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Keeping your cool with a strong willed child.

When I first found out I was pregnant with twins I believed they would be similar. Even though I have multiple sets of twins in my family who are really not that alike. From a very early age we realized that A & E were going to have their own, very distinct, personalities.

Em is a traditional rule follower. Aiming to please everyone around her. I would say currently she is a cross between and expressive and amiable – trying to diffuse situations but still wanting to be an influencer. She is also a bit of a drama queen – already wanting to pick out all of her own outfits, loves makeup & fingernail polish and it isn’t odd for a request to curl her hair. At times she does struggle with listening but mainly when it is time to get out of the bathtub or to not eat an entire handful of m&ms at one time.

Addison, on the other hand, is independent and consistently pushing the boundaries to see what she can get away with. Her defiance drives me crazy specifically when she ignores me or is adamant about not following direction. I’ve tried the rules of positive parenting, spend quality time with just her, set boundaries but allow her the freedom to make choices and still when she doesn’t listen – which is often it sends me into a very foul mood. I know that these skills will likely benefit her in the long run and maybe even push her to be the best but in the meantime my mom skills are struggling. I want to be in control and she can so clearly see when I’m not. She chooses that time to turn down her listening ears. I know that the brink of 4 is an age where she is probably starting to believe that she knows more than I do. I can tell already her teen years will be a blast. She loves to play rough, horse around, climb, and run – her energy is contagious until it’s time for any given activity to end or pause.

I am trying to think about the way I react to her shenanigans and determine if it would be acceptable with employees. Probably sounds a bit odd but if I raised my voice or taped the hand of a coworker or subordinate that would be a potential problem. I also try to think about how I would feel if my husband used the same tactics on me when I’m not paying attention or have selective listening. I want to encourage both of my girls to have their own minds, make their own choices and protect themselves in the process but not at my expense. At this time in their lives I need them to open their ears and follow directions… at least half the time anyway.

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Accountability Statement 2018

Another new year has arrived and with it the expectations and overarching themes of “starting over” or “new opportunities.” It’s easy for me to have such good intentions and then quickly allow myself to fall back into relaxed patterns and habits. The last few years instead of selecting resolutions for the new year I have chosen a word to focus on throughout the year.

Two years ago I selected the word “patience” and last year “balance.” Both years I tried to use this word to bring me back during daily meditation sessions in addition to using it at a lens through which I tried to make decisions and choices best for my family. It’s not a perfect science but it definitely helps to ensure I am in the present and think about the intentions behind my actions.

This year, 2018, there are a lot of changes ahead for my family. Specifically we are leaving the home that our children have spent the first 3.5 years of their lives to move 800 miles away from our friends and family. I anticipate this will be a big transition for the girls, my husband and me. This will entail a new school, teachers and friends for the girls and a new job for my husband. For me, it will be the art of balancing the excitement of exploring a new city with recognizing what my family can handle at any given time. For all of us it will also be an adjustment as Sabrina leaves for Brazil, we set new schedules and find a new normal.

Further, I have relaxed quite a bit in some of my routines that I spent so much time creating over the last five years. I have not been meal prepping, exercising with weights, spending time away from my phone or breathing in fresh air nearly as much – a known trigger to keep me mentally in sync. It is time that I take a disciplined approach to ensure that I am the example I strive to be for my girls.

My word for 2018 is “discipline” and not in the aggressive sense of punishment for me or my children but “train oneself to do something in a controlled and habitual way.” (Defined by Google) I want to use this word as a guiding post for how we transition, how I commit to a routine and how I love my girls. That may sound odd to some but what I mean by it is to ensure that I have a disciplined approach to everything so that I can focus the time and attention to the ones who love and need me most.

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Presents Galore

I have always loved Christmas. As a child I was in awe of the lights and festivities. I can vividly remember being so anxious on Christmas Eve I would have to will myself asleep. Many times I had tried to snoop with little luck and even late into my teen years I would find myself in awe as I walked into the living room to see what Santa had left. First emptying a stuffed stocking (now knowing the contents probably easily cost $150) and then devouring through wrapped gifts. The entire undertaking many times took under 15 minutes. How many hours of shopping and wrapping did my parents go through in order for me to have 15 minutes of elation?!

As I got older I found less joy in opening a multitude of presents and more in searching for the perfect gift. An opportunity to say “see how much I care about you, I got you this awesome “fill in the blank.” And for several years through my 20s I was on the lookout all year for the best, knock your socks off, thoughtful gift or experience I could find. And it worked – the surprise or excitement in the faces of my family and friends made me feel whole. But then it took a turn, finding one perfect gift wasn’t enough – I HAD to outdo myself the following year. (Yes, I know you weren’t keeping score, it was all me) … and the year after that. It became a heartache because I wasn’t finding the unique items I wanted and yet, was spending exponentially more than I had in years. My gift list started growing too. I was unable to keep up with, what I believed to be, the expectation. And I had somewhat forgotten what really made Christmas special to begin with.

Last year I bought presents for over 70 people. That’s right. 7-0. Family (our family seems to grow all the time), friends, coworkers, & teachers, mail(wo)man, etc. It was the first year that I really had to standardize gifts for groups of people. I found it to be right down depressing. Long gone was the Magic I felt in buying gifts – in fact many of my purchases I didn’t even get to see being opened due to long distance or being apart on the holidays.

So as I started to shop this year for my growing list of recipients I was a little down. But then I remembered that one big thing has changed this year. My girls are old enough that they are starting to understand the joy and magic of Christmas. They were elated when I brought out the tree and excited to help put up the decorations. The ornaments each had a story that was shared as it was gently hung on the tree (who cares if there were 3 others on that branch.) Even if Emery does try to steal one of my decorative trees because she thinks it looks like a “witch hat,” this is the most magical time of year.

Next year we will be in a new house, starting new traditions so this Christmas has to be significant and memorable, for them. They haven’t asked for much (an Airel and Maleficent costume) but I can’t wait to see the expression on Christmas morning when they round the corner and see the neat surprises that Santa has left. I know my heart will be full.

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Out Of the Mouth of Babes

Discussing the differences between boys and girls has been a major topic lately. I blamed my husband for kicking the girls out of the bathroom while he is showering. He disagreed, until this weekend. 

You see, our house has 4 females and just 1 lonely male. So we talk a lot about girl power, girls ruling the world, running and fighting like a girl. So it came no surprise to me when Addison started identifying everyone by their gender first. Telling me whether someone was a boy or girl before engaging them in any way.  I found it endearing and gave me me the opportunity to talk about other differences between boys and girls. I wasn’t sure any of it had sunk in.  

The following exchange took place Saturday morning between Addison and Dave (disclosure: we try to use proper names for genitalia but really “hoohah” is way more fun than “vagina”…)

Context: Addison is potty training and still using pull-ups – she races to the bathroom and throws off her pull-up to pee. Dave arrives in time to assist with the flushing process and then picks up a bare bun Addison taking her to get cleaned up in her room. As he carries her out of the bathroom…

 “Daddy, I’ve got a hiney,” Addison exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of her bare buns in the mirror. 

 “Yes, Addison, everyone has a hiney,” Dave replies. 

“And I’ve got a hooha.” Addison stated “Daddy, your hooha has a tail.” 

She is learning. And nothing gets past her. Specifically the differences between boys and girls. We are in trouble. Ok, maybe not yet but in 13 years we will be in trouble…


(Photo Credit: In The Moment Photography)

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F*ck Cancer

I’m going to talk about grief for a bit so if you are looking for uplifting, inspirational quotes and “it will all be okay” nomenclatures then you may want to look elsewhere today. This is a personal story about my mom and I share it to help others who can’t conceive the unthinkable to recognize there is hope on the other side. 


I was 26 when my mom died. She was, without a doubt, the foundation of my entire being. Not only was she my guiding light on all things, my best friend, and at times my conscience; she had a class about her that was difficult to capture in a description. She genuinely had passion for growing and developing others (through Junior Achievement as well as professionally.) She was thoughtful, allowed you to think for yourself all the while helping you see multiple paths and ways to achieve them. She was beautiful and strong, she didn’t back down from challenges and she always seemed to know when it was the right time to hold her tongue and the right time to fight for what she believed was right. She had grit. 

My mom, Becki, was diagnosed on Aug 2, 2006 with breast cancer. At the time the only person I had ever known that had cancer was my grandfather, who had passed away in 1997. I felt like it was an immediate death sentence for her too. I felt helpless and really didn’t know what I could do to learn more or to help her. I started researching breast cancer (Fun Fact Alert: there are three main types of breast cancer ductal carcinoma in situ, invasive ductal carcinoma, and invasive lobular carcinoma.) The research only scared me more. I was working for an amazing company (still employed) and was able to work out a system where, through using 3 companies, enough support was transitioned around that I could go work from the office closest to my mom for 12 weeks following a double mastectomy in September of that year. Treatments have changed over the years and the procedures have become less invasive and don’t always include 100 staples from armpit to armpit across what was your chest. It was during recovery from that survey that I really started to see just how strong my mom was. 

If you have ever been a caretaker for someone following a major surgery then you know there are a few different types of patients or maybe just different stages. The first, don’t want you there at all, feel ashamed they need help and resent you. The second accept the assistance because they physically have no other choice but they may hold resentment and shame but are grateful. The third, welcome the company, take advantage of the support and may prolong the healing process in order to continue the bond. My mom fell, for the most part, into the second category. She hated not being able to do things on her own but would ask for help when needed. She battled through the post op, chemo and radiation like a champ and she was was listed as cancer free, in remission, the following spring. It was the best we could have hoped for. 


In September of 2009 it came back. She started to have significant pain in her hip and knee and prior to going into a partial hip replacement they did a PET scan. I remember when she called me, I was on my way back from lunch with Dave (whom I had just met a few months prior but is now my husband) and I got a call. I pulled over in a parking lot with soccer fields and listened as she told me it was worse than we could have ever anticipated. Stronger this time, spreading to her hip, lungs, liver, and arm bones. I remember I lost it that day, the day my grieving began. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop crying for her – or for me. It was the beginning of the end but with her determined spirit she started fighting again. A true army of support from family, church, Sysco, junior achievement, soroptimist, and friends created an environment where she could cry or laugh, be uplifted in song or scripture, be fed with delicious home cooked meals. Cards, flowers, books of encouragement poured through my parent’s home. My mom’s coworkers and friends had created a money pool to help me travel from St Louis, MO to Salisbury, MD every 3-4 weeks. An unbelievable gift, of time, that was bestowed by those who gave generously and loved her so deeply. 

She was accepted into a trial for a different chemo and had started that when, during a physical therapy visit, they noticed stroke like symptoms. Her face was dropping and her speech slurred. Following a hospital visit we found the bitch had spread again, to her brain. Radiation started immediately. She was so tired. Her strength started to diminish even if her spirit was intact. Her faith grew stronger. I hated watching this woman, my role model, be worn down by a disease that we couldn’t (and can’t) figure out how to fight. I began mourning, only this time it was pleas to God to save her. But from what, death? If you believe in God and have lived a righteous life then why fear death? I pleaded for me. Selfishly, I wasn’t done. I needed more time. She had so much more knowledge to give. 


The call came, a bit unexpected, in the early hours of April 3, 2010. Trouble breathing, ambulance, hospital, on life support. I had to get home. When you live 1000 miles away, that’s the hard part. You are at the mercy of others.  When I landed in Philadelphia I called my dad. My mother had taken her last breath as my plane was taking off from St Louis. I was now stuck in an airport for 3 hours with no one. No matter how sick someone is, how long their illness lasts – you can’t prepare yourself for that moment. I was so glad I had heard it from Dad. In today’s world we share, everything, just like I’m doing here. We share moments from our lives, glimpses that allow people to perceive us in a certain way.  That day I didn’t have anyone to share in my misery, or so I thought, when my dad spoke on the phone I dropped my Vera Bradley weekender in the middle of the walkway. I slumped my shoulders and I sobbed. This amazing thing happened then, time stood still for a moment and several strangers stood around me with their hands on my back. It sounds odd, uncomfortable even but it wasn’t. It was comfort, it was compassion for a loss they would never understand the impact on me. 


In the days that followed, the visitation, burial and reception brought sympathy givers from near and far. Telling you how sorry they are, how everything will be ok, that time will heal all wounds. They never tell you that after the first few weeks people stop checking in. The time frame that I have commonly referred to as “the quiet after the storm” is brutal. It’s the time when meals and cards stop coming to the house, when people go on about their lives and on to the next tragedy. It’s not their fault, it’s a time for you to start picking up the pieces. If you can breathe. No one tells you that you will still pick up the phone two years later to try and to her you’re getting married or six months after that to share the news of grandchildren. Time doesn’t heal wounds, time makes them smaller as other new, fresh wounds appear. Time impacts memories though every now and then you will smell sweet cinnamon and think of her. But there was hope. 

On May 16, 2014 I was blessed with two healthy, vibrant, beautiful little girls and I started telling them about Grandma Becki right away. Of course, I went through a stage of anger and frustration after the girls were born that Mom wasn’t there. That I couldn’t lean on her. My emotional journey following the girls being born is a whole different story but there are certain times you “need” your mom and childbirth and the days, weeks, months, etc immediately following are one of them. Even during that time the hope lay in the stories I was able to tell. In the learnings I had and the ability to teach values that were instilled in me. My mother lives on through me, and someday through my children. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her, how she would handle something, how she would inquire, her ability to love and when I see those things in my children it makes me smile. 

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What Makes A Good Mom? 

At least once a week I contemplate whether or not I am meeting the standard of being a good mom. What do those words actually mean? When I was younger, before I had children, I compared it to having animals. I had even raised a puppy from 7 weeks old to almost 12 years and he was mostly well behaved, had always been sheltered and fed. I groomed him regularly and he protected me unconditionally. It was a mutual respect and we partnered together. I called myself his mom; but did I really understand the difference between my fur baby and raising a tiny human? At the time I thought that they were synonymous. I realize now, for me, the two are very different.

After a major surgery when I was 29 I was told it was unlikely my husband and I would be able to conceive naturally. Of course, we believed this notion and pulled the goalie shortly after we got married. It would take time to start a family after all… wouldn’t it? Well, if you consider less than two months time consuming then yes. At the time I was watching a close friend battle with infertility and I immediately felt guilty for finding out I was pregnant. In fact, I actually put off telling her for several months out of fear I might upset her.  Shortly into the pregnancy we found out I was carrying twins. If I was concerned about being a mom for one then doubling the bundle only doubled the concern. Sure, I had been around babies when I was younger. Holding them for 5-10 minutes, if I was lucky they would fall asleep on my shoulder or nestled in my chest. Having your own baby would only allow for these moments to happen more often, right? They tell you that seeing your baby for the first time is similar to love at first sight. I will admit there was definitely a stirring deep in my core when I held my girls for the first time but seeing them just brought fear of inadequacy.


The first time I saw Addison I went into a calm panic – I could see her across the room but was strapped down to some 2x4s and I had just been shot with morphine from the reverberating pain searing through my neck as they removed Emery from my uterus and started to sew me up. It was a weird side effect of the spinal to have pain in an area not connected to the trauma I was undergoing.  She was silent, her eyes searching the room for something familiar. She wasn’t incredibly small, at 6lbs 5oz she was decent size for a twin. Her hair, blonde and matted, fully covered her head. It was only Emery’s wails that seemed to bring her slight comfort. Emery, in contrast, wouldn’t open her eyes at all – she was aggravated someone had pulled her out of her nice warm and cozy slumber. Her wails went straight through me and added a second level of panic. Emery was bald, her round little face was squished and turning red as she let everyone know exactly how she felt. (It’s funny that now I know my Emme still loves to make a dramatic entrance.) Holy shit. How in the world were we going to handle being solely responsible for these two?! There was no way the hospital was just going to let us leave with these two tiny humans in our possession. Wrong.

I read once that being a mom is as simple as protecting, nourishing, comforting and loving your children.  Simple? Seriously? My husband and I jokingly celebrated the girls’ first birthday as “Year One of Survival” – for them and us. That first year I questioned everything – after all there isn’t a single parenting book that defines a sure fire way to calm a screaming baby at 2am. They merely provide suggestions. Doubt crept in every time I couldn’t sooth one of the babies. Was I a good mom, even though I felt like I was faking it most of the time? And then it happened. One morning when they were about nine weeks old Addison rolled over my perfectly outstretched leg while I nursed Emery and flew off the couch smacking her head and shoulder on our coffee table on her way down. There is an undeniable fear and sense of guilt that overrides any normal intelligence when one of your children gets hurt, or in this case seemingly hurt. I cried for almost 3 hours, called my pediatrician my husband and my dad, and didn’t put Addison back on the couch without being connected to my lap in some capacity for 3 days. In my mind I had made a judgement error and put my child at significant risk of getting hurt. But that’s the beauty of children – they are resilient and somehow, although tiny, much more durable than one believes. You would think that protection is a topic that might cover more than physical but in my experience with now three years olds that’s not the case. It is mostly about physical protection, “take that out of your mouth,” “don’t stick that in there,” “don’t go in the road,” “be careful,” “be gentle,” “don’t eat that,” “don’t push your sister,” “not on the stairs,” “don’t jump on the couch,” “don’t jump off the couch” … it’s a never ending list. I also realize as they get older it is protection from the world. That is a little more complicated. How can I even prepare them for the cruelties of other kids, the media or even each other. I can’t. I can only hope to teach them how to respond. How to express their feelings and give them a safe place when it all falls apart or comes crashing down.


Let’s talk nourishment for a minute. I tried, when the girls were small, to only feed them the best, homemade, natural, clean wholesome pureed food I could find or make. Then they turned two and all my handwork went right out the window. Somehow my sweet potato, squash loving little tykes would only eat chicken nuggets, hot dogs, pizza and grilled cheese. What was I doing wrong? Well, for starters, I started traveling close to that time and left all of the meals to my husband. And let’s face it, Dave is not a healthy eater. First, he only eats meats and starches and is much more concerned with ensuring the girls have some kind of food verses the type of food they have. But I have watched in wonder the way the girl’s eating habits have evolved, even without being prompted. Emery doesn’t like spice or most sauces, she likes fruit the most and while she eats more pasta and bread than Addison she will tell you when she is full. Addison will try anything on your plate (note, your plate, not necessarily her plate) including salad, broccoli, brussels sprouts and any type of meat. On a scale of 1-10 I would give us a 7 in nutrition for the girls 80% of the time. I mean, in fairness they do meet the questionable standards of the food pyramid.

Another part of nourishing I try to mold is mind and body. The girls started to practice Yoga before they were two. We used Little Yoga: A Toddler’s First Book of Yoga and after a few weeks the girl’s memorized the sequence and we followed it multiple times a day.  We still use it now, especially if we get too excited or need to calm down. We also focus on ‘nature’ (the girl’s reference to the outdoors) and spend time outside everyday – unless it’s under 20 degrees with high winds or over 95 unless we are in the shade. The girls go to a development preschool 3 days a week and also get outside time there. We play hard and work our bodies by building obstacles courses in the living room or on the porch with different crawling, jumping, squatting, rolling, hopping or balance activities. If there is an area that we do well as parents and I feel like I set a good example as a Mom it is with playing or physical activity. The girls also know that we spend time ‘exercising’ where we go to our home gym. When I can I do my workouts with or in front of the girls – partially so they can see and also so they can participate. Leading an active lifestyle is something I hope to instill into the girls routine as they get older so it doesn’t feel like a chore.

Comfort is the area I give myself the hardest time because I am not always around to comfort them when they are dealing with an emotion that creates anxiety or sadness. Traveling 3 or more days a week I have to leave it to Sabrina, Dave or another family member to provide comfort when they don’t feel good, their heart hurts, they have a boo boo or just want their mommy. And it creates the worst “Mom-Guilt” ever. I am not even sure how to define mom guilt other than to say it is not being able to do the things your SAHM friends can with their children because you chased ambition, money or other satisfaction outside of the home but then feel guilty about not being able to spend quality time with your kids as a result. Even though it is self inflicted and most Moms are harder on themselves than anyone else, it still causes emotional drain and induces stress. My heart hurts too when I don’t see the girls from Monday to Friday and unlike children, or dogs, I have a better sense of time than they do. Of course Emery will usually tell me that she saw me “yester-morning” even if it was 3 or 4 days before.


Love is the area I have down pat. I love my children so much at times it physically hurts. I cannot imagine my life without them. I love their sense of wonder and really try to allow them to experience different things just so I can see the joy on their face. I am genuinely happy just ‘being’ with my girls. Whether it is snuggling, watching a movie, playing a game, building forts out of cushions, swimming or reading a book.

So, am I a good mom? I am not perfect. I have yelled at my kids, I have spanked (gently, usually over a diaper) my kids, I lose my temper at times and have to remove myself from the situation. I struggle when they don’t listen or actively do what I am asking them not to but I love them anyway. I know that there is no greater gift or joy than watching them grow. And I hope that I never take them for granted. 

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Obrigado Sabrina! 

Addison and Emery were 17 months old when I accepted the position of a traveling nun. Ok, so maybe not a nun exactly – though the seclusion and lack of sex life feels like it could be comparable at times. The idea of starting a new position after being with my company for almost 10 years was exciting and I found my inner ambition all over again. The interview process took a grueling 9 weeks which means I should have had plenty of time to prepare my husband for the obvious – he was about to become Mr. Mom approximately three days a week. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? I mean the girls went to daycare five days a week plus they are only awake one hour before and an hour an a half after.  We are talking seven and a half hours of awake time for crying out loud, how bad could it be?

I had been in the new role for seven weeks when I got the call where Dave started with “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Wait, hold the phone, do “what” exactly?! I was sitting in an parking garage at an Embassy Suites in Houston, it was 9:30pm and I hadn’t even checked in yet. It was only my sixth week of travel and I was going to be home after two nights. “Addison stayed up from midnight to three am. We need to figure something out.” I agreed that night to look into nanny services.

Have you ever looked for a nanny? It’s basically a full time job. Hours pouring over resumes and profiles on care.com only to see the majority of the candidates didn’t fit our needs. What exactly would a job description for what we needed look like?

Must be able to work 45 hours a week, early mornings and evenings plus at least one weekend day. Ability to lift and carry two toddlers weighing approximately 30lbs each at all times. Short order cook experience a plus. Calm and collected demeanor even when aforementioned toddlers cry for no reason, throw food (or poop) at you, hit each other, hit you, or do the exact opposite of what you asked them. Light laundry, cooking and cleaning. Must be able to walk, crawl, stoop, squat. Noise environment is generally loud. 

I wasn’t finding anything that met our needs. So I reached out to Facebook to get recommendations on a live in nanny or au pair. Within a few days one organization kept coming up – Cultural Care so I read all of the fine print and I researched (read: googled) au pairs, J1 visa,  programs and then signed up for an account. I mean, it felt perfect – a customizable program to fit our needs with few restrictions.

In our program the major restrictions/rules are: 1) Cannnot work au pair more than 45 hours a week. 2) Au Pair must have 1.5 days (36 hours) off consecutively per week. 3) Au Pair has 1 weekend per month off (Friday night – Monday morning) 4) Au Pair receives 2 weeks vacation per year. 5) Au Pair lives with the host family and has their own room, with a door. 6) Au Pair is to be paid weekly (approx $200 for our program). 7) Food and living expenses are paid by host family. 

Once I felt like I understood the rules I started looking for Au Pairs on Cultural Care’s site – this was a bit like match.com. The process is fairly simple – you complete a profile about your family and the needs you have and then you place “available” Au Pairs on hold. They review your profile to see if it matches their needs and if it does then you connect – typically via email first to communicate more.

It took me 4 weeks and 14 attempts at contacting candidates before I came across Sabrina’s profile. My main problem before Sabrina was that the candidates shyed away from being left alone during the week with Dave, my husband. (Side note: I find this to be comical as he is quiet, keeps to himself and isn’t exactly a deal closer if you catch my drift) She was 24, from São Paulo, Brazil, had two brothers and her interest where architecture, photography and the outdoors. She had some experience watching kids and had even been a teacher and mentor. Soon we connected via email. We started slow at first asking common questions about values and the types of environments we were raised in. Then we moved on to what we were both hoping to gain from the experience and discussed the girls’ personalities. After a few weeks of emails – at least 2-3 per week – we started to Skype. Sometimes we Skype with the girls so they could hear her voice and she could see them but also with Dave so she wouldn’t be intimidated or nervous by him. Skyping was by far the best way to determine her English level (perfect 10, sometimes her grammar is better than mine!), her temperament and demeanor (soft spoken, calm, peaceful, happy, silly) and really feel the engagement level she had for the program and the experience. We talked about everything we could think of from whether or not she would have access to a car, to meals and foods we both enjoyed, traditions, and even boys. It was almost like having a new friend or pen pal that I was going to invite to live in my home. Further, it was an opportunity to get to know the woman that potentially would be spending more time with my kids than I would be able to (mom-guilt post coming soon).


Sabrina joined our family on April 1, 2016 (Picture was taken the morning after her first day – the girls instantly connected.) The first couple weeks were a little distant as we were all getting used to the new normal. Plus Sabrina had to get over her timidness about opening the fridge. (Sidenote: In Brazil its rude to open someone’s fridge if you don’t have permission and even then it’s iffy.) But slowly we all started to mesh and find our routine. Sabrina has basically had the same schedule since her second week with mild variations around holidays. She keeps the girls full days on Tuesday and Thursday and also works most Saturdays. Monday, Wednesday and Friday she assists most mornings and evenings depending on her weekend schedule. She has spent countless hours researching ideas and crafts to keep the girls busy, she reads to them, plays games with them, teaches them songs, colors, and numbers in Portuguese.  She nourishes and comforts them, helps them to understand their emotions and communicate. Sabrina encourages them to be individuals and in return, the love her. She is the only big sister they may ever know.

And I am forever grateful. Obrigado por ser uma parte da nossa família. Sua amizade e amor sempre serão lembrados mesmo depois de você sair. Você sempre terá um lugar em nossos corações e nossa casa. May you always know how blessed we are because of you.



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Sunday-Funday

It turns out that relaxing on a Sunday has a very different meaning today than it did ten years, even four years, ago. Those days were filled with crowded bars or hotspots watching football with other like minded fans cheering while drinking a beer or six. The week ahead and my mood were fully dependent upon whether or not the Pittsburgh Steelers showed up on game day. To be fair, I still watch the steelers (though rarely in real time) on football Sunday but my priorities have a changed a bit. 

Meet Emery, the youngest of our clan – by 3 minutes, a budding fashionista and photographer. Today, week 2 of Steeler football, I spent the first half assisting Emery so she could provide “pedicures” to my fabulously patient friend Sarah. She also took approx 11 pictures on her mini camera and even posed for the picture below.  The blue eyes and bright smile say it all. She feels loved, knows she is a priority and had a grand time with the “big girls” while her sister entertained inside. 

Priorities have changed. We still won though.