Allow me to take you back...15 years ago.  My husband to be stood lovingly at the front of a church as I floated down the center aisle, knowing we'd spend that day and forevermore, in wedded bliss.
    ahem.
    One year later, we traveled to the beautiful mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, where we fell in love with the breathtaking views, and each other all over again.
    Aaaaaand that's about the time our story ends.  You see, we then went on to have one, two, three then four beautiful bundles of joy which pretty much sucked the freedom and life out of any wedding anniversary we ever had from that day forward.
    Over the early years we were lucky to have a showered, scream-free, diaperless date on a good night, and on a bad one, I think we may have high fived each other in passing down the hallway.
    We've spent anniversaries at work, doctor's appointments, my personal favorite was our 10 year...at a T-ball game.  Each and every year since the beginning, we've promised each other that the next year, things would be different.
    This year, it finally was.
    Our 15 year anniversary was quickly approaching and I vowed to do something special.  I began to research, study, and review get-aways that would accommodate everyone's schedules.
    It became frustrating with different locations, timing, pricing and I found myself complaining to Adam more than being excited about it.  
    Finally, he said, "Don't worry about it.  I have it covered".  And cover it, he did.
    He asked my parents to watch the kids for two nights as he booked (what he thought) was the most beautiful and romantic place, right on the beach.
    Luxury accommodations, with gourmet meals sitting by the ocean without a care in the world.
    Who could ask for anything more?
    Packing my things, he wouldn't tell me where we were going.  It was exciting to wonder whether the mountains were calling us back again, or a distant city might be in order.
    In the car, within no time, signs for the coast were a good indication for our destination as I smiled at the thought of long walks on the beach and lazy days.
     Upon arrival, it was late at night and hard to see, but Adam slowed the car and looked around, "Here we are", his voice seeming somewhat unsure. 
     "This is it?!" I was excited to get out but somewhat confused by his expression.
     "I think.  It doesn't look anything like it did online."  Shrugging, he climbed out.
    Walking under an overhang with palm trees, a black and white cat interrupted our path, sitting right there looking at us the way only a cat can do. 
    Reaching for the main door, we were surprised to find it locked.  No amount of budging would come from the tug of war my husband ensued, until we saw a little hand written note to the side reading, "Back in ten".
    what?
    "How are we supposed to check in, if no one's here?  How do we know how long they've been gone?"  Adam's apprehensions only grew as we both cupped our hands against the nighttime darkness to look into a tiki style run down front desk, as empty as the parking lot behind us. 
    Looking back at the cat, I swear it whispered, "Run" just as a woman came to the front door to unlock it. 
    Handing a key over the tiki bar to us, she promised our room to look right over the ocean with an added bonus of a full breakfast in the morning.
    Lugging our things out of the car, the cat continued to shake it's head at us, while we naïvely made our way to the room.  
    The journey was not exactly "Resort" feeling, but we were sure the room would be great.
     Ummm, yeah.
     Turning the door knob, we entered a level of stay, fit for those crazy spooky places you see on the highway.
     The wall was lined with different thingys along the floor such as this...    

...They each took turns going off with loud buzzing noises, blocking any chance of hearing the (very distant) sounds of waves we had any chance of enjoying.

    The scary murder bed had a fuse box or something hanging over it.  I pictured bugs crawling out of it at night feasting on our skin while we slept.  
    Needless to say, the cute little number I had packed for that night was quickly replaced with a long sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants in fear of my eminent blood loss.

    It was too late to cancel our reservation and neither one of us knew where we were to book anything else.  The only thing to do was curl up together and pray for the morning light. 
    When it appeared, it got even worse.
    Opening the windows like the sign pointing to the "beach" said to do, we were greeted with a parking lot. 

    Scurrying to the bathroom, we found it falling apart and wonderfully pleasant smelling.

    I pretended we were camping as I climbed into the dirty tub to take a shower, then finally called it quits as the cold water ran down my back, only to rise to my ankles from the clogged drain.

    "At least we have breakfast," my husband and I smiled at each other walking hand in hand to the rumbling of our stomachs. 
    Following the smell of bacon led us to hope for the best.  Finding the continued tiki bar theme, however, made our eyes pop out as we picked up paper plates with scoops of powdered eggs.  We left the bamboo lounge in search of the ocean and were pleased to find it, making our own little anniversary breakfast by the beach to remember.

"Do I want to know how much this place costs?"
Shaking his head between bites, Adam answered, "No, you probably don't".
    "That's it then.  Let's go."
    Thumbing through our phones, about 20 minutes away looked to be a fabulous place.
    Adam worried it wouldn't be at all like the website, just like this place, but we didn't want to spend that much for another night of fine dining and the new place was less than half the cost. 
    Less than HALF the cost...and are you ready for this? 
    THIS is what we walked into...

     The place was breathtaking.  Beautifully done with fabulous features throughout.  The staff checking us in were the nicest we'd ever seen and when we were given our room, I literally screamed when we walked in.  There were two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a back balcony overlooking a marina.

   The place was nicer than our first apartment and LITERALLY half the cost of the Bates Motel.  They even put stickers on their toilet paper.  STICKERS!
    I know we don't get out much and all, but wow.  We were giddier than a school girl and couldn't believe how lucky we were to have a night in such a wonderful place, with a bed we weren't afraid to sleep in or showers we weren't afraid to stand in...and stickered toilet paper.  

    At the end of the day, there was an incredible thunder storm, taking away time at the beach, but neither of us minded.  The room was so nice and after all of that, the storm brought the most gorgeous rainbow filled sky in the end. 
    The entire experience allowed us to reflect on the past fifteen years and what they've meant.  Life can bring the good and bad, ups and downs, dirty bathrooms to stickered toilet paper. As long as you keep doing what you can to get through, even the darkest of storms are worth it in the end when the rainbows in life come your way.   

    In honor of Mother's Day, I thought about what to write in regards to what it takes to be a good Mom.
    I've never met a Mom who's said, "I have it all figured out and know exactly what I'm doing".  No two moms are alike and one mother's theory on child rearing will quite literally go against everything the next mother thinks altogether.   
    In my job as a Speech Therapist, I'm lucky to be able to pull from some extremely reliable sources when it comes to the big questions such as this. 
    You'd be surprised at some of the life lessons you get when sitting with a 97 year old discussing what's important in this world and most definitely, what is not. 
    When it comes to the qualities of what makes a good mother?  Almost one hundred percent of the time and across the board, I get one answer. 
    A Mama you don't mess with.
    This response usually comes two fold, the first, from memories people have of a loving, giving, but strict mother. 
    One of my favorite clients (who was 94 years old) said, "My mother would lay her life down for anyone in our family.  She loved us more than anything on earth, but if we didn't mind her, she would have us by the ear in a heartbeat.  We knew better than to cross my Mama".  
     It was a different generation I know, but there's something to be said about their wisdom.  They speak of mothers who weren't there to be their friends, but instead, guide them in the right direction with an unconditional love, faith and discipline.  Mothers who taught them to be independent rather than to coddle or enable any level of helplessness.  Mothers who taught them to have respect for others and manners along with a solid dose of a work ethic and integrity to get the job done in life.     
     The second element that's usually discussed is quite literally the fact that, no one messed with their mamas.  I've been told how when someone tried to get in the way of their family's safety or well being, they had a better chance with a bear in a cave before getting in the way of the protectiveness of their mother.  I'll have to agree wholeheartedly with this.  There's something inside that shifts greater than any storm, once your loved ones are threatened.  That love and protectiveness is enough to move mountains and most definitely, a force not to be taken lightly.    
     So on this Mother's Day, thank your Mom.  If she raised you with love and discipline, you're one of the lucky ones.  If you're a Mom yourself, love your babies and let them know you'll protect them to no end.  They'll appreciate you when they're older with a heart filled with memories and a compassion for their own families as well as for others...and just like a good Mama, that's something you just don't mess with.

    Each year, our neighborhood has a huge yard sale.  House upon house of driveways become filled with Spring cleaning galore. 
    There's something inside of me, however, that dreads this day.  I watch my husband carry each load of "junk" to the front of our home with a hop in his step and a smile on his face.  He calls it the day of, "Getting paid to clean our house".  It's one of his favorite times of the year but for me, it feels more like pulling my heart out.
    I've never considered myself to be a hoarder.  When I think of the definition of hoarders, I'm reminded of the TV shows where people can't walk through their homes from all their belongings.  
    I, unlike a hoarder, like our home to be clean.  It never is, but I like it to at least be clutter free and somewhat organized.  I really don't have a problem with throwing much of anything out in the name of organization. 
    Except, for baby shoes. 
    Baby shoes are so little, they barely take up any space.  Their little feet used to squeeze into those tiny shoes as their fingers reached to feel the foreign objects.  Baby shoes definitely don't belong in a yard sale.
    Neither does our son's first bike.  Sure it goes to his knee now and he couldn't sit on it if he tried, but it was his first bike. 
    His
    First
    Bike.
    How could you sell his entire childhood for five dollars?  The day we let go and he spread his wings without training wheels.  That day absolutely doesn't belong in a yard sale.
    You know what else doesn't belong there?  Our daughter's first tea set.  You know, the little one in the light pink wicker basket.  The one she's never actually played with, but it's so cute you're sure this summer, she will.  The fact that you actually HAVE a tea set when you never thought you could, is reason alone not to sell it in a driveway.  That's absurd and barbaric.
    So as you can see, I'm not a hoarder.  
    I thought Adam would break into a jig each time a car drove off with our memories as I sat feeling a little more empty.  Their childhood, all those firsts, simply gone.
    As our driveway cleared away little by little, I realized something strange.  The kids were just as excited each time we made a sell.  Little fist pumps occurred from the purchase of their books, our daughter actually high fived her brother when she sold one of her princess dolls.  Our SON actually broke out a box and drawing pad to sell artwork for anyone interested. 
    What was happening? 
    That's when I realized.  Nobody cared.  The kids didn't mind selling their things.  They didn't remember their baby shoes, first blankets or things I've held onto for years.  To them, it was just, stuff...and they were right.  The things didn't hold the emotional reaction for me, the memories did and whether their first bike sat in our garage or somebody else's, the happiness and love from letting go, would stay inside forever.  That's what really counts.  The happiness from within. 
    I'll have to say though, I'm still mad about the shoes. :)