Thank you, naptime.

I mean, how to even start an appropriately grateful thank you note to you?  I. love. you. I love when you visit my kids.  I love when you visit me. You make the days better: shorter, happier, more full of energy. Sunday–the best when we have you. The longest when we don’t. You should feel proud, knowing what a tangible difference you make in soooo many lives.

For example, right now, Evie is laying down, sleeping on the floor by the fire and the dog and that is how I am even able to write this note.  *Naptime.*  She has naps more afternoons than not and I think it is a big reason I like her so much.  Abigail stopped napping a long time ago and it was why we had to send her to school.  Just sayin, I think people are better with naps, don’t you?  (Of course you do.) After I finish writing this, I am going to go and “read” on the couch. I think you know what I mean… 😉

You’re welcome anytime.  Unless the kids are being crazy on a snowy weekend day, like they’re predicting for tomorrow, and you only hang out with James.  Annoying–please avoid.

Seriously, though.  Mad love.  Forever.

Thanks, socks.

I grew up in Colorado, so I know about cold.  Winter is supposed to be cold.  I used to think I liked cold.  I still miss snow all the time.

But I realized a few years ago that I was more grouchy than I should be in the winter. Seasonal affect disorder, maybe?  I made less good decisions, felt less social, didn’t like to leave the house, had a harder time falling asleep.

I tried several different things until I found my Oprah ‘ah-ha’ moment: warm socks. All that trouble because I had, quite literally, cold feet.  Now, so long as I remember my socks, I can handle most anything.

Most anything … except when kid bedtime extends past 10 p.m., people spell things incorrectly on purpose (especially with “x” or “z”), the New England Patriots, waiting in one-way construction traffic on Green Level West Road in the morning on the way to school, when James makes eggs for breakfast way before I am ready so that by the time I get to the kitchen they are lukewarm and the texture makes me gag but I feel like I should eat them any way, when … I have a torrent of ideas here, actually, and just realized that it might be because I am barefoot.  Off to remedy my attitude with the fuzzy socks I got from Santa.)