On a Learning Curve

Life may not be easy, but it's always an adventure.

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

Yesterday we embarked on a rare shopping trip with all five of us. I say rare because Ryan is not a fan of shopping in general. (He once told me he thought he was growing an ovary because we had spent too much time in Bed Bath and Beyond.) Anyway, we were looking for a birthday present for our oldest daughter G, who has outgrown her current bike and needs a taller one. She’s turning 11 and has an opinion on everything under the sun, so we took her with us and let her browse the spartan bicycle selection in St. Mary’s County.

After she was done looking at bikes, she quickly reverted back to her pre-teenaged outlook on life: “Oh my gosh, Mom, please stop dancing. You embarrass me every time we go out in public.” Just because I happened to like a Steely Dan song that came through the speaker system at the Navy Exchange. I kept right on dancing.

H snuggled up to me this morning and gave me one of her sweet 6-year-old hugs. I rocked her for a minute–she is my last baby, after all–and then she looked at me with her gorgeous brown eyes and asked, “Mom, do you wish you had tiny buns like me?”

I am not kidding. Then I stupidly followed up by saying, “What’s wrong with my buns?”

H never misses a beat. She told me, “They’re big and wiggly.” Hug over.

After dinner tonight, our family was in a silly mood. I was still sitting at the table, and Ryan had started the process of loading the dishwasher. All of a sudden, I realized that all three girls were circling me–and not in a good way.

“Hey, Dad! Look at this! Mom has hair on her face!” (I completely missed the opportunity to remind the girls that this is the very definition of a mammal.)

Ryan and I both have good senses of humor so we laughed; however, I reminded H that her hair is darker than mine and that she might actually have a real mustache one day when she is old.

Yes, in the span of 24 hours, I became a hairy, jiggly embarrassment. It’s a good thing my girls love me. Can you imagine what they would say if they didn’t?!



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Don’t Forget Your Shoes!

Paper shoes, I mean.

Want an easy way to make someone’s day? Buy a shoe. Or two. Or three.

If you already enjoy shopping at Marshalls–can I tag my neighbor Sam in a blog post?!–there’s another reason to take your purchases to the check-out line. Buy a paper shoe and help find the cure for Type 1 diabetes. (I told you it would be easy.)

Every $1 spent on a paper shoe goes directly to the JDRF Paper Sneaker Campaign and funds research such as the artificial pancreas project. There are other ways to contribute to this amazing organization, and you can read about them right here. But today I’m just encouraging you to pick up a pair of shoes at Marshalls. (And Sam, you can tell your husband that I said it was okay.)

Need another reason to shop? Here she is. S is our extra-sweet daughter who has been living with Type 1 diabetes since she was 3 years old. You can’t see her insulin pump, but you can see her beautiful smile.

My extra-sweet S with a goat named Jane.

My extra-sweet S with a goat named Jane.