I’ve been lucky that week after week we’ve been able to have friends or family here.  It would have been so much easier if we lived in Tampa or Daytona, where we have lots of loved ones.  We have managed the past months on the hearts of those that taken time to come to Georgia and stay with us.

Some have come for a visit, some have brought their kids, some have stayed and helped what they could, some were friendly faces when needed most.

And some? Were good, old-fashioned belly laughs!

Some caused me to cry and snort and do the most unladylike giggling possible.

Jen.

It’s not often I will call someone out by name.  But everyone who has known Jen will know what I mean when I say that this week I’m doing more than my share of laugh therapy.

It’s pretty healing.

Like tonight.  Jen’s three-year-old Z wanted to play tag with the big girls.  Mom wanted her help in cleaning up all the pieces of rice that didn’t make it to her mouth. So, there’s Jen, picking up rice, Z whining that she wanted to play tag.  A no-win situation.

“TAG! YOU’RE IT!”

There was a moment so perfect as Z’s hand energetically slapped the plate, rice SHOT up into the air, and mom realized what was about to happen with no hope of stopping it….it couldn’t be recreated if you tried.

I had to look away.  So did Jen.

We both shook with glee!

Laugh therapy, we’re ALL getting a healthy dose this week.

Sometimes I get in a funk.

Then I have to make myself find reasons for to get out of it.

There’s been physical progress, conference opportunities, Extreme Home Makeover videos, husbands that make threats involving things that are put up high.

Funk?  When do I have long to wallow in the funkadelio?

Mainly because the one thing that makes me most funkless is my kids.

And I think we know that a good funk doesn’t stand a chance against those smiles.

Not. A. Chance.

(still trying to figure out how to work with my camera and software….sorry for anything wonky)

I woke to the smell of cooking eggs and muffins.

“Don’t look, mama!!” is screamed at me.

Plates made of goofy writing and coffee cups with smiling pictures adhered carefully are as good as gift of gold.

The sun shines down on gleaming smiles and freshly scrubbed faces.

“He’s touching me!”

“She used my blue legos!”

The worst tragedies ever.

Clearly.

We manage lunch with grandmas that do not end in bloody messes.

Chicken!  Corn-on-the-cob!  Cole slaw!  Maiming!  Destruction!

Naptime finally arrives.

“I wanna have a lemonade stand!”

“I wanna play <insert gaming system here>!”

I run…RUN….one-legged….to the nap.

Night will come with bedtime and little dragging feet.

The kids hug so hard to avoid the bed.  That’s alright, I’ll take advantage.

“I need a drink,” They declare a hundred times.

“i need to go potty,” They declare a hundred and one.

They finally sleep and I get to work.  Yawning means work is over for the night.

I head my chair off to bed, and am surprised at what I find.

Kids comfy, cozy, sleeping in my bed.

Happy Mother’s Day to me.

Last night my oldest daughter had a sleepover and our son was home late from an outing.  It meant our youngest was an only child for a while.

It was torture, clearly.

So to make up for it we offered her the kind of reward only possible at Chick Fil A.  Waffle Fries.  Yay!!!

But, things were more complicated because I hadn’t had a bath.  And I might have had a head wound but I wasn’t going out stinky.

So, poor Pete had to make a choice.  Take the stinky wife out kicking and screaming to the very close Chick Fil A.  Or shoot her in the head.

I hear she can be difficult.

It meant that last night was a very big first.

The first time I stayed at home.

The first time my husband could trust me.

The first time that I was all by myself.

It was most definitely the first steps of independence that I’ve had.