being myself…

That’s what I love most about my husband.

He lets me be myself.

He loves my goofiness, my seriousness, my intelligent moments as well as my dumb ones.

He never defines me, instead letting who I am ring true.

He never for a moment considers if others might think ill of me. And if someone should, it has no influence whatsoever on his loving me.

To him, I’m perfect just as I am. Maybe not for anyone else, but for him there’s no one else.

 

Through my husband’s eyes I’ve come to realize I am “perfect,” just as I am. In moments of self doubt, and, of course, I still get them…I tell myself  that I am a good person. God has let me know that by gifting me with two of His most wonderful creations…my husband and my daughter.

My daughter. When I look into her eyes, I see total, unconditional love…for me. Nothing I do or say can alter that fact. In return, I never overstep my place in her life. Just as I know that I am a good person, I know that she is as well. So why would I need, or want, to trespass upon all that she is?

This morning the imp in me took over and I hid from my husband in the midst of fixing our bed. He had gotten an earlier start to the day, as is his usual routine. He’s an early bird riser. I’m a midnight owl who has no use for worms when I first wipe the sleep from my eyes. I could hear him walking all around in search of me…through the bedroom, adjoining library nook, walk-in closet, bathroom and nearby laundry room. He may even have peeked into the garage. As he strode past the bedroom, I jumped out of my hiding place and scared him. I really did scare him! He kind of froze in place. And then we both burst into uncontrollable laughter. Giggling like high school sweethearts…rather than the middle-aged seniors we really are…we hugged and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I’m lucky. Real lucky. My husband loves me…

…just as i am.

………hugmamma.

 

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living her best life…#29

Just thought I’d give a little update re Pat’s status from a phone chat we had last week Thursday.

Pat’s a wonderful listener, so I got a lot said.

Not my intention when I made the call.

Of course she asked a lot of questions.

And laughed a lot.

So I figured..Okay. She’s laughing, so I guess she’s feeling fine.

I love it when she laughs.

Her whole face lights up…eyes crinkling at the corners…pearly whites showing from ear to ear.

Pat’s being treated wonderfully by friends and family who feed her and her men.

In addition to a meal of fresh, cooked salmon with a couple of sides, her sister Kathi had brought by homemade chicken noodle soup.

A friend had called asking which of 2 options Pat preferred.

Talk about Chinese take-out.

She chose butternut squash soup and a stir-fried dish.

When speaking of husband Brad, Pat got really animated.

I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Not that I needed to…get a word in edgewise, that is.

According to his gushing, eternally grateful wife…BRAD IS SMART!!!

I mean really, really smart.

And believe me…I don’t doubt it.

Pat’s lucky to have her hubby in her corner as she beats the c–p out of c—-r!

Brad researches Pat’s diseases to within an inch of their silly existences.

Armed to the nines, he queries the doctors about the medical hooha he doesn’t quite get as a lay person.

Not only that but Brad can actually remember what he’s learned.

Me?

I can regurgitate what I’ve read or heard…to a point.

After that it’s…duh???…memory hiccup.

Then lo and behold.

While we were speaking, Pat’s doorbell rang.

Our Valentine’s Day gift had arrived.

Candy, cards…and MALEFICENT!

We both agreed we’d not been fans of Angelina Jolie since she enticed Brad Pitt away from Jennifer Aniston.

Now…how long ago was that?

Thankfully, Aniston’s garnered well-deserved happiness with fiancee Justin Theroux. 

And the Jolie-Pitts have settled in nicely together with a lovely brood of children, and are to be congratulated for their awesome charitable work.

My daughter turned my husband and me on to Maleficent, starring Jolie with a cameo by daughter Vivian as toddler Aurora.

Haven’t heard how Pat liked the DVD, although she was viewing it when a thunderstorm took out the power in her area.

She text me that she could hardly wait til the electricity returned.

Can’t wait to hear how she liked this very unique remake of…SLEEPING BEAUTY.

Pat did say our brother-in-law Dennis was doing well after the stroke he suffered. 

To look at him, she said, you’d never know anything extraordinary had happened.

So as far as I could tell…

…it was good news all around.

………hugmamma.

 

 

 

journeying towards her better life…#6

Behind every good man is a good woman…and…behind every good woman is a good man.

In the case of Pat and her husband Brad…greatness might apply.

As Pat explains it…

I educated Brad on our bank accounts. I pay all the bills, so he was pretty clueless. As long as [the] bills were paid, he never asked. 

I pay [them] electronically  so I showed him how it’s set up…how to pay the bills, transfer funds, etc.

We also set up automatic payments wherever we could so we don’t miss a mortgage or insurance payment. 

I must say, he was impressed…not with me…but with the bank’s system. [Brad’s] comment after my tutorial…”Wow! I actually get to see the money now!!!”

A few months ago we got a HELOC [Home Equity Line of Credit]. It took a while…[filing] all the required reports [as well as] the credit checks. While signing papers with the loan officer, Brad turned to me and asked “Why is your credit score better than mine?”

What [Brad] doesn’t know is…yeah, I pay the bills on time, but a couple of times his Macy’s bill might have been buried under all the paperwork.”

…kinda funny, right?…pat.

 

 

 

flawless…doesn’t exist (except maybe…in diamonds)

My last post, daily prompt: perspective (and happiness) https://hugmamma.com/2013/11/20/daily-prompt-perspective-and-happiness/  garnered a number of touching comments. In particular, two on Facebook that were from nieces recently married. Erica…a couple of years, if memory serves me correctly, and Carol…earlier this year. Absolutely lovely women, both.

carol on the left...just months prior to wedded bliss

carol on the left…just months prior to wedded bliss

Because my husband and I have lived on the mainland, away from family in Hawaii, since 1976, the younger relatives know little about aunty and uncle except for what their parents have told them. And from the warm, loving reception we receive whenever we return home to visit, it’s safe to say my sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law still think highly of their oldest brother and his pupule  (Hawaiian for “crazy”) wife.

I’m a fun-loving, compassionate person most of the time. Partly because I’m a happy-go-lucky native island girl like my mom was, except when her demons got the best of her. And partly because of my Catholic upbringing. The part to do with…turning the other cheek, and being humble. The latter an Asian asset, or burden, depending upon what I’m up against.

For the benefit of my nieces, and other young kin, who might think their aunty is flawless (although I’m sure that’s not the case), I wanted to share some of my so-called “skeletons.”

I want to assure them that there are no perfect marriages.

None. Nada. No how. No way. Never will be…unless two robots get married.

Furthermore, with faults of my own, I try hard not to judge others.

Sometimes I fail. I admit…I’m human.

So here goes…

in our first year of marriage, in a fit of jealous rage…I hurled a fan at my husband…it broke; he didn’t (thank God! I’d have served time)

during that same period I served him “spam a la baked ham”…for months (he said he loved it)

 again as a newlywed, when I smashed in the back fender of our  beetle as I was rounding the underground parking lot pillar…I blamed my husband for my rushing  to pick him up from work…you see, he was late getting off and kept me waiting (I got all dolled up…false eyelashes, pixie wig and all…which made me “drive like a bat out of hell” in the first place)

while we dated, my husband enjoyed volleyball dates with friends but eventually gave them up…perhaps because I sucked at it (when I served the ball it didn’t even clear the net)

for one week during the first year of dating I kept breaking up with my husband…I wasn’t sure we would last (I wasn’t even thinking marriage at the time…just “going steady”)

I don’t know if young married couples these days experience the same kinds of broohaha that us baby boomers did. We didn’t have Facebook and Twitter and iPhones to compound an already precarious time in the life of two, unrelated individuals trying to…tie the knot and become one.

Marriage is like a pretzel.

Pretzels/pretzel rolls

It’s funky-looking and tasty.

But you don’t want to just sit there looking at it. You want to savor every mouthful…

…so go ahead…there’s more where that came from…

………hugmamma.

(And by the way…our marriage is still…a diamond in the rough.)

 

daily prompt: perspective (and…happiness)

I can’t think of anything that drives me absolutely crazy at the moment.

Age and experience seem to temper craziness.

You think?

I hope. 


Of course there are a whole host of things that drive me up the wall now and then…like


dishes in the sink that could just as easily find their way into the dishwasher…pronto!

being told “I can’t find it”…when it’s right in front of (ahem) his nose

not removing (ahem) his dark-colored work socks before walking around in a house layered in pet hair…and then jumping into bed with said socks still intact

when papers, papers, and more papers lay on the home office floor…for days and sometimes weeks

putting the kettle on to boil water for tea…and then leaving to walk the dog


But then when I think of the things that make me love (ahem) him…like


when he says…”because you’re my precious”

when he calls to ask if he can stop to get anything on his way home from work…every day, rain or shine

when he tells me to stay in bed, rather than get up to fix him breakfast…at 5:30 a.m.

when he lets me sleep in on the weekend…as long as I like

when the dog begs him to walk her…and he does


Perspective?


Forty three years married to the same guy…through sunny skies and turbulent storms…through job moves and house sales/purchases…through ballerina aspirations and dreams come true…through youthful, glowing selves and deteriorating has-beens.

When I survey all that our lives have been together from a perspective of happiness, what “drives me up the wall”…

…doesn’t amount to a hill of beans…

………hugmamma. IMG_4247

Other Daily Prompts on Perspective at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/20/daily-prompt-perspective-3/

then there’s the time i…

My husband, daughter and I had a good chuckle reminiscing about those times when I was…well…a little less pulled together than I would have liked. In fact my daughter offered up her memory of another time when I nearly burned the house down. Different house…a decade or so after my first fiasco with the stove in my Long Island home.

IMG_1482Seems I had begun prepping for dinner. I’d lit the burner under a frying pan in which I’d poured some oil. My daughter, in elementary school at the time, called from the nearby dining room. She had a question about her homework. Attentive mother that I was, I went to see how I could help.

Of course you know how the rest of the story goes…

Minutes later, I returned to find a fire had started in the frying pan. Its flames were reaching upwards toward the 9 foot ceiling. What was it they taught me in Girl Scouts? Whatever it was, I couldn’t get my befuddled brain to think straight.  My eyeballs, however, were working overtime…bulging out of their sockets. And my mouth, according to my daughter, could only say one thing…”Oh shoot! Oh shoot! Oh shoot!” She remembers that because when I recounted this story to Carol, a close friend, she was amazed that I only said “Oh shoot!” and not something more colorful. But as I told my daughter, I held myself in check when she was young. Now that she’s 27…well…let’s just say I’m a lot more liberal-mouthed. My vocabulary has increased by leaps and bounds.

Not knowing what else to do, I did what I wasn’t suppose to…I took the frying pan to the sink. I don’t think I turned on the water, although I can’t be sure. The one thing my daughter and I both remember is that the curtains above the sink caught fire. Again, I don’t remember what I did about that. Except that whatever I did, the fire eventually petered out.

A residential smoke detector is the most famil...

 

What didn’t subside, however, was the confounded smoke alarm. It blared and blared and blared. The ringing drove me nuts! No matter what I did to the thing it wouldn’t shut off. Between trying to stop its incessant noise and running around throwing open windows to let out the smoke which was rapidly accumulating throughout the house, I was a crazed woman.

 

At my wits ends, and worried that passersby would wonder at the commotion, I ripped the smoke alarm off the ceiling and flung it out the front screen door onto the lawn.

Imported Photos 00332I have no idea what my poor child was doing while I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. All I can say is thank goodness she has a funny bone like her dad, and can laugh at my antics. I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t intend to trade me in for another, saner mom anytime soon.

I guess you’re wondering if I called my husband at his office in NYC? No. I didn’t. Things were happening too fast and I was 10 years older, though not necessarily wiser. Perhaps the fact that I had someone else to think of, my daughter, made me depend upon my own resources, limited as they were. And after all, we were then living in Connecticut. Then again, being in another state, or country for that matter, hasn’t precluded my calling my husband for help. But those are other stories.

When my husband arrived home later that evening, he was surprised to find the smoke alarm laying on the grass…in pieces. My daughter was only too eager to relate the sordid details of the day to her dad, whose eyes grew as large as saucers as he listened. After a full accounting of the ugly event, my husband knew better than to chide me about my foolishness. The gleam in my eye warned him not to go there. Instead, he gave me a hug, and from the twinkling glint in his eyes I knew…

…he’d amassed another one of his…”tales of my nutty wife”…IMG_1998

………hugmamma.

birds of a feather…flock together

A post written by Candice at http://wrygrass.com/2013/08/28/fire-frenzy-and-calmness-in-a-fur-coat/ had me laughing…and thinking I’d found a soul sister.

Could it be that there’s another woman out there who lacks common sense? I thought for sure I was the only one. I’ve never admitted it before, but reading about Candace’s behavior in the face of a crisis empowered me to speak up. Until now, only those nearest and dearest to me knew the truth. At least…I hope so.

“Common sense” according to Webster’s is “sound practical judgement; normal native intelligence.”Well, I’ve never been practical and at times I’ve jokingly told my daughter that I was “aby-normal.”

Cover of "Young Frankenstein [Blu-ray]"

If you’ve never seen “Young Frankenstein,” you should. When Gene Wilder asks his hunchback sidekick, Marty Feldman, whose brain he got for Frankenstein, Feldman replies “Aby someone.” Wilder asks “Aby who?” To which Felman says “Aby Normal.” I loved that line and have since borrowed it. 

Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was talking about Candice and I being…birds of a feather…or chickens with their heads cut off…or Chicken Little running around crying “The earth is falling! The earth is falling!”

Like Candice, I had a run-in with my oven.

When I was in my late 20s living on Long Island with my hubby, I decided to take a sick day from work to bake up a Christmas gift for some friends. At the time I was heavily into making, and eating, chex mix snacks. Still in my flannel nightgown, I put my first batch into the oven and wandered off. Not long after, the smoke alarm started going off. Hurrying back to my teeny-tiny kitchen I was alarmed at the sight of a fire in the oven. In a state of panic I reached for the phone and dialed my husband at his office…in NYC.  I stood out in the small, enclosed foyer talking to him as the fire continued to burn. Ever the practical one he told me to call 911 and get out of the house. I did as I was told, feeling slightly foolish standing in my snow-covered front yard with the phone cord stretched to the max as I dialed for help.

In no time the fire engines arrived…two, I think…with firefighters hanging off the sides and backs of the trucks. Of course the neighborhood was alerted by the sirens blasting, as if calling one and all to bear witness to my stupidity. I’m sure I wanted to find the closest mole hole and crawl inside with my heretofore sworn enemy…Mr. Mole himself.

The firemen stormed into the house, hatchets and fire hose in hand.  Soon one of them emerged flinging my baking pan onto the lawn. All that remained of the chex mix was a charred blob. Meanwhile, the windows and doors of the house were thrown open to allow the billowing smoke to escape. I don’t recall if any water was used. I don’t think so. But with the passing of time I can only recall what I did…and didn’t do.

While I know this wasn’t the first time I pulled a humdinger of a boo-boo, it was the first of many, many stories my husband has loved retelling. Thank goodness he has a funny bone that runs the length of his body. If not, my marriage might not have lasted as long as it has…42 years.

English: A chicken running Français : Un poule...

Have you a “Chicken Little” story of your own to tell? Or are you…

…the one with the common sense?…

………hugmamma. 

please…take care…

Saturday Morning: Cartoons' Greatest Hits

Saturday Morning: Cartoons’ Greatest Hits (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s Saturday morning!

What got me out of bed so bright and early?

Another post…what else!

Before I go there however, I’d like to explain why my flaws are often the jumping off point for my writing.

It’s because I’d really like to help you learn from my mistakes or inaction…if possible.

So back to the story at hand.

My previous piece…“Wellness”…got me thinking about my mom.

Raising a large family as a widow meant we lived from paycheck to paycheck. As a result my mom’s needs came last.

I never remember her visiting the doctor. She could barely afford to take us. We were lucky to have a kind physician minister to our health problems. Dr. Fleming never pressed my mom for payment, allowing her to pay what she could…when she could.

My mom suffered greatly from arthritis, especially in her knees.

Her sorrowful groans would awaken me in the early morning hours. The floor boards creaked as she paced back and forth. Until the pain subsided, she could not sleep.

I’d lay quietly, praying for God’s help, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Not even her arthritis could keep my mom from going to work, an hour’s drive from home.

She was the laundress for a Catholic orphanage…The Children’s Home. She often helped in the kitchen, and sometimes chaperoned the older kids, driving them to school functions on the weekends.

It’s difficult to understand how my mom dealt with her health issues, including high blood pressure and diabetes, without the help of doctors. As sole breadwinner, she had no time for self-pity. My mom took care of herself, and us, as best she could.

Comparing our lives would be like comparing apples and oranges.

I’m extremely fortunate to have my husband of 42 years by my side. His generosity has been a blessing for my daughter and me. We are truly grateful for his loving care and support.

Whenever I think of my mom it is with deep regret that she could not have enjoyed a better life. One that included a lifelong companion.

Someone of her own to love…and love her.

Someone who would have helped shoulder the burdens…and kiss away her tears.

Someone with whom she might have shared secrets…and belly laughs.

My mom might have been spared much of the physical and mental anguish she suffered throughout her life…had she someone to help pay for her medical care.

Alzheimer’s stole whatever remained of my mom’s indomitable spirit…when she died at 86.IMG_4143

It’s never too late…

…to look to your own well-being…and that of a loved one…whatever their age…

………hugmamma.

We all have special people in our lives. I thought this photo and these loving words…said it best.

………hugmamma.

Creativity Aroused

My Diamonds
My Diamonds, a photo by Fergiemoto on Flickr.  (click on photo to enlarge)

>>:::<<
bumps in the road
reveal one’s true friends
exquisite diamonds
>>:::<<

I love this photo because of the people in it.  This is my hubby and my mother, the two most important people in my life.  They are my rocks.  Together, they make an even stronger and more solid rock…my rock…a rock tailored for me.  Throughout my struggles over the years, they have remained on this journey with me with constant help, support and encouragement.  When you encounter “bumps in the road,” you learn who is with you for the long haul…and who is not.

Also, they are both mine!  Yes, I am possessive about that.  Hubby is MY hubby.  I’m an only child, and the only one who calls my mother, “Mom.”  From those perspectives, they are both mine.

They are exquisite diamonds!

(This…

View original post 83 more words

what i love most…

…about my husband.

 There are many things for which I’m grateful. Since they are too numerous to mention, I’ll choose one.

He lets me talk…for as long as I like. Ad nauseum…if I’m so inclined. 

With nary a peep…or a hiccough…or a boo! He merely…smiles…nods…or agrees.

Oftentimes, I’ve felt this was a shortcoming. 

In conversations by myself…monologues, if you will…I’ve wished…and pleaded…for more input.

Two-way communication.

Less silence…while dining out…in the car, on long drives…in a heated discussion.

I should’ve known when I heard his college, Valedictorian speech…3 wordsSilence is Golden. 

With that he walked off the stage…and into my lifefor better or worse.

Forty-five years later…3 dating, 42 married…my husband is still theStrong, Silent Type.

You’d think I’d have gotten the message…long, long ago.

Blame youthful immaturity…for having my head…in the clouds.

And so decades later…having failed to mold Adam…according to Eve…

I’m content to sit under the apple tree…

…eating of the fruit…

…which promises…

…eternal love.

Even if it has to be…in silence.

………hugmamma.   😆  

Love ± Zero

Love ± Zero (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

whatever works…who am i to judge

I reiterated to my husband again last night…”Don’t touch that stack of Wall Street Journal papers!” Never mind that it’s taking up space in his home office.

There are gems to be found in that mountain of treasure. Take for instance the article reprinted in my next post, “Letting Babies Cry a Bit is OK” by Andrea Petersen.

Of tremendous interest to “mwaaa”…me, that is, the information contained in Petersen’s writing reminded me of my husband’s least favorite bedtime story.

Our family had recently returned from visiting relatives in Hawaii. Our daughter, then a toddler, had difficulty returning to her routine of sleeping alone in her crib. Bunking with mom and dad while away from home was probably to blame. We had no choice in the matter since space was scarce in my mother-in-law’s already overcrowded home.

I’d read in a book that was my parenting bible at the time, that I shouldn’t remove my child from her crib when she cried, begging to sleep in mine. Rather, I should return to her side in 20-minute intervals to comfort her until she fell asleep. This had worked before our vacation; I was certain it would continue to work again.

My husband was not as convinced. In fact, he was adamant it wouldn’t.

That was one of the very few times I angered my husband.

In utter disgust and disbelief, he stormed off saying he’d rather sleep downstairs if I didn’t give in to our daughter’s pitiful cries. And they were pitiful. Trust me. They were.

However monstrous I might’ve seemed to my loved ones at the time, I knew the long-term result would benefit our child. And it has.

My daughter has confidently traveled the country and Canada since she was 14, pursuing the dance career she now enjoys. She slept in dorms with strangers as roommates. Since she was 18 she has lived on her own, 3,000 miles separating her from us.

She still dreams of living abroad some day.

And as for our relationship?

Our love for one another has grown exponentially over the years!!!

I don’t suggest it’s my way…or the highway. Parents need to do what feels instinctively right in their guts.

…and my instincts suit my guts…just fine…

………hugmamma.

front and center…a golden nugget

English: Some gold nuggets from Alaska.

English: Some gold nuggets from Alaska. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of the great lessons of older age is pausing  to reflect upon life while it continues to unfold. In our hurry to do it all and have it all before our mortality is eclipsed, we often let slip through our fingers small nuggets of gold. Worse yet when we set aside the biggest nugget of all, in the hopes of finding one even more humongous.

Living with someone is a compilation of habits, both good and not so good, accumulated through the days, weeks, months, and years we’re together. Romance and sexual palpitations give way to affection and sweet gestures, if we’re lucky. However butterflies in our stomach, whether thousands or simply a handful, are more often displaced by nibbling moths as we go about our daily grind.

It’s so easy to speak unkind words, raise an eyebrow in disdain, or lower the iron curtain of silence. In youth we pride ourselves upon our self importance, our independence, our ability to move on…alone, if necessary. Not so quick are we to dwell upon these things in older age.

Our significant other becomes like one with ourselves. No longer are the lines of demarcation so absolute. They’re fuzzier now. The distinctions almost a blur.

The same blood doesn’t course through our veins, having been born of different parents. But in a relationship that has weathered the tsunamis of life with steadfast resolve…water is thicker than blood.

While still requiring practice and firm resolution, acknowledging the value of those who have stood by our sides is imperative as life’s embers start to dim. As our insatiable appetite for things and glory wanes, what’s left are small golden nuggets. Always present, but often overlooked.

Bite your tongue when your loved one leaves a dish in the sink, rather than placing it in the diswasher. Give your loved one  that leftover, pulled-chicken sandwich you were hoping to devour for lunch. Allow your loved one to complete tasks when inclined, especially when relaxation is a luxury.

A less than sparkling home, an opportunity to lose weight, and keeping one’s blood pressure in check are a good tradeoff for keeping our loved ones happy and still over-the-moon with their choice for life-long mates.

…one golden nugget…is all i need…

………hugmamma.   🙂

fireworks!!!…2012!…so what’s new?

Don’t know about you, but at 12:16 a.m. on 1/1/12 it was the same old, same old at my house. Hubby’s fast asleep on the couch, glasses perched on his nose, eyes shut tight, TV remote buried under the sofa pillows, and “zzzzzzzzz’s” lining up behind one another as they spill forth from a wide-open mouth.

And where am I? Typing away at my laptop, bleary-eyed, wanting to call it quits but unable to escape the words and thoughts that hold me captive…hour after hour after hour.

These fireworks were all photoed at a local fi...

Image via Wikipedia

I stopped blogging long enough to wake my husband, planting a loud kiss on his cheek while exclaiming, mostly to myself, “We’re missing the fireworks…New Year‘s! Wake up! Wake up!” Struggling to open his eyes, he asks for his robe, shivering as the programmed thermostat begins lowering the heat in our home. Of course I oblige after switching the channel to see the firework display re-broadcasted on the late news. As I fly down the hallway to the bedroom in search of my husband’s bathrobe, I stop midway to manually turn up the heat. You can take the girl off the island…but you can’t take the island out of the girl.

Returning to my writing nook…a desk in the corner of my daughter’s former bedroom…I hear the muffled sounds of singing, music, talking, clapping, and laughter wafting down the hallway from the TV in the living room. Faint snores can be heard drifting toward me as well.

Members of three generations of a lineage are ...

Image via Wikipedia

What a pair we make…a middle-aged man who can’t keep his eyes open…and his middle-aged wife who can’t close her eyes…at 1:07 a.m. New Year’s Day. The Chinese have a saying “Whatever you’re doing when the New Year begins is what you’ll be doing the rest of the year.” Can’t disagree with my wise, old ancestors.

Throughout this next year it’s guaranteed my husband will fall asleep in front of the TV, snoring. And it’s just as certain that most nights my eyes will be blinking back sleep as my head begins to nod, while my fingers flit  across the keyboard, jiving to some silent beat…willing me to keep writing. There’s no doubt that we’re creatures of habit. Aren’t we all?

We did make one change to our New Year’s Eve routine however. But you’ll have to wait to learn what it is…

…for i’m putting my foot down…and crawling into bed…and pulling the plug on my brain…goodnight!!!

………hugmammma.  🙂