I did not receive a manual on how to mother when I popped that first baby out of my body.  I was given several reference books on how to breastfeed, baby sleep, toddler tantrums, and other specific aspects of taking care of a child.  However, no single guidebook on the everyday trials and tribulations of raising a child was provided.  Fortunately, there are times when natural instinct helps me navigate this mothering gig.

Recently, I had been at a weekday function at our church.  My four year old daughter Cupcake had been in the childcare setting provided during the meeting.  On the way home, Cupcake announced to me, “Mommy, someone was mean to me today.”

“Oh?  What happened?  Who was it?”  I inquired casually.
Mama Bear lifted her head, observing carefully, alerted to possible harm approaching her Little One.

“Um, I don’t know her name.  She and another girl were saying I’m a baby and that they aren’t babies.  But then later she said we could be friends,” Cupcake said, uncertainly.

“So what did you do?”  I asked Cupcake.  I was making an effort to keep it low key.
Mama Bear gave a low growl, keeping her eye on her cub.  Little One was HER baby, but no one else should dare insult the cub by calling her that.

“I told them that it’s not true, that I’m not a baby and to stop calling me that.  But they kept doing it, so then I went and told the teacher,” Cupcake said softly.

“Well, I think you did a great job asking them to stop!  Did the teacher handle it after you told her?”
Mama Bear knew Little One could handle her own, but still stayed by to ensure her cub’s safety.

“Yes, she told them to stop but they didn’t.  They just said it quieter,” Cupcake said, her voice quavering just a little.

“Oh honey.  I’m sorry they hurt your feelings.  You know what they said isn’t true, right?  Did you go find someone else to play with after that?”  I asked, starting to tear up as I saw Cupcake’s face fall as she recalled the incident.
Little One runs to Mama Bear for comfort.  Mama Bear quietly plots how to make those who hurt her bear cub pay…

Yes, my hackles rose when rose when Cupcake first told me about the incident. The Mama Bear in me wanted to find out the girls’ names, talk to the teacher and call the mothers’ of these girls!  I was upset that my normally confident daughter was so easily swayed into doubting herself based on the word of two other girls she doesn’t even know very well.  My instinct was to protect my daughter, keep her from being hurt, keep those mean girls away so that sweet Cupcake would remain innocent to the evils of this world.  .

Once the adrenaline subsided and Cupcake was soothed, we continued talking. We discussed friendship, and how true friends treat one another.  I told her how proud I was of how she handled the situation.  I wish this incident hadn’t ever happened in the first place, and I wish her feelings weren’t hurt.  I am well aware of how girls can be very mean to each other.  There are a lot of mental and emotional mind games, rather than the physical-beat-em-up manner that boys often take.  I know…and I don’t like it one bit, especially when it’s my little girl involved in these games.

However, I was pleased with how Cupcake handled the situation as best as she could.  These types of things are going to happen no matter how hard I wish them away.  Despite my Mama Bear instinct to take a swipe at anyone who dares hurt my child, I can’t always be there to protect her.  I can only hope to to teach her diplomacy and kindness, how to manage her own battles knowing I’ve got her back, and how her worth does not come from what others say.  A tall order indeed, but how can I not try?

It never ceases to amaze me how much my heart hurts when I see my Little One hurting.  My Mama Bear mothering instinct bubbles to the surface, and I believe it always will.

Adapted from Michelle’s blog Wife and Mommy. You can also follow her on Twitter!

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

The kindergarten classes at Bito’s elementary school put on a musical recently. I knew Bito had been practicing for it — I caught him humming the song his class was to sing.  I also knew that there was a strong possibility that Bito would not end up performing with his class at all.

BC (Before Children), I watched video recordings of friends’ children singing, dancing, and acting.  I imagined someday being in the audience as my own kids performed.  I envisioned being a proud parent as my offspring belted out off-key renditions of songs or attempted to play an instrument.  I looked forward to watching my friends squirm as I invited them to view every last minute of the videos I would make at the recitals.

Once Bito began preschool, I eagerly anticipated the first concert.  He practiced for a month, singing all the songs and doing the motions that accompanied the music.  He had it down pat.  On the morning of the recital, my body began signaling it was ready to expel the alien occupying my womb.  I ignored the contractions as I finished getting ready.  I did not even call my midwife until we reached the preschool and had settled into our seats.  I was determined to see my eldest in his first concert if it meant a mad, movie-like drive to the hospital afterwards!

Never did I guess that Bito would refuse to go up on the stage with his class. Not only did he flat-out reject doing so, he made certain everyone was aware of his vehemence by screaming.  Loudly and repeatedly.  I got many looks of sympathy, as well as flashes of irritation that my son was disrupting the children’s processional.  I sat there quietly breathing through contractions as The Husband held Bito in his lap.  That was the first time Bito refused to perform in a concert, but certainly not the last.  To date, no amount of reasoning, cajoling, bribing, or threatening has convinced him to even set foot on a stage for a show.

With the kindergarten musical, I decided to take a different approach.  In the past, I talked to Bito about the upcoming performance in hopes of preparing him for any potential stress.  This time, however, nothing was said in the days leading up to the event.  As I arrived at school, I ran into his teacher as she was setting up the stage.  She reported that Bito was calm and seemed ready to go.  I crossed my fingers and wondered if this could be the debut of his entertainment career.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.  As his class filed in, he took one look at me in the audience and veered away from his class to come sit with me.  It was a matter-of-fact declaration of his discomfort.  My suggestion that he join his class on stage caused him to become worked up, so I let it drop.  We enjoyed watching the musical together.

I have been saddened each time Bito chooses not to perform, but I recognize it’s my disappointment because my hopes are not been met.  He’s not ready to do this, and maybe he never will be.  I still have Cupcake and BabyMuffin to pin my hopes to, and I am fairly confident that they will not have any problems with public performance.  Cupcake seems to be born for the stage, and Baby Muffin nearly upstaged Bito’s first recital before he was even born!

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy, and attempts to Twitter every now and then.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

In 2004, I put down my chalk after spending a decade as a public school educator.  The following five years found me in a school only to vote each Election Day.  Then Bito started kindergarten last fall, and I have become involved in public school education once again.  Only this time, I’m on the other side of the desk.  The view is quite different over here.

I volunteer at the school as much as possible in Bito’s classroom.  I enjoy helping out the teacher, and I get the added benefit of making myself visible to Bito (he knows I’m watching him!).  Being in the building reminds me of the familiar routines that I grew up with as a student, and then experienced as a teacher.  Seeing the class in action as I quietly change bulletin boards or prepare crafts for the students, I have an even greater respect for the teachers.

Teacher Appreciation Week is next week, and I’m finding myself wondering how to best to thank Bito’s teacher.  She is, without a doubt, a master teacher–having started her career the same year I entered kindergarten!  We are very grateful to her for making Bito’s first year of formal education a good one.  In many ways, big and small, she has ensured the right start for my son’s education.  How can we possibly thank her for that?

In my teaching career, I’d seen administrators, PTAs, parents, and students go out of their way to make Teacher Appreciation Week truly special.  One year, my principal and her staff solicited gift certificates from area restaurants that teachers won via lottery.  Another school at which I taught served cheesecake to all teachers during class time.  Many schools’ PTAs make it a point to have breakfasts or luncheons, to make the teachers feel special.  Donuts mysteriously appear in the faculty lounges, and flowers may appear on teachers’ desks as well.

Along with the good memories of Teacher Appreciation Week come some that, uh, don’t top the list.  Do you remember The Good Stuff boxes you’d get in college if you lived in the dorms?  It would contain samples of deodorant, toothpaste, soap, razors, etc.   One year, the administration gave those out to the faculty.  I kid you not.  The teachers wondered if the administration was trying to tell us something about our personal hygiene.  Other gifts received have included mugs, pens, water bottles and every type of school supply under the sun.  And then there were the small travel alarm clocks given to every teacher…those were nice…until they all died within 24 hours.  Every single one of them.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because I am not.  I did not go into education to collect things.  Some of the appreciation gifts that are most loved are personal, thoughtful things given by parents and students.  One student gave me a little stamp dispenser, designed to hold a roll of stamps.  She’d written a heartfelt note, rolled it up, and stuffed it inside.  I still have that.  Another teacher, known for stopping at 7-Eleven each morning to get his morning caffeine, was given a 7-Eleven gift card.  A personally painted flower pot was given to a co-worker of mine who loves to garden.

So for Bito’s teachers, I want to ensure she knows how truly grateful we are to her.  I am not sure that can be done in just one week, with just one gift.  Still, Bito and I intend to try.  I asked Bito what he thinks we should give his teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week.  His response:  ”How about a Super Mario Brothers game?”  To him, that would be the best present to give (and receive).

We’ll keep brainstorming.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy.  You can also follow her on Twitter.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

In an effort to avoid potentially embarrassing moments when out in public, I am working to create mouth filters for my kids.  You know, to attempt to stop word vomit.  That way, maybe Cupcake won’t loudly announce, “Mommy!  Look at that big man with no hair on his head!” Not that that’s how she would actually say it…just a slightly more PC translation.

Teaching the kids to watch their words is proving more difficult than I imagined. After all, we’ve been encouraging our kids’ observations since they first began speaking.  We were so delighted with their baby gibberish statements that we’d exclaim, “That’s right!  That is a blue truck.  Great job, BabyMuffin!”   And so they would continue making astute comments about the world around them.

The problem now, however, is that our kids don’t have the social understanding that some things aren’t meant to be said out loud.  We adults know that pointing out people around us who differ from the general population is taboo. At least most adults don’t do this audibly enough for everyone around to hear.

Then there is the issue of having my children hear other adults ask and say things in public that I’d rather not have them hear…like the group of men whose raucous locker- room talk Cupcake and I happened to overhear.  In that case, I was quick enough to move tables before my daughter tuned in and started asking questions.

That might be a more blatant example of socially unacceptable talk.  I wonder how to teach politeness and respect when the subject is more delicate, and perhaps should be preceded with friendship?  Or is something that they just don’t need to know?  Dear readers of Wife and Mommy know that one of my hot button issues is when I am asked about my children’s racial identity.  ”What is he?”  ”Are they mixed?” And my personal favorite, “What nationality are they?” These questions my hackles rise.  (FYI:  My children are half-Asian, half-Caucasian and full U.S. citizens.)  I suppose people are just curious, but does curiosity give a person the right to know?  I don’t feel the need to answer them, especially if the questions are coming from complete strangers who ask in a blunt or rude manner.

Teaching my kids to choose their words carefully is not easy.  Then again, not much about parenting has been easy…but it’s definitely been a rewarding challenge!  I hope one day my kids will be polite, respectful members of society who have the suitable mouth filters.  I also hope that I will be willing to claim them as mine.  Out loud.  In public.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs about her bi-racial kids and other stuff at Wife and Mommy.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

When I had my first baby, I was shocked to discover my ability to make conversation devolved dramatically.  There were three topics that dominated:  how much the baby was eating or not eating, the contents of my baby’s diapers, and the baby’s sleep (or lack thereof).

Fortunately, I’ve come to realize I was pretty normal as a new mom.  It seems many new mothers acquire the ability to focus on these three topics.  It makes sense, right?  New moms want their wee babe to be getting enough food.  And sleep.  Who can blame her concern over the baby’s sleep?  If the baby sleeps, the mom is probably sleeping as well.  Sleep deprivation is no joke and is definitely no fun.

Now I have a confession to make:  I never really dealt with the baby sleep issue.  All three of my babies were Champion Sleepers.  They fell asleep easily, and all slept through the night as young babies.  This is a fact I try not to share too loudly, but let me just say it wasn’t anything I did or did not do as a mother…my babies just liked their sleep!  I can’t complain since I was grateful, and I like my sleep too.

So here’s my second confession:  the kids’ sleeping habits have deteriorated lately and I am at my wit’s end.  Maybe the universe is paying me back for having babies who slept?  Whatever the reason, it seems that it’s my turn to be the sleep deprived mother.  I don’t like this one bit.

We recently did a bedroom switch-a-roo, which was prompted by a new bed which was given to Cupcake (age four).  This new bed does not fit in the room she had been sharing with Bito (age six).  Cupcake and the new bed were put in BabyMuffin’s (age two) nursery, and BabyMuffin and his crib went in with Bito. Since we’d eventually wanted the boys to share a room anyway, we figured this was as good a time as any.

Now it seems everyone has forgotten how to fall asleep and stay asleep. Cupcake, my social butterfly daughter, feels left out and often wonders what’s going on in her brothers’ room.  BabyMuffin, unaccustomed to having an audience while lying in bed, feels the need to chatter with Bito.  Bito, the original Champion Sleeper, just wants to sleep and cannot handle the extra attention that BabyMuffin offers.  Bito deals with this in the most mature way a tired six year old can muster:  he screams and cries.  This causes startled BabyMuffin to start bellowing, which alerts Cupcake that something is happening!  She must investigate!  Soon there is a cacophony of children shrieking.  Awesome.

This is all before anyone actually falls asleep.  I can’t even begin to tell you the headaches we’ve had because one child woke in the middle of the night.  It’s true that misery loves company.

Had I known this would be the result of the room switch-a-roo, we would’ve declined Cupcake’s new bed and kept everyone where they were.  Alas, it can’t be undone without up-ending everyone yet again.  So I am waiting for everyone to adjust and for this sleeping arrangement to become normal.  Other moms tell me it will happen, but For the Love!  When??  I can’t take much more of this.  This mommy needs her sleep.

Original DC Metro Moms post.  Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy.  You can also follow her on Twitter.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

Today is the first day same-sex couples can legally get married in Washington DC.  The District began issuing the new licenses for gay couples last Wednesday.  The Associated Press reported about 300 couples applied for licenses from Wednesday to Friday; almost all of those licenses were for couples of the same sex.

I have to confess: I am surprised that Washington DC jumped this hurdle and is now permitting same-sex unions!  I mean, DC may not be as stodgy and conservative as people initially think…but I certainly thought states on the Left Coast would legalize same-sex unions before DC would!  Instead, The District becomes the sixth place in this country, behind Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, to legalize gay marriage.

So after the mandatory four day waiting period, today is the first day couples can pick up those licenses and put them to good use.  Many weddings are planned around town for today.  Who can blame them?  I wouldn’t want to wait a single second longer either!  Nine years ago, The Husband and I purposefully chose to have a short engagement, because as Harry Burns famously said, “… when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Gay couples may have already made that decision.  Maybe they’ve already had commitment ceremonies, live together and are raising kids together…but today is the FIRST DAY their decision to be united will be recognized legally.  There’s something to be said about that.  *applause applause*

I am hopeful the rest of the country will follow DC and the six other states in legalizing gay marriages soon.  Someday, I want my kids to be shocked into disbelief as I tell them how once upon a time, same-sex unions weren’t legal across this country.  I want them to know how proud their mom was as she witnessed the legalization of gay marriage in her beloved nation’s capital..though they will probably think she’s just sooooo old to have observed history in the making.

Happy wedding day!  Congratulations to the many couples getting married today and in the days/weeks/months ahead…and may your (legal) unions be happy and blessed forevermore.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

I need some time alone every day.  I crave that time alone, and have been known to become rather cantankerous when I don’t get enough of it.  When I’ve been engaged in conversations for long periods of time, I feel my energy draining and my ability to interact deteriorates.  I’ve taken the Myers-Briggs test enough times to know that I am a classic introvert.  I am comfortable with that label.  It suits me fine.

My kids, however, exhibit extroverted tendencies at their young, tender ages.  While I realize their personalities are still developing and emerging, it would not surprise The Husband and me if they all grow up to be gregarious extroverts like their father.

Needless to say, the introvert in me is zapped by the constant  People Time that defines my day as Mommy.  By the time The Husband gets home, I’ve had as much interaction as I can take.  I am Done.  Done with questions that mostly involve the word Why.  Done with requests for 337 snacks.  Done with distracting, re-directing, diverting, etc.  Done with Dora, Barbie, Tinker Toys, Legos, Curious George and every other single toy-game-book we have in the house.  Done with tantrums, sibling altercations and end-of-the-day whining.   I am Done with being Mommy.  Done.  Done.  Done.

Fortunately, The Husband is an excellent Husband and Daddy who understands introverted Mommy is a better Mommy and Wife after she’s had her alone time.  He tries to give me as much of a break as possible once he steps through the door.  The children are delighted to see their daddy and vice versa, so I quickly make my escape.  I hole up in the farthest point in the house away from everyone and rock in a corner attempt to reset.  I read.  I knit.  I catch up on the internet.  Anything, as long as it is done in solitude.

Soon, way too soon, however, I hear The Husband calling for me.  Or the kids come find me.  It’s Family Time.  Dinner.  More conversation.  I try not to snap at The Husband, who just wants to talk to me, to find out about our day.  I feel attacked from all sides as the four people I love most in the world will.not.shut.up.

The bedtime routine is the final straw.  Doing jammies, teeth, books, songs, prayers, tuck-ins–and heaven forbid it be a bath night!–absolutely does me in since none of it can be done in complete silence.  I collapse at the end of it, unable to form coherent sentences, with my eyes glazed over and my mind gasping for alcohol and a padded room complete isolation.

And the next day, it begins all over again…

Adapted from her blog for DC Metro Moms.

Michelle really does love her life as a Wife and Mommy!

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

I have always preferred Dulles International Airport above all other DC area airports.  Dulles is ten minutes from where I currently live; however, even when I was inside the Beltway, it was my airport of choice.  The Toll Road makes it easily accessible, the parking is ample, and the architecture of the main terminal is breathtaking on the horizon.

I even loved those Mobile Lounges, a.k.a. People Movers.  Journeys originating and ending at IAD included a free ride to and from the terminals where airplanes were parked.  Those lumbering behemoth vehicles criss-crossed the airport grounds, delivering passengers here and there.  Now those People Movers are going the way of the dodo, replaced by the sleek AeroTrain.  Last week, the AeroTrain became operational after 15 years of planning and construction.  The AeroTrain will undoubtedly make the transition from security check-in to aircraft boarding smoother, once the glitches get ironed out.

I’ve heard many a traveler curse the Mobile Lounges as a stupid way to transport passengers to their gates.  For me, growing up in the DC area and traveling in and out of Dulles, the People Movers were simply the way it was.  Other airports had trains, buses, or moving walkways.  Some had virtually nothing; passengers were expected to use their feet and hoof it.  I simply accepted the People Movers as the way of life at Dulles.

So now I must re-adjust my expectations for being transported to and from my gate at Dulles Airport.  No longer will I have that slow ride before boarding an aircraft, in which I contemplate my agenda and triple-check my boarding passes and passport.  And no longer will there be one more leg to the trip after de-planing at Dulles–the crawling People Mover to the baggage carousels, the anxiety in preparing for return to normal life.

Instead, I shall be transported briskly to and from my gate, if I choose to take the AeroTrain.  Not much time to sit and think, wait and anticipate.

People Movers, thanks for your service.  You shall be missed…at least by me.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy about such profound things as People Movers, or whatever else strikes her fancy.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

I consider myself a Washingtonian through and through.  The Husband knows that I do not have the ability desire to live farther north than where we are now because I am not a fan of cold weather.  The first time he dragged me to his hometown in the Midwest, it was NEGATIVE ELEVEN DEGREES FAHRENHEIT.  Yes, you read that right.  It was stupidly cold and I, the wuss of cold weather, did not handle it well.  The Husband assured me that that was much colder than normal, but I refused to believe him.  I told him it had to be true love if I was still willing to marry him despite knowing we’d travel annually to the place I dubbed Where Cold is Manufactured and Exported to the DC Area.

Still, I do love an occasional snow storm like the one we are currently experiencing.  I think it’s the former school teacher in me; I get giddy with the anticipation of having a day off work due to snow!  I enjoy waking up to the silent white world, wrapping my hands around a hot mug of tea as I sit and stare out the window at gently falling snowflakes.  Later on, if I manage to shuck off my jammies, I might go outside to brush off my car and shovel a little snow, just to make it safe.  Then back inside for hot chocolate, a warm fuzzy blanket, a good book, and a nice cozy nap.

Oh wait.  Those were the days BC (that’s Before Children).  The Crew has changed the relaxing laziness of snow days.  At the first mention of this current snow-pocalypse last night, Bito and Cupcake were dancing around the front window, reporting every flake that had fallen.  They also spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about the quality, amount, and duration of the impending snow.  This morning, The Husband and I awakened to cherubic faces peering anxiously at our closed eyes.  Breakfast was an exercise in managing chaos as the kids struggled to shove enough food down their throats to satisfy Mommy and Daddy.

After breakfast came the dressing of The Crew:  snow pants or snow bibs, extra socks, snow boots, heavy coat, mittens or gloves, and hat pulled down tightly over ears.  It’s a wonder they can even move with how puffed out and restricted they are from their snow gear!  Finally, finally it is time to step out into the snow!  The Husband graciously allowed me to stay in my jammies as he escorted The Crew outside.  He shoveled, Cupcake and Bito make snow angels, and BabyMuffin wailed for someone to pick him up.  I happily snapped a few pictures and then retreated to the warmth of the living room.

Not four minutes passed before The Husband poked his head in the door, proclaiming The Crew was ready to come inside for hot chocolate.  I sighed, got off the sofa, and started boiling water for the hot chocolate.  It took twice as long to undress the kids as it did to dress them.  Now, however, there are three pairs of small boots lined up in the foyer, and three happy children picking marshmallows out of their hot chocolate mugs.

In two hours or less, we will repeat the entire frantic get-bundled-up-go-play-outside-for-a-few-minutes-return-inside-leave-wet-gear-strewn-about routine.

I am hoping later on, The Crew will settle down enough to color, play games, read books, or watch a movie.  Maybe we’ll make snow cream, bake muffins and put together that gingerbread house that’s still undone.

Regardless, I’ll be glad to get them sleep tonight.  I’ll be even more glad to get them back into the regular routine of school days.  These snow days exhaust me.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs about life and other stuff at Wife and Mommy.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.

At the beginning of every autumn, I look forward to colorful trees, cooler weather, apple-picking, and Halloween and Thanksgiving.  I become giddy at the thought of one good snowfall–but only one, please.  However, every autumn also brings me to a period of mourning.  For summer…lazy days of sunshine…those days of soda and pretzels and beer…

It reaches a point where I withdraw into myself and find little to no happiness in things that normally I enjoy.  I sleep a lot.  I am sluggish and slow and moody and not myself.  All my normal activities become chores, and The Husband knows to allow me to have as much time with my bed as possible.

Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Call it what you will–the winter blues, winter depression, whatever.  I have it, I suffer from it, it affects me.  For years, I refused to acknowledge its presence in my life, thinking it was all in my head and that it would go away if I pretended the symptoms weren’t there.  However, there is no ignoring the symptoms that have persisted despite all my best efforts to stave them off.

I am dismayed by how much my life changes with the season shifts and the light in my life is reduced.  I’m also disappointed by how my concerns have been brushed aside by several primary care physicians over the years.  One told me that my problems would be solved if I simply exercised more and lost that extra weight, which would give me more energy to tackle life.

Last year, I had to switch to a new primary care doctor.  I appreciated his time in listening to my concerns, and then his thoroughness in covering all bases.  He discovered my body is vitamin D deficient, and that my thyroid is underactive.  I started taking mega doses of vitamin D, and began daily medication to regulate my thyroid.  I started feeling better and had tons of energy…but that also coincided with winter solstice and the days becoming longer!  More light in my life…

So this autumn, I’d hoped the SAD wouldn’t be an issue with the extra vitamin D and the treatment of my hypothyroid.  Alas, I’ve been let down.  I’m struggling once again to keep my head above water.  I keep telling myself that this, too, shall pass.  The sun will shine again… or at least a little bit more every day starting December 21, 2009.

It just sucks in the meantime.

Adapted for DC Metro Moms from Michelle’s blog Wife and Mommy.

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Note:  This post is re-posted here with permission from Silicon Valley Moms Group upon the announcement of their dissolution.