La-Z-Boy just delivered our sectional! It’s bright red, and I worried about the felt on the pool table matching — it’s perfect! We’re leaving the pool table put up in the closet until after Thanskgiving since I’m hosting the holiday meal here. (I feel like such a grown-up!)

We’ve hit one snafu — the granite countertop won’t be in for Thanksgiving. I even resorted to calling and BEGGING the kitchen company (it wasn’t pretty), but we’re too far down on the schedule. (My husband had planned to bribe the man who came out to measure before the granite is cut but he saved his C-note since the guy had no influence over scheduling.)

I’m headed to IKEA in Cincinnati tomorrow to collect the finishing touches: knobs for the bar; end tables; towel bars for the bathroom; rugs; trash cans and curtains. I’ve even got pictures framed and ready to be hung!

So, what’s left? The bathroom is still unfinished (and currently filled with tools), the doors need to be hung; we’re missing a couple of pieces of trim; paint needs to be touched up; the pool table light needs to be installed — and of course, there’s the small matter of my countertops (boo kitchen company!).

But, we’re celebrating with our best friends tonight — pizza and champagne in the new basement!!

I’m sure that almost everyone in today’s modern world, where the cell phone is a primary vehicle of communication, has either dialed incorrectly or received a call from a wrong number. It happens, right?

And sometimes people are unfortunate enough to have a phone number that closely resembles a popular business, such as a pizza place. However, an experience by Sarah, a close friend of mine, tops all of the wrong number horror stories that I’ve ever heard before.

Let me start by saying that Sarah has had her phone number for almost three years now. People usually begin receiving wrong numbers when a line is first acquired – because it’s either very similar to the other number (like a pizza place) or the individual the caller is seeking actually had that exact number in the past. …CONTINUE READING »

Every so often on the news, you’ll see a feel-good story in which the subject of the story is touted as a “hero.” There was Captain Sullenberger, who safely landed the US Airways jet in the middle of the Hudson River. Occasionally, there’s the toddler who dials 911 and saves his mom’s life. We love to hear about these things because it reaffirms our faith in humanity.

Think of how many times you hear the term “sports hero” in a single week? I appreciate sports with the best of them, but I think our terminology is a bit wrong though. If you asked Captain Sullenberger, he’d say he’s not a hero. He performed a heroic act but he would say that the label of “hero” is not really appropriate.

When the media surrounds and focuses on these kinds of acts, it sends the message that in order to be a hero, you have to perform some one-time feat of extraordinary heroism. That’s just not true. The most heroic among us are the ones who live heroically.

True heroism exists in those of us who exhibit little acts of heroism every day. It’s the parent who works two jobs to put food on the table, the person fighting cancer, the single mothers, the child who stays out of trouble and gets good grades in school while living in a home where drug and alcohol abuse is rampant.

My hero is a man who spent his entire working life in a foundry so that he could provide a home for his family. I am speaking of my dad. The foundry where he worked was so hot that he constantly had a V-shaped redness on his neck while I was growing up, from where his shirt collar ended. He’d come home so tired that he’d fall asleep in the recliner while Mom made dinner. He never got impatient with his kids, and even took time to answer the myriad of stupid questions I fired at him all the time. “Can dogs see color?” “Where does fire come from?”

All of it was for his family. He didn’t have time for hobbies, didn’t belong to a country club–in fact, he has never owned a new car in his life. He has never had to run into a burning building to save one of his kids, but we all know he would if the situation arose. He has never had to perform some dramatic life-saving gesture for any of us, but his daily actions have shaped our lives and made us better people for it. True heroism comes in increments and is cumulative. He, and others like him, will never make the 6:00 news, will never be given a medal for courage, but that makes them even more courageous in my book.

If I earned a dime for each time I heard a friend or relative tell me, “I don’t know how you did it with twins,” well, I would have a lot of dimes. I heard the best variation of that statement from a friend who just had a baby last week, “How did you make it with twins? You deserve an award plus a million dollars.” Ah, if only.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember how we did it. I know we had a lot of sleepless nights, Excel spreadsheets and pre-made bottles. And, we had help for the first month. After that, we were left to our own devices. So, now that my friend is struggling to care for her newborn, I can’t help but think back to my own sleepless nights. It seems like it took forever to get the kids to the scene you see in this photo: playful, rested, not screaming at us for a bottle or a diaper change. …CONTINUE READING »

When I got pregnant many, many, many, many years ago, I read all the books about twins, babies, what to expect when you’re pregnant and raising kids. Not one of those books said that I would need a contractor’s license to be a parent. But, now that the school year is in full swing, I’m starting to realize it would have come in handy for the school projects. 

Because I am not equipped with the innate ability to be creative or crafty or do scrapbooks or decorative stuff, I have come to rely on my artist husband for help with projects.

Pregnancy does weird things to you, and I had a minor brush with creativity when I was in my last trimester. I don’t know what came over me, but I decided I had to make all of the thank you notes for my baby shower. I bought paper and rubber stamps and ribbons and I thought I was so clever with the design. I stamped two sets of baby handprints on the front, punched holes and tied the ribbons into little bows on the cards. They definitely looked handmade. But, I was so giddy over them. I guess the nesting instinct really hit me hard and the hormones took over. I also had a lot of time on my hands, since I was on bed rest. But, as soon as I gave birth, that creativity flew out of me and has not yet returned. …CONTINUE READING »

Sophie and Doran have each been participating in their own after school activity, for about a year. Already, Sophie is going to be my Olympic gold medalist in gymnastics. And, Doran is well on his way to being the next Chuck Norris. As if karate and gymnastics didn’t keep them busy enough, last week, they started playing t-ball. Of course, I use the word “playing” lightly. So far it’s been a lot of running the bases, throwing the ball and hitting off of the tee. But, I think this will be a good thing for them, learning how to support each other on a team.

While the age of the players is supposed to be 4-6 years old, it skews younger with more 3- and 4-year-olds. So, Sophie and Doran are the oldest kids on the team. As a whole, the team is not the most coordinated bunch yet, but it’s a lot of fun to watch. And, I’m very proud of my daughter because she’s the only girl on the team. Bet you can’t tell which one she is in the picture. Thanks to Brian, she has the cutest pink helmet and Doran has a blue one. But, the helmets are so big, they make the kids look like bobbleheads.  Brian bought all of the appropriate gear: helmets, gloves and a bat. I had nothing to do with this purchase because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. …CONTINUE READING »

I’m entering what I consider to be an unlikely wedding season. In fact, in less than two months I have three very different weddings to attend, and that requires a bit of creative dressing on my part. First and foremost, I’m not a dressy kind of gal. You’re likely to find me in knit capris and a pizza t-shirt just about most any day of the week. I needed to find the perfect dress that can be used for all three events.

The first takes place next weekend at a destination at a lake in central Kentucky. It’s going to be mid-September, and here that means it could be in the 90s or the mid-70s. A crapshoot, to be sure.

The second wedding takes place the first weekend in October. I have some experience here –– I got married that same weekend eight years ago. It was 85 degrees that Friday evening –– until a storm blew through cooled the temperatures down to 60 degrees on my wedding day. Chilly!

The third (and hopefully final wedding. Whew!) is the first weekend in November. Definitely getting colder. It’s also a formal Catholic wedding followed by a sit-down dinner and dancing.

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This time of year arrives with great anticipation for those who are Fans. For those of us who are left behind, it brings dread. Yes, football season is here. Because my husband is a long-time, dedicated fan of the game, I am a member of the long-suffering group of women known as football widows.

We are the unlucky wives of husbands who eat, drink, breathe and sleep football. I know I’m not alone, but in my group of friends, I am the only one (lucky for them). I know I’m outnumbered and there are a lot of men and women who are football fans. I respect their devotion. But, I would really like the sport more if it didn’t leave me without a husband on Sundays, six months out of the year. And, believe me, I’ve gone to games, watched games on TV and tried hard to get caught up in it. That’s my Alstott shirt Doran’s wearing in the picture and it’s his now. I just can’t get into it. I’m sorry, but I would rather go shopping.

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