed, and in their right minds.  

The kids, I mean.  The process could easily put anyone on the edge of sanity.

What sounds like such a simple feat in reality requires strategic planning on par with anything Danny Ocean ever executed. 

Growing up, I remember “that Mom” in our neighborhood.  You know whom I’m talking about.  The entire neighborhood knew the names of all her children — and the dog, too.  You knew when it was time for dinner, when it was time to go to somewhere … and you definitely knew when someone had crossed her.

There was one in my neighborhood, and it seemed there was one in all my friends’ neighborhoods, too.

I vowed never to be “that mom.” 

In our family, the math aptitude genes appear to have gone to a single child.  The rest of us, like so many other right-brained people, struggle with numbers.

Although, I must brag a little bit.  I am really good at logic.  Aced it in college, in fact.  Which was a very fortunate thing since it was a math credit.

Thing is, the older I get, the more I realize how useful math can be.  On a daily basis, I use algebra and geometry in practical ways.  Not to mention statistics, which I never even really studied.

It’s true. God often answers prayers in ways we never imagined.
 
People look at my fourth child, who is six years younger than her next sibling, and assume that she was a “surprise.”  But really, she was an answer to prayer.
 
It just wasn’t the kind of prayer you might expect. 
 
We didn’t pray we would be able to conceive.  We didn't have to.  It was never an issue for us.  I married young, so we waited several years to start our family.  But once we started, I had two children in less than three years.  Those two broke us in pretty easily, so we were naïve enough to think we must be doing something right, and thought we should have more.
 
Of course, when things are so well balanced – two parents, two kids; two boys, two girls -  there doesn’t seem to be a “right” time to add a third child.    I started asking friends, why they had only two kids, or when they decided to add the third…  and I got plenty of interesting answers.  One friend said, “I just knew, when we sat down to dinner, someone was missing.”
 
Ironically, as I was trying

There is one brief, blissful moment when I love a snow day: that moment when the cell phone buzzes with the “no school today” text, and I can turn off the alarm, roll over, and avoid the chilly morning air for just a while longer. 

I used to love snow days. Used to.  When I was young. 

Now I’m a grown up, and I’ve obviously outgrown the childhood art of wasting time.

Not that I want to take away from what is eve

I remember when my oldest daughter turned 13.

I knew it was coming, but, as it goes with many of life’s milestones, I didn’t really have a clue how to prepare. 

Despite my fierce determination not to be defined as “mother of a teenage daughter,” you can’t ignore age 13 — the zenith of adolescence.  I tried not to take things too personally, because, as teenagers go, she really didn’t give me much to complain about.  Monosyllabic, yes.  But she did talk. 

This time of year, you can’t get out of the “What’s your new year’s resolution?” conversation.  Judging from television commercials and web ads, losing weight is at the top of many people’s lists. 

My new year’s resolutions used to be quests that would turn me into a Martha Stewart protégé.  A really skinny one.  Who was also in good shape.

But no more. 

It’s not a bad thing to establish new eating and exer

It’s that time of year.  Shopping.  Baking.  Wrapping. 

And going to the kids’ holiday band concerts.

I’m the daughter of musicians.  I can’t remember a December calendar that wasn’t booked with musical events. 

And for my children, playing an instrument is, as we must often remind them, “part of their education until they graduate.” 

I believed in Santa far longer than most of my peers. 

Because in my family, it was sacrilege not to believe in Santa.

How convenient for my Mom.  For an entire month, my behavior was noted daily on The Calendar.  A red X for a good day; a black X for a bad day, counting down to that Most Wonderful Day of All Days:  Christmas.

Oh, how I

It didn’t take long after our oldest daughter left for college before her brother took over her room. 

In fact, the debate over who was going to get her room started long before she left.  Her little sister campaigned, telling me I wouldn’t have to paint the room if she moved in – she’d be perfectly happy with the hot-pink walls.

But, despite extra points for cuteness, she never came close to scoring the coveted real estate.