Friday, February 11, 2011


"Please pray for me. I am meeting him at 4:30."

When I feel the need for extraordinary strength, I have a handful of friends to call on. We send each other text messages requesting prayers for a particular problem we have, or for someone else, or just because one of us is feeling the big bad cloud of depression hanging over. We go to mass or say a prayer for each other.

The above is an SMS I received just a short while ago. We have our own lives, traveling our individual roads but we know someone's got our backs.

This prayer link is such a powerful tool, giving courage, hope and light. I am so lucky!

Friday, January 28, 2011


Lunch with a really good friend today. I love that she never sugar-coats her thoughts and tells me when she thinks something is my fault, or not a good idea. She always reminds me to pray and to go out on dates and to have fun! She calls when she hasn't heard from me in some time. She's not sweet, and is marginally grumpy. She is always encouraging. She's a great mom and a great wife. We shared problems (no housekeeper for me, no nanny for her), laughed at past escapades (like chasing a husband's ex-girlfriend down!) and brainstormed about our fledgling business, proceeds of which were used to pay for today's lunch of green curry, phad thai, calamari and mango sticky rice. Great way to begin the weekend!

Saturday, January 1, 2011


Amongst family and friends, the year 2010 was an unprecedented one of separation, enmity, illness, financial difficulty, betrayal, loss, death.
I began this post some weeks ago wondering how to give thanks, for what can I give thanks?
After some reflection, it came to me quite easily:
I give thanks with hope for brighter days, with faith that there is a grand plan for us all, and with prayer to bring all that into fruition.
And I give thanks that the year's episodes of bitterness and grief were liberally sprinkled with bright pinpoints of goodness: friendship, forgiveness, unity, healing, reconciliation, and love.
Always, always gratitude for the love we find within ourselves and others, without which our decisions are ill-conceived, our lives unfulfilled.
Here I am, on the cusp of the new year, thankful for a new beginning, for second chances.
And so I welcome 2011 with some trepidation but with open arms. May you bring all the blessings we dream of.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010


Three-year old Sunshine's prayer: Thank you Papadios for not letting... Mom, what's his name again?... Not letting King Herod kill the Baby Jesus.

Friday, December 10, 2010


Upper row, from left: Sunbeam's cowgirl boots, Sunshine's single-wheel skate shoes, my yummy super-high heels with the pink soles, S' big-as-a-boat shoes; Lower row, from left: Sunbeam's yellow hand-me-down crocs, Sunbeam's green fake crocs.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have cooked up the idea of of the comfort and joy of our little family.

Happy Thanksgiving.

*Forgot to post this entry on Thanksgiving!

Thursday, December 9, 2010


Our neighbors have really nice kids who are a few years older than Sunshine and Sunbeam but always take the time to greet and play with them.
Several weeks ago, they were the only ones left in the playground but they were having a blast taking turns on the bike: one would ride while the other one would pull on a length of rope attached to the bike.
They had fun running around, I had fun watching them, and they were exhausted afterwards and got ready for bed with minimal whining.


Both kids were running through the department store, touching everything in sight. One announced she had to go poopoo. Ran through the floor to buy a pack of wipes, made it to the bathroom but right outside she saw a car she wanted to drive and refused to go to the potty. So we left. After two minutes, he announced that he had to go poopoo. We made it back to the bathroom in time, and then they were off again, pulling toys off shelves to show me they wanted to buy it for this friend or that cousin. They were tugging opposite ways on their harnesses and then Sunbeam runs up behind me, tugs my shirt and says softly, shyly, "Love you, Mom."