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Why I Loath The Easter Bunny, Easter Baskets And Everything Pastel (Part 1)

Easter is just around the corner. I have friends that love Easter just about as much as they love Christmas. I am the polar opposite. I respect, enjoy and celebrate the religious meaning of Easter and all that it symbolizes… but I truly could do without the expensive Easter baskets full of sugary treats, the plastic toys (that only end up getting stepped on), the green Easter basket grass that can’t be vacuumed up (yet clings to everything) and the one random, colored egg that isn’t found until you open the fireplace for its seasonal debut. Oh, and did I mention that I abhor all of the decorating with pastel colors? Maybe it’s a reflection of my bold, outgoing personality but I love rich colors… pastels, not so much.

I loved Easter as a child and even as an adult, so I’m trying to pinpoint when I first started to dislike Easter. I guess it all started when Kevin was three years old and Eric (aka Rocky) was a baby. I was so excited about taking both of my adorable boys to the mall to have their photo with the Easter Bunny. For some reason the central part of the mall was under renovations that year and a trail of signs lead to the Easter Bunny’s new location in a vacant store.

As we entered through the one available door (both an entrance and an exit), I was relieved that there was no line. We were quickly greeted by one of the four assistants to the Easter Bunny. I smiled as I unbuckled Rocky from the stroller and grabbed Kevin’s hand explaining that they were going to get to meet the Easter Bunny and have their picture taken.

Kevin was so excited he climbed up the two steps that lead to the top of a small platform and sat right on the Easter Bunny’s left leg. That was easy, I thought, as I placed Rocky on the Easter Bunny’s opposite leg and moved out of the way for the photographer. As parents, we understand that with children there is only a small window of opportunity for a good photo. As parents, we also understand (but won’t openly admit) how badly we want this picture of our children to be perfect.

From where I stood on the floor, behind and to the left of the photographer, I could just tell that this was going to be one of those moments… one of those perfectly adorable shots. I secretly smiled my “victory” smile and held my breath as the photographer readied the camera. Hurry up I thought. Then I noticed Kevin looking down at the bunny’s feet, then up at his face and back down at his feet. Oh, please look at the camera, please smile, as I willed Kevin to remain still.

As the camera clicked, signaling the photo was taken, Kevin stood up and began yelling… “Wait a minute, you’re not the Easter Bunny – you’re a people!!!”

“I can see your ankles!” Kevin announced, while pointing at the exposed flesh showing from the gap in the material between the leg of the bunny’s costume and the beginning of the bunny’s feet.

“And I can see your eyes!” Kevin continued as he pointed at the bunny’s massive head and the human eyes visible behind the mask.

“You’re a people! You’re not the Easter Bunny!” Kevin bellowed, turning to address the people working there, as if they didn’t already know.

Rocky began to cry. I ran to retrieve him as I grabbed Kevin’s hand and pulled him off of the small platform. I glanced around nervously and noticed that a line was starting to form. I quickly approached the cashier and fumbled for my wallet.`

“He’s a people! He’s a people!” Kevin yelled.

“Kevin, that’s enough!” I said, “Please lower your voice.”

I grabbed my not so “perfect” Easter photo and managed to mutter an embarrassed “Thank you” to the staff as I strapped the baby in the stroller with one hand while holding onto the hand of  a flailing Kevin.

“He’s not the Easter Bunny! He’s a people!” Kevin yelled repeatedly, on a mission to blow the Easter Bunny’s cover and spread the word.

I kept my head down, only glancing up briefly as I headed towards the door. I had no choice but to pass the waiting crowd of parents and children in line to meet the Easter Bunny. The children looked confused and frightened. If the dirty looks that I was getting from the parents were any indication, they were pissed.

Needless to say, that was our last official visit to see the Easter Bunny and quite likely the beginning of my dislike of the Easter Holiday.

And if you think that was a funny yet embarrassing situation, wait until you read what happens in my next Easter post.  (Part 2) 

 

 

 

 

 

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10 Reasons That Single Moms Rock! (As told from my experiences as a single mom)

Let’s face it, single moms are resourceful. We are bonded by our ability to get things done and make things happen under the most limiting, seemingly impossible set of circumstances. This takes creativity, ingenuity, sacrifice and smarts. Now, I’m sure that you have respect for the single mom who works hard to provide for her family but I’m not sure that you can even begin to fathom just how savvy and determined we actually are. So let me be the first to give you the real inside scoop…

10 Reasons That Single Mom’s Rock:

  1. We’re not afraid to be alone – Contrary to popular belief, we are really okay with not being in a relationship…I’m not saying that having a relationship isn’t nice, but true to our hearts, our children come first.
  2. We find a way to provide our families most basic needs – It only takes one friend from school staying for a sleepover and one unpaid electric bill to equal, lesson learned. You can’t let the power get shut off ever again…plus using the excuse that a car must have hit a utility pole up the street only works once.
  3. We figure it out on our own – Sometimes the only way to have enough money to purchase the cleats for baseball is to scour through your closet looking for clothing  (that you got as gifts) with tags still on, hoping that you’ll be able to return them for cash. Been there, done that. Got the cleats.
  4. We lean on each other – Truth…We complain, we joke and sometimes we even cry but we lean on our other single mother friends for support when the going gets tough. There is always strength in numbers. 
  5. We take on the big challenges – Great. I have to purchase three laptops for school by the end of this week…PANIC…IMPOSSIBLE. “Don’t worry guys, mommy will get them for you.” After running around to a multitude of stores and realizing that you really can’t afford this, you end up at the local pawn shop. As fate would have it, not only do you find three affordable laptops, but there just happens to be a computer teacher from the high school there when you are. He resets all of the passwords and clears the memory on all of the laptops out of the kindness of his heart. Victory! Mom comes through, even if it took a day of running around and four hours at the pawn shop.
  6. We go without – Probably true of all moms but we single moms really put ourselves last. No vacation, no haircut every six weeks, no popular trends in clothing or fashion. If we don’t look good, know that we’re smiling because our children do. Sales, clearance, thrift stores…they only know that somehow mom got them what everyone else is wearing.
  7. We can turn nothing into something – It might be a recipe that becomes a family favorite created solely of “Whatever I have to work with” or a birthday or holiday that we make memorable on a shoestring budget…in retrospect we can’t even remember how we pulled it off, but we did.
  8. We find resources – Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Google it, inquire, seek it out. Somehow, someway, you can accomplish anything with a lot of drive and effort. 
  9. We understand the struggle is real – It ain’t easy! That’s the God’s honest truth and I challenge anyone who thinks that they can do a better job to come on over and hold the fort…but you have to come alone.
  10. We don’t give up – Being a single parent, male or female, isn’t for the faint of heart. In fact, it takes everything that you’ve got, everyday, and everything that you’ve got even on the days when you have no idea where you’re going to find the strength…but I do know this, I’ll never turn my back on the challenge. In the end it all comes down to love…and what better driving force is there than that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Versatile Blogger Award

March 14,2017  Mylifeiswear.com

I am so excited to be nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award! It really feels good to have my little blog get some recognition. Thank you to The Artist of Dreams for nominating me. Check out The Artist of Dreams at theartistofdreams.wordpress.com to see some really beautiful artwork and great talent.

The Rules:

If you are nominated, you’ve been awarded the Versatile Blogger award.

  •  Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
  •  Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
  •  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly. ( I would add, pick blogs or bloggers that are excellent!)
  •  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
  •  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

 

Nominations:

this tiny blue house  https://thistinybluehouse.com/

HOUSTON PHOTO JOURNEY  https://houstonphotojourney.wordpress.com/

The Local Nag   https://thelocalnag.com/

The Little Mermaid  https://thelittlemermaid09.wordpress.com/

Seven Things About Me:

  1. I love to write! I began writing when I left an abusive marriage in 2010. My writing took on a life of its own and I ended up writing for six domestic violence organizations and the Charlotte Court System while living down south.
  2. I love public speaking. I spoke at “Walk A Mile in Her Shoes” for two consecutive years. I also gave a speech at “Speaking of Women 2014” in front of an audience of 500 people.
  3. My children used to tell me, “Mom, no one cares what you have to say.” in reference to my writing. Over the years they have changed their tune and even support and encourage my efforts.
  4. I wouldn’t be able to survive without my sense of humor. My life is by no means easy, yet I find a reason to laugh everyday.
  5. I am well aware that there is no one that is tougher on me than I am on myself. I often find myself asking,  “Why didn’t I do more? How could I have done better?” I’m still not sure if this line of thinking is detrimental or inspiring to my overall goals. I’ll let you know when I figure that out.
  6. I never get writer’s block. My mind is always whirling with ideas and there are many times (Like when I’m in the shower) that I wish I had a pen and paper.
  7. If I could do anything for a living, I’d love to earn money writing…in the meantime, writing is a great outlet for me and I love sharing myself and my thoughts with the world.

 

Thank you again for the VBA (Versatile Blogger Award)! I am honored and look forward to blogging my butt off in the future!

Best,                                                               

Erin Cooper Reed

 

 

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The Award Goes To…

When my boys were younger I always worked multiple jobs. Okay, I still am, and probably always will be a workaholic. Actually, most of my life working like a dog has been an absolute necessity, yet even when not, I always maintained the same work ethic.

I became the queen of quick meals, crock pot cooking and yes, the master of the microwave. I was always pretty proud of myself and my ability to hold two jobs, vacuum the  living room while still wearing a suit and heels, wash, dry and fold laundry into the wee hours and of course, whip up a meal in minutes.

Kevin, then 6 years old, came home with a smile, a bounce in his step and a paper from school boasting an “A”.

“Mom, guess what? I got an “A” on a project!” Kevin beamed.

“That’s wonderful honey! What was the assignment?” I inquired.

“Well, everyone had to write down what their favorite food was, write one sentence about it and draw a picture.”  Kevin continued, “Most of the kids picked pizza or hot dogs…but wait until you see mine!”

Kevin continued beaming as he turned his paper that sported a large “A” towards me so I could see.

At the top of the paper, Kevin had  written perfectly, “My favorite food is broccoli.”

Underneath was his sentence about the topic.

“Boy, Can my mom microwave up a box of broccoli!”

The drawing below showed a box of broccoli and a to scale replica of the green giant.

Embarrassed and momentarily fear struck, I tried to form a smile. My first-born child had no idea that broccoli was grown in soil, in gardens and farms.

“I’m so proud of you Kevin!” I said with a hug.

I’m definitely going to have to decline that “Mother of  the Year” nomination…it’s the right thing to do.

And…this year, maybe plant a garden.

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It’s Funny cuz It’s True…

When I tell my friends, family or co-workers a story about my life, they always say, “Oh my God, that’s so funny!” My standard reply is, “It’s funny cuz its true.”

When my kids were small, I saved enough money to transform the entryway of our home into a page straight out of a decorating magazine. I purchased a beautiful wooden sitting bench and an elegant mirror to hang above it. I painstakingly selected wallpaper with a small vertical gold stripe and the tiniest, most delicate floral pattern set against a background of white. I knew together, the wallpaper, the mirror and the bench would make a striking, yet warm and inviting entrance into our home.

I hired a person to put up the new wallpaper since I hadn’t a clue where to start and I wanted it to be perfect. To my surprise, the wallpaper was flawlessly installed in a day. I was elated! I enthusiastically positioned the bench, hung the decorative gold framed mirror, and lovingly added matching gold framed pictures of my children to the hallway.

It was finished. My vision, made into reality! I couldn’t have been happier.  I spent many of the days that followed standing in the entryway admiring its beauty.

Upon returning home from work one night, I was stopped dead in my tracks…low on the wall, across my beautiful new wallpaper, were some swirling red lines. I thought,”Oh my God, is that red crayon…red pen,  or worst of all, red marker?!” My heart was beating through my chest. Because the red scribble was low  on the wall, I knew it had to be my 4-year-old son Marc. My shock was now turning to anger as Marc greeted me by the door.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and smile. “Hi honey. Do you happen to know how these red marks got on the new wallpaper?” I asked.

To my surprise Marc replied, “Yes, I do. It happened last night when you and daddy were sleeping.”

“It did?” I questioned, “Tell me all about it.”

“Well, a burglar broke in,” Marc began.

“A burglar broke in?” I repeated, fully intending on seeing how far my son would go with this story. “Why didn’t you wake us?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Marc said.

“That was very nice of you, Marc.” I replied. “So, what did you do?”

“I just stood there. Then he grabbed me,” Marc stated.

“He grabbed you? You must have been so scared. Why didn’t you wake us?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Marc replied.

“Then what happened?” I inquired.

“Well, he had a knife,” Marc said.

“A knife? Oh my God!” I shrieked.

Marc continued, “And… he had a red pen.”

I said, “So he had a knife and a red pen. Wow, that must have been scary. How did you get away?”

“I jumped out the window,” Marc explained.

“You jumped out the window…Where did you go?” I asked.

Marc replied, “Well, I ran all the way to Dr. Baron’s office (he was Marc’s pediatrician at the time).”

“Why didn’t you have Dr. Baron call me?” I asked.

“He didn’t want to wake you up,” Marc replied.

“Marc, let me go get the camcorder so you can tell me again what happened and I can record all of this for the police.” I left the room to grab the camcorder.

I returned to find Marc standing in the exact same place, looking white as a ghost.

“Mommy?” Marc said sheepishly. “I wrote on the wall with a red pen.”

“I know you did, Marc.” I replied.

“Wait, how did you know?” Marc asked, as I handed him  some soap and a sponge.

“Mommies just know these things, Marc.” I said stifling a smile.

Fortunately, the red pen came off and Marc never wrote on a wall again.

We’ve all heard the expression, “You can’t make this sh*t up.” Trust me, I don’t have to make it up as there is never a lack of material in my life…It’s just funny cuz it’s true.

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If Your Belongings Aren’t Broken…You Certainly Aren’t Raising Boys

For all intents and purposes, I’m pretty simple when it comes to material things. I abhor the mall and  I couldn’t care less about the most popular trend or “Keeping up with the Jones.” I sacrifice to do for my kids. I must admit, I love to decorate and I do take pleasure in incorporating my latest bargain or thrift store find, into our humble abode.

In the last month we have had to replace a toilet seat and the mechanism on the screen door that keeps it from both slamming and blowing off onto our front lawn. Seriously? Why are boys so rough and destructive? I know that it’s not intentional, but it has become obvious to me that they use the same amount of force to reach under a lamp shade and turn off a light as they do to make a slap shot to score the winning goal in a hockey game.

I’m pretty sure that the writing was on the wall even when my kids were small. I was pregnant with Marc and busy fussing over the nursery while I set Kevin (6) and Eric (3) up with brand new bunk beds, sheets and matching comforters.

One wintry, cold night after putting the boys to bed, I stepped out of the shower and reached for the most luxurious, plush bathrobe I have ever owned…a gift from my mother. As I wrapped the bathrobe around my shivering body and reached for the tie…wait, I can’t grab the tie…left side, right side…Where is the tie? Never mind. Are Kevin and Eric still up?

I wrap the bathrobe around myself the best that I can and head into the boy’s room. I turn the light on and begin to say, “Boys, it’s time for bed…go to sleep you have school…” I stop mid-sentence. Hanging from the top bunk is the tie to my new bathrobe. I frantically try to unfasten it, but the knot is so tight it is impossible to do so..

“Why is the tie to my new bathrobe attached to the top rail of your bunk bed?” I ask, exasperated, as I continue trying to free it.

“We were playing spider man.” Kevin replied.

“Just go to sleep.” I quip.

“Kevin is spitting at me!” Eric states before I exit the bedroom.

“You’re spitting at your brother from the top bunk, Kevin?” I ask.

“He tried to spit at me first!” Kevin says.

“There is no spitting in this house!” I state as I leave the room feeling defeated. “Please go to sleep.”

I stop in the hallway for a moment, realizing that I will have to cut my bathrobe tie off of the bunk bed rail and reluctantly, throw it out. Oh, well. The ending of something nice I once owned. Little did I know, the beginning of all of the endings, of the nice things I will ever own in years to come.

I pause an extra few minutes just to make sure that the spitting war has ceased.

Silence.

Then I hear my son Eric state, “Ya know Kevin, mom is right. Some kids don’t even have spit and you’re wasting all of yours.”

I stifle my laughter and think, God I love my boys.

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Damn the Kardashians

So, here it is, my blog. Maybe my daily life deserves more of a platform, like say, a reality show. Maybe the Kardashians have more junk in their trunk, or more stack in their rack…but they have NOTHING on me. “My life, I swear….” I find myself repeating that as my mantra in the face of yet another ridiculous situation, after another ridiculous situation.

I am a single mom of three boys, Kevin (20), Eric aka “Rocky” (17) and  Marc (14). I live with my boys and my fiancé , John, a man I dated 27 years ago (that’s a story in itself). John also has a son, Matthew (20) who lives with John’s ex-wife but comes to visit us. Sounds like the normal 21st century blended family, right?  Right. Unbeknownst to us, my ex-husband spent three days living in our basement this past winter. Did I mention that Kevin is an aspiring film maker and a graduate of the Connecticut School of Broadcasting? This kid has been carrying around a camcorder since he was three and nothing is off-limits, in fact EVERYTHING is material. Kevin is also a rapper, as is Marc. They have rapped on the stage of Toad’s Place, New Haven, as well as other venues. Eric, also known as “Rocky” is my sports star, a seasoned hockey player. John’s son , Matthew, is a talented,  competitive ballroom dancer. John is currently unemployed, which leaves plenty of time for friction with my unruly teenage boys. I am a writer, public speaker and most importantly, a midlife waitress.

There’s the cast of characters.. Ready to see what could possibly happen to make my life put the Kardashians to shame? I promise not to disappoint.

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A Serene Life

I always imagined a serene life. Sure, I wanted the white picket fence and plenty of babies. I like so many of you,  oohed and ahhed over the tiny shoes and adorable onesies. I always wanted to be a mom. In fact, I think it was all I ever wanted.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that motherhood would give me the God-given ability to put together with ease, sentences like, “Hold on a minute mom. GET THE SPATULA AWAY FROM THAT CAT! Sorry, you were saying?” or “What is this RUBBER MALLET doing in the bathroom towel basket?”

Little did I know that this was only the very beginning of the craziness. I have so many funny, as well as exasperating stories of raising my small brood of three boys. (Just for the record, three kids feels like ten kids. Trust me on this.) Part of me doesn’t even know where to begin, as the stories compile daily, and sometimes by the hour.

I promise, I will make you laugh until your sides hurt…and just maybe, you’ll find the strength to get through what you’re dealing with on any given day.

Stay tuned! And most of all, my greatest piece of advice, don’t ever lose your sense of humor!

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Boys, Boys, Boys

There is something about being the mother of three boys that makes you want to pour straight vodka into your breakfast cereal. I’m not saying I’ve done it, but I have been damn close. There is a dynamic to having three boys, that only a parent of three boys can understand. If you have three sons you’re probably shaking your head “yes” right now and rethinking the half-gallon of milk that you’re holding mid-pour above your cereal bowl.

Wait! Don’t go there yet!

Let me spin you a little dish washing tale that will encompass the absurdity of it all. Unfortunately, it happened at a time when John and I were faced with the most trying and heartbreaking circumstances I have endured to date…

My beloved father was diagnosed with terminal cancer in February of 2015. John and I began the exhausting, yet selfless job, of caring for my father during his illness. This required one of us being away from home for twelve hours at a time, then eventually, both of us being away for twelve hours, as his care required two people.

How were we going to leave three teenage boys unattended? We really had no choice so we sat the boys down and laid out some ground rules about our circumstances and our expectations…”Grandpa Ed is very sick and we aren’t going to be home a lot. If we ever needed you boys to step up your game, this is the time. You’re going to have to make your own food, wash the dishes, put the trash out, wash your clothes, walk the dog and stay out of trouble.” I said. The boys nodded their heads in agreement.

Upon returning home one evening to gather more clothes and check on the boys, we found my youngest son Marc at the kitchen sink up to his elbows in dishes and suds. He was wearing pink latex gloves with floral cuffs as he scrubbed with a vengeance. “Wow, Marc! I’m impressed!” I encouraged, as my eyes scanned the mammoth pile of glasses, dishes, pots and pans teetering on the counter. Marc smiled as I gave him a kiss and thanked him on my way out the door. I must admit, although the state of the house was far from pristine, Marc’s effort left me feeling hopeful. Maybe my boys would step up in a time of crisis. Maybe they would be able to take care of things at home after all.

Over the next four months, the many trips back and forth from my parents home to our home began to reveal something about each of my children’s personalities through the simple, everyday task of washing dishes. Marc was definitely the doer. Now Eric (aka “Rocky”) he was another story…

As soon as we stopped home, there was a knock at our back Kitchen door. John answered and our landlord (also our next door neighbor in a duplex) explained that her stove was on the fritz and asked if it would be okay if she grabbed her dinner, brought it over and used our stove. John said, “Of course” and she was gone in a flash.

I was busy sorting through our bags collecting clothes that I needed to wash. Our landlord returned, setting a large pot on our stove while explaining that we were welcome to some of her “famous rice and beans.” When I looked up from our overnight bags I saw it. “What the hell is that?” I thought. I moved closer to the kitchen sink to get a better look. “John, did you put a black trash bag over the sink?” I asked. “No.” John replied, “I thought you did that.” The sink was obviously overloaded with, I would guess from the bulge, every kitchen item we owned. Atop was a very neat and precisely placed, black plastic 30 gallon trash bag. “Why in the world would I do that?” I chirped, as our landlord looked a bit shocked. “I don’t know why you would do that.” John replied, as Rocky entered the kitchen. “I did it.” Rocky boldly announced. “Why in the world would you put a trash bag over the sink?” I asked in dismay. “I was tired of looking at it.” Rocky stated and left the room.

After a long talk with the boys about the importance of washing what you use, sharing the workload and keeping up with the dishes, we came home to Kevin…

John and I both stared on in amazement as Kevin, my eldest mind you, carefully washed a fork, dried it and put it away. Washed a plate, dried it, walked to the kitchen cabinet and put it away. “Boy, this is a lot of work.” Kevin said. John and I glanced at each other as John said, “Ya know Kevin, it’s easier if you wash everything and put it in the dish drainer.” Kevin seemed to contemplate the idea as he washed a red bowl and placed it facing up on the top of the dish drainer. I smirked to keep from laughing, as John walked by, inverted the bowl and said, “Gravity is your friend, Kevin.”

On another stop home not long after, I was in the living room when John bellowed, “Hun, did you put a frying pan in the freezer…? I approached John standing in the kitchen, holding a frozen non-stick frying pan as he finished his sentence, “upside down…dirty?” We stared at each other, then back at the pan. “Had to be Rocky.” I said. “Upside down. Must be Kevin.” John said. The standard inquisition of the boys revealed the standard replies…” I don’t know, I didn’t do it and not me.”

By March I was emotionally and physically drained from caring for my father. My heart ached and I had no intention of celebrating my birthday. To my surprise, John’s mother brought a birthday cake over. We were all home and the simple act of lighting the candles, singing happy birthday and eating cake together was, unbeknownst me, exactly what I needed. The mood was light and happy. I found myself relaxing, living in the moment and enjoying the conversation with my sons.

“Hey, mom.” Marc said, “Seeing that we’re all in such a good mood, I have a confession.”

“What’s that, Marc?” I smiled.

“I put the frying pan in the freezer.” Marc stated.

“Marc, why would you put a dirty frying pan upside down in the freezer?” I asked.

“Well,” Marc continued, “I was tired of washing dishes. There were just so many. Too many. So I hid them.”

“You hid THEM?” I asked.

“Yup.” Marc said as he pointed to the bottom doors of our dining room hutch. John’s mother looked confused as John bent down and opened the doors. There sat a neatly stacked pile of unwashed plates, bowls, forks and spoons. All we could do was laugh.

My life, I swear…

Sometimes I wonder if I taught these boys anything at all and if any one of them will have the basis skills to get by in life. Sometimes I worry that I’ve done too much for them, or maybe that I haven’t done enough. I guess as parents we tend to worry and blame ourselves. Maybe that’s part of parenting, maybe that’s normal. Sometimes I feel that nothing about my life is normal or even close to it. Sometimes in those moments, I take a minute to remind myself how our struggles, how each of our unique personalities respond to those struggles, how we somehow manage to bond together even in our differences and how our interaction and our love for each other create the laughter and the stories that make it all worth wild.

Isn’t that really what life is all about anyway?