Circle Time

Wade graduated from PreK last week. 

After the short ceremony, his teachers told me a story about an incident that happened the week before during circle time.  The story they told pretty much sums up my theory of the true power of storytelling to build connectivity and relatability of the human experience.  

Here's what they said went down at circle time...

"I pick my nose," Wade announced to the class as he sat with his legs in the criss-cross/applesauce position.  "Yeah, sometimes I hide in my bed underneath my stuffed animals and pick my nose."

There was a brief silence.  "Well, okay thanks for sharing, but I'm not sure we should be talking about picking our noses," his kind teacher said to the class.

"I pick my nose too," said Wade's friend.

"Me too," said another kid from across the circle.

Pretty soon most of the 13 children in Wade's class were nodding along and admitting their nose picking or that they knew someone who picks their nose.

This is the perfect example of how being real and authentic can bring people together on a topic that might be a little uncomfortable.  Sure I don't want Wade to be famous for uniting nose pickers, but I love that he isn't afraid to be himself.  Look out world, er, kindergarten.

Authentic, unafraid, uniter, storyteller, truth teller....these are things I wish for all the graduates to be/become.

Flower Crowns & Pinterest Poser Challenge

I love a flower crown. What could be happier than a crown made of flowers? Flower crowns are whimsical and summery and pretty.  

I know there are strong opinions and haters of flower crowns. (Click here for a funny take on haters.)   The haters think flower crown people are "posers" and that they try too hard and that the flower crown fad is so over. Some people feel especially hateful about using fake flowers on the crowns. But guess what...people that wear flower crowns don't judge them back or worry about haters because we are too busy being happy wearing flower crowns that represent frivolity and joy and summer.

So if you are not a hater, read on my flower crown lovers because this week's Pinterest Poser Challenge* is how to make your own crown for only about $8.  
*In an attempt at not being a Pinterest Poser,** every week-ish I detail a new project/idea/recipe inspired by Pinterest.
**My definition of a Pinterest Poser is someone who is all pins and no substance.

We rode our bikes over to the Dollar Store last Monday and bought some flower crown supplies.

-fake vine
-floral wire
-floral tape
-fake flowers

I spent about $8 on supplies.

The first thing I did was measure Lucy's head and cut the vine to fit. Then I wrapped the vine with floral tape and then twisted the wire on top of that.

I fired up my trusty glue fun and started placing flowers randomly everywhere. There was no pattern, I just filled it in all over.

I'm super happy with how it turned out. 

This would be a fun craft to do with older kids this summer. Lucy and I hope to have a Summer Solstice party and give the crowns as favors to her friends. 

There are so many ways to have fun with the flower crowns!

We added ribbon to the back for fun too.

Last summer, we were on vacation and stumbled upon a small-town festival and everyone was wearing flower crowns and selling them. Since we were on a tight budget, I didn't shell out the $20 for a crown, but I tried them on.  This year, I'm going to bring my own! 

Last summer's flower crown love.

I'm not going to lie, I sort of dream of having a booth somewhere, or a lot of somewheres, throughout a summer that sells flower crowns and helps spread ideas of frivolity and joy. Ahhhhh, maybe someday.


How do you feel about flower crowns?  Have you made anything inspired by Pinterest lately? Let me know in the comments or over on my Facebook page.

Come follow me on Pinterest (click here).
Here are some of the Pinterest projects I've done/made/attempted:
The Rainbow Challenge- click here

DIY Trundle Bed- Click here

DIY Artemis Costume- click here

Taking Pictures of Your Kids- click here

Gluten Free Pretzels- click here

Cinnamon Sugar Doughballs- click here

Painted Lockers- click here

Melted Beads- DIY Suncatcher- click here

Tissue Paper Pom Pom Garland-- click here

A Delightfully Simple Birthday Party--click here
Make An Awesome Omelet--click here
Outdoor Lights Inspired by the show Parenthood- click here
Herb Garden with Chalkboard Pots- click here
Backyard Graffiti Art with kids- click here

Happiness Notecards- click here

Gluten Free Rainbow Cake- click here

Fruit Roll-Up Fortune Cookies- click here

Make Your Own Magnets- click here

DIY Painted Clay Necklace- click here

Dixie Cup Lights- click here

DIY Ornaments-click here

Gluten Free Clay- click here

Make Your Own Stamps- click here
Birthday Shirt- click here

Gluten Free Pop Tarts- click here
Front Porch Kid Art Display- click here
Door turned into Table- click here

Summer Wish List Chalkboard-click here

Peanut Butter Nutella Cookie Sandwiches-click here

Painted Mason Jar Vases-click here

Cinco de Mayo Paper Flowers- click here

Earth Day Cupcakes- Click here
Nail Art-click here

Homemade Photo Booth Fun- click here

Fake Bangs- click here

DIY Subway Art- click here

Furniture Painting and Bench/Chest Makeover- click here

Thanksgiving-y Project/Gratitude/Holiday Countdown- click here
The Smoothie-click here

The Free Printable Turned Artwork in a Boring Hallway- click here

The chalk board-click here
Seven Layer Dip in Individual Cups (my favorite so far!)-click here
The pumpkin address-click hereThe Kitchen Dancing Sign--click here

A Mom Sabbatical

A few years ago, Tim started taking the kids to his parents' cottage on Memorial Weekend and leaving me home for what my mother-in-law called my "mom sabbatical." Last Friday night I cried and told Tim I didn't think it was a good idea for him to take the kids away for the weekend.  I usually look forward to time on my own, but the last couple of weeks have made me want to just keep everyone home forever and never let them go, ever.  Which is why Tim thought this year more than other years, it was a really good idea to give me a "mom sabbatical."  

I mean I was getting a little weird.  My obsessive worry about Peyton made me worse than any Helicopter Mom out there.  I became like the mom in the book "I Love You Forever."  If I could have picked him up and cradled that great big boy when he was sleeping, I would have.  Instead I stood over him and watched to make sure he was breathing. If he happened to sleep in a little longer than usual, I would again stand over him to make sure his chest was moving up and down.  Last Friday morning, as I stood over him, he opened his eyes and freaked out a little about me hovering over him.   Tim was probably right, not only did I need a break from my over-worrying, Peyton needed a break from me too.

They left Saturday morning.

After a few minutes of feeling lost and not knowing what to do, I found my mom sabbatical groove and what I know for sure is that we all need a little alone time.

Here's what else I know for sure after a couple days alone:

• Having a beer in the middle of the day made me feel wild and crazy. And also pretty relaxed. It was fun to throw caution to the wind and have a Corona and buy the medium salsa instead of the mild because that's what the rest of the family likes.

Don't you love the flowers? I think they look like mini Truffula Trees from Dr. Seuss' The Lorax.

• Hi, my name is Angela and I am a jogger. Sometimes it takes a little time alone to reflect and accept things about yourself. I am accepting the fact that I am no longer a runner, but I am more of a jogger. Peyton pointed this out to me when we tried to go on a "run" together recently.  When I asked him to slow down a little he said "Mom, you aren't even running, you are sort of jogging."  I was so offended and brought up the fact that I "ran" a marathon once in 4 hours and 11 minutes and that I used to be really good.  He was unimpressed and that's okay. After a little time to reflect and after going for a jog, I realized I'm older and have less time to run, but I do make time to jog and I'm grateful for that. I am a jogger and that's cool.

• Having another Corona for dinner was fun too. 

I think we live in a pretty damn cool time, TV shows outside?! It was a dream of mine as a kid and now it's my life. Ahhhh.

And so was binge-watching a whole season of a TV show in two days. I LOVE the show Grace and Frankie. I mean LOVE it!  Go watch the whole season on Netflix now. It's so much fun.

• Dogs make great company.  I wasn't totally alone this weekend, I had my dogs Cosi and Rufus. They are a little high maintenance, but oh so cute and lovable.

• I am going to be the old lady that watches and talks back to shows like Dateline. I was only alone for 24 hours before I had on one of those shows in the background and was saying "oh did he really think he'd get away with it. He's guilty!" to the the TV. 

• Lime-A-Ritas are gross and fantastic all at the same time. I had seven of them on Saturday and ended up feeling great. And I made myself a pizza at 9 at night while I watched Fast Times At Ridgemont High. What????

I know for sure that I totally and completely honored the Three R's of a mom sabbatical--Recharge, Relax and Remember (who you are). I felt centered and grounded and calmer. I laughed at myself and didn't feel guilty about watching hours of television. I took walks. I turned everything off in the house and opened the windows and listened to the birds chirping. I did yard work. I went for a jog. I took a nap. I took selfies.  I breathed. I got take-out for myself. I rode my bike. I went to bed early. I stayed up late. I did whatever I wanted.

To be perfectly honest, I'm still scared and vulnerable and highly over-sensitive about how fast everything can change and am still shaking the images of Peyton in the ER and still a little sad about Wade graduating from PreK....yeah, there's still all that. But after this weekend, I do feel stronger, more self-aware and well-rested and it was good to take a break from the worry and the busy and the pace of parenting and end-of-the-school-year craziness.

I found and love this quote from a book I reread once a year, "Gift from the Sea" by Ann Morrow Lindbergh and it sums up what a Mom Sabbatical and solitude can be about-- "But women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves: that firm strand which will be the indispensable center of a whole web of human relationships. She must find that inner stillness which Charles Morgan describes as the 'stilling of the soul within the activities of the mind and body so that it might be still as the axis of a revolving wheel is still.'"

Yeah, that's how I feel after this weekend, solitude helped my soul find the stillness.  I feel a little more solid.

A Cliche--My New Tattoo

It happened! I got a new tattoo this week! It was actually my Mother's Day present...

This wasn't my first tattoo rodeo however.  When I was 21 I got a tattoo. I chose a very intricate design from a necklace I got in Ireland when I studied abroad for a semester. It was a Celtic symbol which meant everlasting life. I was a very spiritual and deep 21-year-old. When I got to the tattoo shop, they told me the design was so intricate that it would take a couple hours and a lot of money.  So instead, I flipped through the books on the counter picked a Chinese symbol that supposedly meant "To Enjoy One's Self" and slapped down my 40 bucks. I decided to have them tattoo the symbol on my back so no one could see it when I went on my very important job interviews after college graduation. I am sort of taking credit for possibly starting the "tramp stamp" trend.  Yes, I was maybe one of the very first tramps.  That sounds bad, I wasn't trampy, I was just stamped.  Oh you know what I mean, I got the tattoo on my lower back.  And then in the next five years thousands of drunk wannabe rebellious college girls got Chinese symbol tattoos on their lower backs.  I wasn't really a trend setter or a rebel, I was a cliche.

So here I am, an almost 41-year-old suburbanite minivan driving mom who wants a tattoo. I've actually wanted one for years. But according to what I see online, I'm sort of a cliche again. A middle-age woman gets a tattoo to show everyone she's not so old sort of thing I guess. Ugh. To fight the cliche and prove myself a true tattoo wanter/lover, I decided to get it somewhere totally visible. I'm not going to try and hide this one (and I always hated that I couldn't see my own tattoo).

I asked around for some tattoo referrals and found a pretty fancy shop in my town. There were no burly dudes smoking cigarettes at the front desk like the place I went to 20 years ago. No, this place was posh and smelled of incense and very cool looking pierced, tattooed people worked the front desk. They set up a 'design consultation' and explained that after I felt comfortable with the artwork I would set up my tattoo appointment.  It was all very grown up and mature.

After my consult with my artist, Steve, I set up my appointment for last Friday. Then my world sort of blew up and Peyton got his concussion and spent the night in the hospital and ahhhhh. So, over the weekend I called to reschedule my tattoo.  At first the woman at the front desk was annoyed that I had cancelled but then when I told her about my boy's injury, she cooled off.  Actually we talked for a while about how scary and vulnerable it is to be a mother and then set up my tattoo appointment for Tuesday night.

I was not that nervous about the pain because duh, a needle for 30 minutes is nothing compared to what we've all been through by the time we are almost 41. I mean four babies, minor surgeries, worrying about all the major shit in life. A needle making something pretty on my arm? No problem.

My new tattoo is a feather based on a drawing from my friend Liane.  

My buddy Liane took these pictures. And she and I talked about our kids while Steve tattooed my arm.  It was so different than 20 years ago, when I talked about going to the bar and taking final exams while being tattooed.

Of course I was putting up a picture on Instagram right after he was done. Ha!

I chose a feather originally because of an Emily Dickinson poem.  

After doing a little more research into what feathers can represent or symbolize, I like the feather idea even more.  Feathers can signify "unrestrained freedom" and flying away from or above problems and/or sadness.  In Native American culture, feathers can signify bravery and courage and honor.  

I dig all of that.  And I can summon up the meanings for different times in my life going forward.  Right now, I am feeling the need for hope pretty hard.  But I will forever LOVE the idea of having "unrestrained freedom." I mean right?

I think it looks good as I walk into a room...this is seriously how I walk into a lot of rooms.

I don't want to be a cliche. I want to be a bad ass who has a piece of art that tells a story on my body.  I want to be unafraid to express myself and be myself. That's why I got a tattoo. And if that is cliche, than fuck it I am proud to be one.

Random

This can't be happening. I don't need this lesson, I get it, life is unfair, we should appreciate every moment, life is short, make the most of everything, be nice. I'll be nicer. I'll be better.  I don't need this lesson, God. I don't need it.   The other day I was bargaining with God.  This is not how I talk to God or how I believe it all works. I never thought I would bargain with God.  But I did on the day I thought my son was dying.

I also never thought I would pay attention to what I was wearing on the day I thought my son was dying. Or that I would tell jokes in the emergency room while they were fixing his IV. Or that I would apologize to nurses that I had snapped at in desperation and frustration.  

I never thought of any of it because I never thought about my son dying. And now I can't stop.

                                                                            
                         ******

Looking back, the weeks before I found myself at my son's bedside in the emergency room feel like a Shonda Rhimes' show.  The plot line was building around one central character, my oldest son Peyton.  He was coming into his own at school and on the track team.  Tim and I had said more than once that "this is his time right now" and that "he seems so happy, such a solid, good kid."

There were tragedies happening all around us that made both Tim and I feel vulnerable but also so grateful for the life we have and our children. Tim is an assistant principal at a high school in the area. A high school that was reeling from five deaths. One young woman killed herself, another student lost her father in an accident at his work and three teenage boys were killed in two separate car accidents. I watched as Tim struggled to wrap his head around the magnitude of loss and despair. The families were grieving, the students and the staff too. He came home one night with red, tired eyes and said "There's too much pain. Too much for these families and these kids."  

After going to the viewings and funerals of two of the teenage boys he came home even more wrecked. He talked about looking at the pictures of the boys and how they reminded him of Peyton. They played football, they loved sports, they were just a couple years older than him.  

I wasn't sure how to help him process all of it. I just knew that he and I were feeling a strange combination of utter fear and fierce gratitude. 

Then I got the call from Peyton's school.  "Your son collided with another child in gym class and he isn't acting like himself," the woman in the school office told me.

As I listened to her, my mouth got dry and tears sprang to my eyes. This was bad, I knew it, I felt it.  As I drove to the school I started bargaining with God.  

I found Peyton in the office surrounded by people. He was crying and saying he couldn't remember anything. He also said he couldn't see. They put him in a wheel chair and I drove him to the hospital.  Peyton started thrashing his body in the seat next to me and screaming "I can't see, the world is black." He was sobbing. Wade was covering his ears in his booster seat in the back of the minivan.  I kept repeating "it will be okay, it will be okay" over and over and over again.

The last thing I wanted to do was call Tim and tell him that I was taking Peyton to the emergency room with a head injury. Three of the boys in his high school had died of head injuries.  But I had to call him, we needed him.  I called and told him to meet us at the hospital.

Once I arrived, I pulled my minivan up to the ambulance entrance. Peyton could not see or walk at this point. He is taller than me and I had no idea how I could get him out. I left the boys in the van and ran through the double doors screaming "someone help me! please help me!"  Two men came outside to get Peyton into a wheel chair. 

They wheeled him back and I followed along holding Wade's hand and dragging him with me. I paced back and forth for four minutes while we waited for a nurse to come check on him. Four excruciating minutes.  

Peyton was fading. He didn't recognize me and didn't know how old he was. Then he stopped responding to anyone and crumpled into a ball on the bed.  

Tim raced around the corner and I will never forget the look on his face when he saw Peyton crumpled on the bed in the emergency room.  He ran to Peyton and put his arm around him. Stroking his hair back he kissed him on the forehead and said "I'm here buddy, I'm here."

We thought we were losing him, we thought he was dying.

They rushed Peyton to a CT scan and Tim went with him.  After the scan, Peyton was thrashing and violently trying to stand up.  He was ripping out the oxygen and pulling at the IV.  Tim had to pin his arms down and a nurse and I had to hold his legs down while another nurse injected an adult-size pain killer into his IV.

When the nurse told me it was Dilaudid, I joked with her that that happened to be one of my drug-addicted mother's favorite pain killers.

Peyton was fighting all of us and he was gasping for breath and his eyes were still searching to see.  It was all very primal.  But then finally he slumped onto the bed again.

Tim and I sat together holding hands, our faces inches from Peyton's. We were watching and waiting. Tim's mother had thankfully come and taken Wade to preschool. So, it was just the three of us in the corner of the emergency room. 

The doctors came back and told us that the CT scan showed no brain bleed but that there was swelling and a Level 3 concussion. So, they sent Peyton to have an MRI. The doctors were hopeful that the swelling would go down naturally but they wanted to monitor him overnight and follow up with tests over the next couple of weeks.

Hearing the doctors be hopeful was reassuring. But seeing Peyton wake up hours later and be able to see us and respond to us was the absolute best feeling ever.

Tim decided he was going to spend the night with Peyton at the hospital.  He didn't want to leave his side.  As I left to go pick up the other kids and make them dinner, I looked down at the workout clothes I was wearing.  I had on two different socks, no makeup and a baseball hat.  I laughed at how bad I looked and then I cried. I cried because I was thinking about  my clothes and because I was relieved and in shock and scared and grateful again and couldn't believe that any of it had happened.

                       ********* 

We are moving forward. Peyton is begging to go back to normal life, but the doctors say to take it easy for the next 7-10 days.  And we still have follow up tests.  

The first two nights he was home I snuck into Peyton's room and checked to make sure he was breathing. I just stood over him to see his chest moving up and down, and then I breathed a sigh of relief.  I used to do that when he was a baby and I felt overwhelmed with love and responsibility and a little bit of fear.

On the way home from the hospital, Peyton asked to stop at Wade's T-ball game. It was and is all so surreal.

Right now I can't stop feeling the fear and being emotional. I am stuck with those feelings of utter fear and fierce gratitude like before Peyton's injury. Everything seems more intense though and I'm tired.  I want to unsee Peyton slumped on a hospital bed and gasping for air and thrashing and crying. I want to unfeel it all. I want to not be afraid of the randomness and the fragility of life. 

I want to stop thinking about how I acted and what I wore on the day I thought my son was dying. I want to stop thinking about him dying and that he could die from some stupid injury in gym class or playing sports or a car accident or some stupid decision he makes when he is older and drinking or getting in the car with someone who is.  

I want the "appreciate the moment, life is short" idea to feel like it used to, like some pretty, inspirational Pinterest quote. I don't want it to feel vulnerable and real and ugly and raw and scary and so, primal.

I want there to be some narrator to say something profound and play an amazing, meaningful song like in a Shonda Rhimes' show.

It will take time. I know. I am hopeful and still fiercely grateful that Peyton is doing well and for his life and my life and my family.  It will just take a little time to get my feet back and feel stronger and less fragile. It will take Tim time. It will take time and friends and sunshine and the front porch and kitchen dancing and good food and good music and our dogs and our kids and each other and all the things we love about this precious life.

The first morning Peyton was home we had a late breakfast on my beloved front porch and the sun was shining and everything felt so right and I never wanted to leave that moment.

More Smiling & What I Know For Sure

JT turned 9 yesterday. Nine years old, I can't believe it.  

JT has always been the kid that is ready to get in the game, no matter what game it is.  

He plays hard and likes to show off.

JT has always been the kid that didn't really love school. He cried everyday at preschool drop off even though he loved his school and his teachers.  Now he's in the third grade and while he doesn't cry, he does try to come up with ANY reason he can to get out of going.  

JT has always been the kid that made people smile. Always. Everywhere we go this kid makes friends and can get even the grumpiest person to smile.  He radiates joy and energy and life...people dig that and him.

JT has always been the kid that loves to move.  When he was five years old, he skipped everywhere, all the time.  He runs and jumps and dives and dances.

JT has always been the kid with some of the worst luck. If there is a weird virus or allergic reaction possible from something, he will get it or have it.  The gene pool seemed to dump more on his plate then some of the others in the family--Celiac disease, speech delays, ADHD.  

JT has always been the kid full of so much love.  He loves with his whole heart, and needs to be loved back in a big way. He is easy to love. He is easy to get mad at too, like when he doesn't want to go to school or he runs and jumps off the couch or onto his little brother.  His vulnerability and impulsiveness and need for approval make me worried sometimes. I just want to do everything I can to protect him and encourage him. 

In nine years this kid has brightened so many lives. He has taught me how to be a better parent and advocate. And we all smile so much more than ever before, I know that for sure.  


Here's what else I know for sure this week:

• This video for Avicii's "The Nights" reminds me of JT and what he might be like when he gets older. And I love the song.

(Click here to watch the video.)

• Track meets are pretty fun. I wish I would have done this in school a million years ago--run a little, talk a lot, people cheering you on. So much fun!

The little brothers cheering on Peyton at his track practice.

• This movie, Ricki And The Flash, looks so damn good! The cast is simply amazing, I mean Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline together again. Whaaaat?  The best line in this trailer comes from Rick Springfield (yup, Rick Springfield).  He says "it's not their job to love you, it's your job to love them." Waaaaa. It looks so good.

(Click here to watch the video.)

• When I am stressed out, I eat shredded cheese straight from the bag. Yup.

• If you get a chance, you should watch the documentary about Kurt Cobain, Montage of Heck. It's trippy and intense, but so interesting.

• Here's a beautiful recap of Listen To Your Mother in Detroit- http://listentoyourmothershow.com/metrodetroit/2015/05/13/looking-back-at-ltym-metro-detroit-2015/

What do YOU know for sure this week, right now?  Share what you know here or over on my Facebook page.  

I Am -- Old School Blogging Link Up

I am so excited to be co-hosting a thing called Old School Blogging (OSB) with my friend Elaine from the Miss Elaine-ous life.  Elaine hosts this blog link up once a month and it is so fun!  



This month I told her about a project that Lucy did in her fifth grade poetry unit-- I Am poems-- and we thought it might be a good fit for OSB. So, here is my I Am poem/blog post/jumble of thoughts with some pictures and videos.


I am a complicated, over thinker, over feeler in love with life.

I wonder what is going to happen next.

I hear all of my favorite Pandora channels playing all the time everywhere I am  -- Aretha Franklin, Etta James, The Avett Brothers, Bonnie Raitt, Madonna, Otis Redding, Karen Carpenter, Blondie, Pit Bull and Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros.

(Songs like this classic Steven Stills cover by Bonnie Raitt. Holy woah, I love this song and the way she sings it.)


  (click here to watch/listen.)


I see my kids growing up so fast.

I want time to slow down.

I am a complicated, over thinker, over feeler in love with life.

My babies, not so much babies anymore.

I could write post after post filled with my older kids looking annoyed and so over it. Ha!

I pretend that I am okay with the 15 pounds I've gained in the last four years and that I gained it because of a thyroid problem (but nothing is wrong with my thyroid).

I feel ALL THE FEELINGS ALL THE TIME! If there is a feeling, name it, I've felt it.  I used to hate that, and sometimes I still do, but mostly I love it and I ride the feelings roller coaster with my hands up in the air.

I touch the knot in the back of my neck and remind myself to relax more and stress less AND to stop clenching my jaw.

I worry about keeping my family and myself together (holdover complicated-ness from having divorced parents and a crazy mother).

I cry when I go into my kids' classrooms in elementary school because their right now is a big deal and it feels so sweet and important and it overwhelms me.  (I also cry during award shows, when Ellen gives away stuff to people, when they highlight an athlete's story before the big game, when I've had more than three drinks, when I'm tired, when Scott Disick on Keeping Up With The Kardashians can't get himself together even after rehab and when someone is nice to me at the grocery store checkout.)

I am a complicated, over thinker, over feeler in love with life.


I understand that being sensitive is an asset and makes me a better parent/person.

I say we all need to dance more and vote more.
(I try to dance in my kitchen daily.)

Yup there are snowflakes in the air, I'm pretty tired and we still haven't figured out how we are getting all the kids to all their stuff this wknd, but who cares this song sounds to happy to be sad. And too dancey not to dance to it. #kitchendance #happyfriday

A video posted by Angela Youngblood (@jumpingwithmyfingerscrossed) on Mar 27, 2015 at 5:19am PDT

I dream about sleeping more, dancing more and how much fun my kids and I are going to have on summer vacation.

I try to live my whole life by THE Golden Rule because I think it's kind of the best thing ever.  

Photo Source

I hope I am raising children that become loving, open-minded, big-hearted, accepting, encouraging adults that express themselves in their own way and live their own truths.

I am a complicated, over thinker, over feeler in love with life.

Now it's your turn! Copy the bold words and then the rest is up to you.  Fill in the words or sentences however you wish and then link up.