We've come to love the Outer Banks in North Carolina.  The lighthouses, horses, natural beaches and quaint spots, make the time there like none other.
​     This year when we visited, we happened to run across a family vacationing who in this day and age, was pretty unique.  What made them stand out, was that between their two sons and one daughter, the bond between them was extraordinary. 
​     The three siblings were in their late teens, early twenties and unlike typical kids you'd find anywhere else in this day and age, we never saw them get on their cell phones or zone out from their family.  Not even once. 
​     The whole time, they laughed, played Frisbee, football, jumped in the ocean...you name it.  A good old fashioned day at the beach. 
​     It was refreshing to see a family so tightly put together and when I asked the mom what her secret was for raising her three into adulthood with such a close bond, she simply said they'd been coming there their whole lives and always made it a point to take the time to spend together. 
​     It reminded me of how in this uncertain world we live in, one thing is sure.  Be together.  Really, truly together.  Take time to shut everything off.  Work, TV, computers, electronics...Pokémon Go.  Spend time with loved ones...meaningful time.  Enjoy nature, eat ice cream, play in the rain, just remember to be present. 
​     Oh, and if by some miracle you can get your kids into matchy 90's boy band outfits for a family picture while you're at it...score.        

    Dear Quarterback of UNC, 
​    I'm not a stalker.  I'm sure that sounds like a kind of thing a stalker would say, but in this case I can assure you, it's true.
​    I should begin by saying I'm from  the Great State of Ohio.  Back home, people tend to  have the biggest love for  God, Family and football...not  necessarily in that order.
​   We live in North Carolina now and when our boys found out about a football camp your wonderful school  provides, they couldn't wait to jump in.
​          You can understand my pleasant surprise then, when your head coach and team players introduced themselves, and  we learned that you, too, were from the Buckeye State.     I'm sure I gave a little "whoop" in the stands and the boys  were excited to hear you were from Ohio as well.
​    Leaning to our boys, I  mentioned how it would be cool for them  to say hi to you and let  you know we love Ohio. 
​    You can imagine  my shock that incurred, when my husband and I picked the boys up, only to hear one son jump in the car and  say, "I told the quarterback "hi" for you, mom!"
​    "Wait. What?!"  My eyes popped out as I turned  to them in the  back of the car. 
​    "I told him you said,  'hi'!"
​    Starting to snicker, my husband  took it exactly as I did.
​    Elbowing my ever loving husband, I tried to act nonchalant, "Baby, I didn't mean that I wanted to say hi to him, I meant  for you...oh, never mind."  The open stare from our son told me all I needed to know.  "What did he say back  to you?"
​    "Um, he just kind of looked at me weird and say, "Uh, say 'hi' back to your mom?"
​    My husband snorted trying to keep his hands on the wheel.  Wanting to die, if there was a hole big enough to dig and  crawl into, trust me, I would have.  Evidently,  our son  continued to carry on the conversation with you, telling you I was from Ohio and wanted to know where  in Ohio you were from.   To make matters worse, he told you I liked the Cleveland Cavs and wanted to know if you liked them, too. 
    If,  at this  point, you weren't totally freaked out by my apparent obsession with you, I'm sure you were by now.
​    My husband had to slow the car down from laughing so hard while mentioning something about a restraining order that would disallow us from gracing the school or a football game, like, ever.       We've never even been to a UNC football game, but I think it's safe to say, we'll wait until you graduate until we do.
​    On a positive note, besides the fact that  again, I swear I'm not a stalker, the boys had about the best time they could've possibly had.  You and your teammates and coaches were beyond phenomenal with the boys and they're begging to go back again next year.  For that, we Thank You.
​    Trust me when I say this however,  if they do return in future years, my husband can take them alone.           

     The sound of scraping metal is one I'll never get out of my head.  More than that, will be the image of my son's arms crossing in front of him against the airbag. 
​    Our boys had football camp at the University of North Carolina.  They were so excited when I picked them up, they could hardly see straight.  As a parent, in an unfamiliar place, you know the dichotomy of wanting to hear every last detail from your child's adventures while still trying to determine where to drive.
​    I had no idea where I was, so I was focused on the road and the lanes of traffic.  We were all trying to get home for the end of the day, but as I looked ahead, an SUV was stopped in the road in front of me.  Just stopped.
​    Slamming my breaks, I screamed for the boys to hold on as I was hopeful to maneuver my way around. 
​     When they say everything slows down, and happens so fast, it's true.  It was as though I could see everything around me with pinpoint senses, but there wasn't enough time, or road, to make it all stop. 
​     With cars behind us and to the left, the only option was to veer right.  Realizing a huge pole was in the way, not to mention a steep rocky drop off, that option became less desirable.  Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore as the impact of the hit stopped every thought altogether.
​     I'd managed to connect only on my side.  Thankful we didn't hit head on which would've stopped us bluntly, I knew at least that was good.  Unfortunately, it still allowed enough force and inertia to slide us forward with minimal control. 
​     The drop off was my concern and I didn't want to think about what it would feel like to begin falling.  There was no way of knowing where we were as we were encompassed by white and smoke.  I'd never realized how powerfully explosive air bags were, taking away my sense of seeing, hearing, breathing.  It was as though a gun was shot in the car and the ringing in our ears was deafening.  My hands and arms burned and I struggled to control the wheel. 
​     As quickly as it had begun, it ended.  We sat stunned for a split second until I was haunted with the thought of being hit from behind.  The boys were motionless, but a quick survey let me know they okay.  I wanted them out of the car in fear of an oncoming impact. 
​    To the right of us, was an area of woods far enough away from the highway.  Growing up in the country, in my mind that was the safest place.
​    From the crash, my door wouldn't open even though I pushed to wedge it out.  Their side was perfectly fine so I began yelling for them to get out and run.  They wouldn't.  Instead, they scrambled to unbuckle their seatbelts and began towards me. 
​    I've never known a level of fear so deep as when the safety or lives of my children was at stake.  Even though I couldn't get out, I screamed at them to go.  Still, they wouldn't. 
​    You can call it an adrenaline rush, or the hand of God.  Something so powerful came through me and the last thing that would keep me from getting to them, was a car door.
​    Forcing it, I pushed myself though any space it would allow until I was free and could run around to the other side.  Grabbing the boys, we ran to the woods as the driver from the car in front of us made his way as well.
​    He was by himself, strong and built and I wondered what his temperament would be as he approached.
​    Putting his arms out, he shook his head, "I'm sorry.  Are you all okay?"  I didn't know whether to hug him, knowing he was alright, or punch him in the face.
​    He explained that the two cars in front of him were fighting with road rage, until the lead car eventually slammed his brakes.  This caused the car behind him to hit his brakes, then the car in front of us had to do the same.  I was the lucky winner to approach this when it was all too late.
​    "Where are the two cars in front of you?" I asked, refocusing my rage. 
​    Shaking his head, "Gone. They never looked back." 
​    Before we knew it, the screaming of brakes of one, two then three and four more cars piled up.  The crashing of their weight became overwhelming.
​    Running to check on the others, they seemed to go through the same phases we had just endured.
​     The initial guy we'd hit seemed to click into motion.  As it turned out, he was from the Army.  He's seen combat and was trained in intense situations.  I on the other hand, struggled between being a flipped out mom wanting nothing more than to protect the physical and emotional state of her babies, and a decent human being wanting to do whatever possible with a level head to assist. 
​     Eventually, everyone was safe and cell phones were busy calling countless numbers as we all waited for the authorities.  Calling my husband, I tried to keep a level voice as he was out of state for work. 
​    "WHAT?" His reaction matched my insides, but I wasn't allowed to act on it in front of the kids.
​    "Call Cristen.  Get out of there with the kids as soon as you can.  I'm in the car."
​     "Wait, what?"  I didn't have time to stop him before he hung up, but it wouldn't have mattered.  If you know my husband, hell would freeze over before keeping him.
​      Our dear friend, Cristen came, immediately putting the boys in her car while I stayed back to deal with police, tow trucks, etc.  My parents headed our way and the phrase, "It takes a village" ran through my mind a number of times.  Never before had I been so grateful for family and friends.
     I was alone, and given enough time to clean the car out before it was towed away.  I guess that's when the adrenaline and emotion came together, causing me to lose it.  Our daughter's car seat was wedged in the back from the impact and I thanked God her little body wasn't in the car.  Our son's dump truck was still covered in sand from the trip we'd just taken to the beach.
​      Bending over, I became nauseous and dizzy, trying to breathe while sobs of tears were finally permitted.
​     Everyone was okay.  The kids were fine and everyone else involved walked away.  It was over.
​     I worry about the kids as our 11 year old son hugs me now, asking me not to drive.  Time will erase the details.  The fear will fade and the unease of driving will soon disappear.
​     Why these things happen, I'll never know.  I didn't need a reminder to be thankful.  Our family and friends mean everything. 
​    What I do know, though, is when they say, it can all happen so fast, never really applied to me.  I always knew I could get out of a situation...until I couldn't.  The accident could've gone a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, the most important thing, is that loved ones were safe.  My loved ones and the sons and daughters, moms and dads in the cars around us. were safe.  
​     As cliché as it may seem, we all hug each other tighter now, going through what we did.  Even though I've never been in a car wreck before, I know now, nothing is guaranteed. 
​     It was more than enough to Thank God for each day I'm given, live every one of them to the fullest and Love with every ounce of heart.

    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. :)   

    It's nice to have traditions.  Over the years, we've tried to create some new ones, especially for birthdays.  Nothing major, just little ideas which have formed over time, such as getting to choose the family dinner the night before your birthday.  
    This is a fun one, because it acts as a great way to celebrate the last night of being whatever age you are...with the kicker being...we all have to eat it.  The dinner can be anything from pancakes and bacon...to pickle cream cheese sandwiches.
    Once everyone's in bed, something else we like to do, is to decorate the door and hallway outside the birthday child's door.  Our son, Ethan just turned 11, so using his favorite colors, we hung streamers and balloons everywhere for him to go through in the morning. 
     It's never pretty, and actually kind of ends up looking like a birthday fairy puked in the hallway, but no matter, it's cute to see the kids run through it when they wake up.  
    Probably one of our favorite traditions, is to pick out the birthday cake.  This can be anything from a homemade cake to store bought, chocolate, vanilla, ice cream, pie...we've had superheroes to sports, Disney to Pokémon.  You name it.
    This year though?  (Bad pun) This year took the cake. 
    Ethan asked for a Sour Patch Kids ice cream birthday cake. 
    Sour.
    Patch.
    Kids.  
    Disgusting you might think?  Yes.  Yes, it was.     

     Baskin-Robbins makes adorable ice cream cakes with almost any possible idea imaginable.  When Ethan asked for the "Coolest Flavor EVER", I didn't know if they'd even consider it.
     They did.
     So much so, that when I went to pick it up, a group of women were waiting to see who had ordered it.
     "We've never had anyone want a cake like this," one of them raised her eyebrows, "We knew it must be for a boy".
     Our brand new 11 year old and his 12 and 8 year old brothers thought it was pretty much the most "Awesome" thing they'd ever eaten. 
     We grown ups on the other hand, gagged and choked down what little we could.  It was next to impossible to make our minds comprehend how something that looked so good, could taste so very, very bad.  Somewhere between a mix of rancid milk and vomit, decorated beautifully in sweet icing.
     Yes, it's nice to have traditions.  Some are nicer than others, but nice all the same.
     Aaaaaand if you just so happen to wonder what the cake tastes like, we have plenty of it left over for you to try. 
     Happy, Happy Birthday, Ethan!  We Love You More than all the cake in the world.  Especially, this one.         

    For as long as I can remember, two things have remained true.  One, I have absolutely no coordination and the other, I somehow have an even worse sense of direction.
     My Dad has called me "Grace" my entire life, as I've tripped over imaginary objects or run into walls.  The same holds true for my inability to get anywhere I'm supposed to be.  Like, ever. 
     I've been told more times than I could count how I wouldn't be able to find my way out of a wet paper bag if the instructions were written on the inside.
     It shouldn't have been a surprise then, when given a task of finding a location that's both foreign and distant, I'd pretty much be out of luck.
     Both our eight year old and seven year old had different school field trips on the same day.  My Mom graciously took our youngest on hers while my son and I were able to go with a friend to his.
     My friend's name is Christie, and I think she may have thought I was joking when I told her how lost I often got, upon giving her my sad attempt at directions.  She probably realized how legitimate that was however, around the time we were supposed to be on the highway, but were passing a field of horses...in the middle of nowhere.  It was a beautiful horse pasture mind you, but a horse pasture, nonetheless.
     Taking the directions over herself, she was able to find our way to our destination in no time at all, while I sat amazed at her ability.
     Moving on through our field trip, it should come to no surprise to you, yes, I got lost.  Not only did I get lost, I lost my friend Christie, only to turn and realize I lost my son, too.  The last I saw of him, he was with my other friend Jennifer and her son, having the time of his life.
    I knew Jennifer would stay with him, so that didn't worry me, I just had to figure out how to find them.  We were at a ridiculously amazing museum, but the problem was, it was endless.  Countless turns, attractions and every different direction you could go.  It was truly a positionally challenged person's own personal nightmare.
    Several wrong turns and many texts later, I found Jennifer, found my son and later even found Christie.
    The day turned out to be great with more fun than the kids could imagine.
     When I called Mom to see how their field trip went as well, the first words out of her mouth were, (true story) "I got so lost just trying to find the place".  
    At least I know I get it honestly.
    Thank you to my directionally challenged Mom and to Christie and Jennifer for such a wonderful day.  I couldn't have done it without you.
    What could've been an extremely frustrating experience turned out to be one of fabulous memories, forcing me to remember how, "Life is a journey, not a destination".
    Even on the days the journey seems to take you past one beautiful horse pasture at a time.     

    In the past two weeks, the kids have had a fundraiser.  The goal was to collect pledges, then run laps to raise money for their school. 
    I remember having fundraisers as a student, but they were never like this. 
    The younger two were giddy when the time came for them to run.  Through blaring music and high fives, their t-shirts were marked off with each lap, keeping track of their efforts.

     Our fifth grader had a bit of a different run, where the lights were turned down and students wore glow sticks and necklaces.

     The coolest part of the day, though, had to have been for the Jr. High.  They had a color run, where chalk like paints were thrown all around as the kids ran by.

It was a great day and a wonderful way to raise money for the school.  The kids had a ball and shared memories that will last a lifetime.
       Please Click Below to VOTE!  Thank You!  XO

    There's something about going through milestones with your last child. 
    The last time you'll see them roll over for the first time, take their first bite of food, make their first step...and now our youngest is about to lose her first top tooth. 
    She's lost a tooth before.  She yanked her two bottom teeth out faster than you could say, "Pixie Dust".  She was so excited to put them under her pillow and wait for the Tooth Fairy, we thought she'd never fall asleep that night. 
    This is one of her top teeth though.  The ones that officially change the way your "baby" looks, and signifies them morphing into a big kid.  When those little teeth are gone and the permanent ones take their place, it's impossible not to notice how the oversized, gawky Jack-o-Lantern grin emerges from what was once a sweet little smile. 
     Even though I'm not ready for her teeth to go, it's time.  Scratch that, it's beyond time.  It's like, hanging by a thread, wiggling when she talks time...but she won't pull it. 
     Adam and I have offered to pull it.  Her brothers have begged to pull it, only to have their tight lipped little sister shake her head with her determined arms crossed, no.
     As she brushed her teeth this morning, I noticed how she went around the front tooth, being careful not to touch it.
     "Lauren, what are you doing?  You need to brush your front tooth."
     "But Mommy, I can't" she spit through her brush.
     "Why can't you?"
     "Because it might come out."
     Becoming somewhat frustrated, I finally decided to ask.
     (It's amazing what you learn when you ask a child a simple question.)
     "Baby, why won't you pull your tooth?  Are you afraid?  You've already lost two teeth and that wasn't so bad, right?"
     Shaking her head, she carefully wiped her mouth, "No, it's not that".
     "You're not afraid?  Then why won't you pull it?"
     "Because it's Tuesday."
     (what?)
     "Tuesday?  I don't understand."
     Looking at me with wide eyes, she continued, "I have to wait until Saturday, Mommy.  That's the day I'll pull my tooth.  It can't be until then, so I have to keep it safe."
      She was as serious as she could be, "Baby girl, why do you have to wait until Saturday?"
      Turning to get her clothes for school, she simply nodded, "Because on Saturday, I can put it under my pillow and the Tooth Fairy will come.  It's the one night of the year the Easter Bunny will be here, too, and that way they can finally meet.  I think they'd really like each other."
     With that, she was gone. 
     I stood, speechless and smiling at the mind of a child.  I realized then, no matter how many "firsts" we think we'll miss experiencing with our children, that will never be the case. 
     Each and everyday will have plenty of firsts, both good and bad, with everything in between. 
     And sometimes...if we're very, very lucky, their hearts will bring firsts for those of us, too.
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