Backyard Makeover

When we bought our house, the backyard left much to be desired. Sure, it was spacious, and on a corner lot, but there were parts of it I knew we had to work on. I knew we would need a fence, for starters. After living here for 2 years we finally got our fence. It was one of the best investments of my life! I no longer have to walk the dogs and I feel more comfortable with Brady playing in an enclosed space. It also gave our property "definition" and provided a bit more privacy.

There was also a section of shrubbery, weeds and vines on the right hand side of the yard that I hated. I referred to it as "the jungle." I am terrified of snakes and I felt like the whole thing was a snake den. While James was gone in the spring, my parents came over with an arsenal of tools and tore the jungle down. It had almost regrown by the time James returned but he spent several more weekends on it and it is now gone!

One of the other things I was not fond of was the monstrous fort left here by the previous owners. While sturdy, it was old and a bit too high off the ground for my accident-prone son. I had planned to tear it down this summer until my mom had a great idea. Instead of hauling it away, she suggested, why don't you cut the bottom half off, paint it, and make it a playhouse for the kids? What a great idea! It was so big and heavy we had to wait for an occasion where multiple people could help tip it over to cut the bottom off. That happened when we had a cook-out with some friends. It took 5 Marines, but they did it!

On the right, you can see the fort and "jungle." Don't mind the mess, it was a birthday party! 

After it was tipped and James sawed off the bottom, we took a family trip to Lowe's. We couldn't agree on a color to paint it, of course, and ended up choosing yellow for the house and gray for the roof. I also picked up some color changing solar garden stakes and ordered string lights from Amazon. I spent a couple of weeks sanding, priming and painting the playhouse. It was a slow moving process due to rain and kids. 

Before I even started on the playhouse, I had ordered a fire pit from Amazon. I decided it would go nicely in our new space. I wanted to put some rocks around it to prevent the kids from getting too close to the flame. Here is my "go-by" from Pinterest: 

Nice and simple! 

I loved the design, but as I tend to do, I went a little overboard. I figured, why not construct an entire patio? James, as he tends to do, rolled his eyes but loved the idea! He enlisted one of our friends to help, in exchange for a few dinners. The weather was not on our side, but after a couple of weekends we had a patio!

The day the guys finished it! 

I loved the addition of the river rocks. 

The almost-finished playhouse. 

The husband surprised me with chairs I wanted! Now all we need to do is put out some grass seed. 

Pretty lights at night. Loving our new space! 

We plan on keeping our New Bern house, even though we will be moving in the near future. I love my home and it's location. I enjoy these projects and trips to Lowe's. I wouldn't trade our time spent together for anything. I look forward to great memories and future years spent at our house by the lake. 

New Traditions

One of my favorite memories of growing up was our Friday family nights. Every Friday we would go out to dinner as a family, and then go for ice cream or rent movies for the weekend. It was so fun deciding where we would go, discussing what movies were out, and planning our weekends. My mom, my dad, my sister and I did this as a family until I was probably 20 years old. Then I met James and my parents were busy with their shop. James and I still went out every weekend, but this time it was with friends and while fun, it was just different. Once we had Brady we stopped going out to restaurants altogether. It was fine when he was a baby, but once he got older he just wouldn't have it. We lived in VT and there were only a couple of people who were able to baby sit. We managed to get out once in a while, but I never completely enjoyed it because I always missed my son.

Thinking back through the past 3 years, I would say we have been to a restaurant maybe 7 or 8 times total. It's not just the kids- I have grown to love cooking. It is one of my favorite things to do and nothing makes me happier than pleasing my friends and family with their favorite dishes. Last weekend a male friend even told me that before he would ever get married, his fiancee would have to spend a week with me learning how to cook. That was one of the best compliments I have ever received, and he now has a permanent dinner invitation at my house!

James called me from work last Friday and said "Hey, do you want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings tonight?" I told him I would have to think about it. After all, I have grown skeptical of other people preparing my food. What if they are sick? What kind of ingredients do they use? How many calories are in their menu items? Then I began wondering how the kids would be. They can barely sit down for a quick dinner at home. I decided to ask Brady what he wanted to do. After all, our experience would probably depend mostly on him. We all rode to pick him up from school at about 5:00. This was late, but we only wanted to make one trip to town and if we were going out I wanted to go before the dinner crowd. When I asked him, he gave me an enthusiastic "yes!" (as long as they had chicken nuggets and fries, that is).

We arrived at the restaurant and didn't have to wait. The kids got hats and coloring pages with crayons. We placed our orders, the service was fast, and the kids loved their food. Cecilia ate a fruit cup and an entire bowl of mac and cheese. Brady ate chicken tenders and fries. Daddy got wings and I had a wrap (which I later made the mistake of looking up the nutrition facts of online. People, read the nutrition facts BEFORE ordering if you are watching your weight!)

The kids were having so much fun we took them across the street to Books-A-Million to pick out a new book. By the time we got home it was Cecilia's bedtime, and she went right to sleep. I felt full, happy and relaxed. No tantrums, crying, spills, refusing to eat, or unhappiness of any sort. They had a blast. And it made me realize: why can't we carry on my family tradition? The kids are old enough, James isn't home often and there is really no reason why we shouldn't get out more. I can look up restaurants online ahead of time to check out healthy options and view kids menus. After all, why not let someone else do the cooking and cleaning a couple of times a month? I could use the break :)

Decisions.

When Cecilia turned one, I began seriously considering having another baby. She was such a sweet, happy baby and her baby days went by far too quickly. We discussed it and began looking at James’ travel schedule, when we would be moving, where we might go, etc. I started imagining a new baby (it was a boy for some reason) and thinking of baby names and sleeping arrangements.

Then something happened. My old boss contacted me in December and asked me to come in and talk about possibly coming back to work. His office manager/lead paralegal was retiring and he needed to get someone in the office soon. I love my old boss and loved working for him. It’s hard to find someone (especially in the legal field) who is a genuine family oriented person. I knew he would work with me when it came to my family obligations and other circumstances regarding James’ frequent travel. I got excited about my interview. I bought a new outfit (he’s family oriented, but I didn't want to show up in my daily uniform of yoga pants), I talked to our daycare about Cecilia starting there, and started studying up on everything I've missed since being unemployed for so long. I started thinking of ways to save time on chores and writing down quick and easy recipes for week-night meals. There was something nagging at me though. Because I love my old boss so much, I needed to be totally honest. When the kids have a check-up, it’s an all-day affair on base. When someone is sick, I am the one who takes care of them. My husband has been spoiled on home cooked meals and a clean house. Even my dogs rely on me. I started thinking of the mornings spent with Cecilia cuddling and reading books. And my afternoons with Brady- snacks and board games and silly cartoons. What was I doing? And what about my possible baby and the opportunity to do it all over again?

I ended up sabotaging my own interview. I gave him more reasons why he should not hire me than why he should. I explained that I would be moving soon and he would have to train someone else in a year. I left his office, went home, put my yoga pants back on and played with my kids. I knew I didn't get the job and felt a huge weight off my shoulders. It came as no surprise when he emailed me that he decided not to hire anyone at that time (he was probably just being nice, because that’s how he is) and that if I came back to the area he would love to have me. I told myself that by then, I would be ready. The kids would be in school and I would be itching to get back to work. I love the law and my boss, but I am right where I need to be right now. And that baby? Who knows? I may end up making a career out of being a stay-at-home mom. The reward of making my family happy far outweighs any paycheck I could earn.

Saying Goodbye

Today we said goodbye to our last boxer, Stogie. Stogie has been battling cancer for seven months now. It’s really a miracle that he’s made it this long. He had an inoperable tumor, which did not respond well to medication and made it difficult for him to go to the bathroom.

Stogie was my mom and dad’s dog, but he has been in the family for about 10 years. I still lived at home when my mom adopted him. We have always had a love for boxers. Actually, we have always had at least one boxer at home since I was a baby.

My first boxer was Ginger. We got her as a puppy when I was a baby. I don’t remember too much about her, but I recall that she was loving and playful. That is the nature of boxers. They are fun-loving family dogs who love kids and love to play.

Me and Ginger, my first boxer.

Our next boxer was Zack. He was born July 1, 1993. I remember going to pick him up. Out of all the puppies playing outside, he was the one lounging under a bush. He was too cute. We couldn't decide on a name, but in the midst of “Saved By the Bell” mania, we all agreed on Zack. He was such a cool dog. He was fun and silly yet had the most serious face. He also had his trademark blood-shot eyes, which gave him his distinctive look. Zack lived a good life and moved with us from North Carolina, to Indiana, to Pennsylvania, and finally back to North Carolina. He was 12 years old when he passed away in 2005.

Zack was down with anything.

Shortly after getting Zack, we wanted another boxer. We were lucky enough to find a sweet little girl and called her Lacy. Lacy was born April 1, 1994. She was the dog-love of my life. She was playful and so loving. We actually nicknamed her “Love.” She was very girly and just wanted to spend time with the girls- my mom, my sister and myself. She was wary of men and I always trusted her instinct. She was a great family protector. Lacy loved having her nails painted. I even painted her nails the day she passed away in 2007.

Me, my sweet Lacy girl, and my buddy Kiser.

Zack and Lacy had two litters of puppies when we were living in Indiana. The first litter, born July 1, 1995, produced just two puppies. We named them Doc and Blizzard. Blizzard was a rare all-white boxer with blue eyes. Blizzard went to a good home and we kept the male puppy and named him Doc.

Doc, sitting in a tiny dog bed.

Doc was definitely a special boxer. One of my favorite things about our boxers was that they were not just pets- it may sound weird but they were more like my siblings. I would get mad at them for chewing my stuff up. I actually had to tell a teacher once “my dog ate my homework.” I will never forget it. It was a constellation spinner for 7^th grade science class and Doc turned it into his own personal chew toy. Doc also ate my leather jacket, and when I say “ate it” I mean there was nothing left but the zipper. Doc wasn't the only troublemaker.  I remember the time I had just met James and saved up my paychecks from the law firm I was working at to purchase a Tommy Hilfiger handbag I had been pining over. James and I sat on the couch and I placed my new purse on the floor next to me. The next thing I know, Zack hiked a leg and peed in my new purse. It and all its contents were ruined. At first I was mortified and wanted to cry, but James looked at me and started laughing hysterically. I followed his lead. Looking back, it was pretty dang funny. The dogs weren't always causing trouble. When I was upset over boys, school, work, etc., my dogs were the first place I would turn for hugs and to shed my tears. They knew all my secrets, fears, and joys.  

As I was saying, Doc was something else. He was huge and goofy and always getting into something. If you wanted a hug, Doc was right there. He was so happy you couldn't help but grin whenever you saw him. Doc’s life was cut far too short when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The veterinarian didn't give him much time and he passed away in my arms on December 12, 2003 with James by my side. That was one of the saddest days of my life. I am so thankful I was there with Doc and James was there with me. The only positive thing about that day was that it showed me what kind of man James was. I couldn't have made it through that night without him. Doc passing before his parents, Zack and Lacy, was heartbreaking. Animals can feel the loss of a loved one the same way humans can. It took us all a long time to get over losing Doc.

After Doc left us, we moved into a new home and settled in. It wasn't long before my mom came across a skinny young boxer in need of a home. Being the animal lover she is, my mom brought him home to see what Zack and Lacy thought of him. I would be remiss not to mention we also had a lhasa apso named Corkey. We got her when I was 5 years old. Corkey was a loner. We loved her dearly but she would rather be left alone most of the time. Corkey paid the boxers no mind. With Zack and Lacy’s approval, the little boxer passed the test and we welcomed Stogie into our home. He was a bit skittish for a while, but once he felt safe he was right at home. He fattened up and quickly became part of the family.

Stogie at around 10 months old.

After we lost the other boxers and Corkey, Stogie was the last boxer. My mom vowed not to adopt any more boxers due to their propensity to develop cancer. I read, and confirmed with our veterinarian today, that boxers are 50-70% more likely to develop cancer than other breeds. Indeed, cancer is the number one serious health issue for boxer dogs, according to www.allboxerinfo.com. All of our boxers had some sort of cancer at one time or another. It’s hard to give your heart to one of these gentle giants knowing that there is a high probability that they will be diagnosed with cancer. Luckily, with the exception of Doc, all of our boxers exceeded the average boxer lifespan.

Fast-forward 10 years and many memories. We have known for 7 months that Stogie’s time was short, but there was no way to tell how short. We decided to keep him comfortable as long as we possibly could without him being in pain. Minus the tumor, Stogie was completely happy and lucid. He still ate well, played, and had the same gentle disposition. Unfortunately, last week, the tumor became so large that he was simply unable to go to the bathroom anymore. It was time. With Hurricane Arthur looming, today, Friday, July 3, 2014, had to be the day. My mom works at our dogs’ veterinary hospital, so we were able to take our time saying goodbye. My dad, James, Brady, Cecilia and I went to the clinic this afternoon. My mom was working and Stogie was already there with her. He was so happy to see us. I took some pictures outside (too bad the humidity caused several of my pictures to have a fuzzy appearance.) We spent about an hour together playing, petting him and telling him how much we loved him. Before we knew it, the doctor came into the exam room. James took the kids to the car and my mom, my dad and I kneeled next to Stogie and held him as he went. It was peaceful and sad all at once. It felt very surreal and it broke my heart to see my parent’s tears. My throat was on fire (from my recent tonsillectomy) as I was trying to hold in my own tears and be strong for them.

Stogie is the fifth dog we have lost. It never gets any easier and I don’t think it ever will. My only comfort is knowing they are all together now, in a place where there is no pain and suffering. It will hurt for a good long while, but time will go on and each of these dogs will hold a special place in our hearts forever.

My Tonsillectomy Experience

The morning of my tonsillectomy I was remarkably calm. I had stocked up on soft foods and drinks, cleaned the house, prepared some freezer meals, laid out my comfy surgery-day clothes, filled out all necessary paperwork and taken an (approved) Xanax. I was ready to do this thing.

James took Brady to school and my mom came over to watch Cecilia. We left for Jacksonville at 8:30 on the dot to be at my 9:45 appointment. On the way, the surgery center called and asked if we could get there early, as the doctor was running ahead of schedule. “Of course!” I happily answered. This was good news to me- I didn't want to sit around a waiting room getting my nerves worked up.

When we arrived, I answered questions and signed more papers at the front desk. I didn't even sit down before a nurse came out to get me. James waited in the lobby while I went to change and get settled into pre-op. I put on one of those gowns with the lovely open back and was glad I opted for leopard print undies instead of a thong. The nurse helped me into a bed while asking a million more questions. I was connected to an IV (I absolutely hate needles) and was relieved when it was in. At this point, James was allowed to come in. The anesthesiologist came to talk to us, followed by my doctor who would preform the surgery. James was trying to make me laugh because he could tell I was getting nervous- my blood pressure was going up- and before I knew it a nurse came by and told me he was going to “slip me a mickey” to calm me down. Within seconds I was giggling and wanting James to take selfies with me. Yeah, I needed to get into surgery before I made a fool of myself.

Minutes later I said goodbye to James and they rolled me to the operating room. I vaguely remember asking if I could see my tonsils after they removed them (I did the same thing when I had my appendix out!) and the nurse laughed. Before I could say anything else a mask went over my face. I thought it was oxygen but I guess it was the anesthesia because I don’t remember anything else.

I was getting pretty nervous! 

I woke up in the recovery room and was really confused (yes, I was crying) until I remembered where I was. The nurse told me everything went well and asked if I wanted a Popsicle. Apparently, I said no and asked for a frozen margarita, no salt (which I did not receive.) That got a laugh out of the nurses, but I was probably serious. The pain was pretty bad at first and they gave me a couple of pain injections until it eased up. I started sipping some iced water and James came in. Shortly after that the nurse came in with a jar containing my tonsils. I had a good look and she took them away before I could think to ask for a picture. I know that seems weird but I have been obsessed with tonsils and tonsillectomies since I scheduled the surgery. And a lot of people get pictures of their tonsils. So I’m not that weird. I had to hang out for a couple of hours to make sure everything was going well. It wasn't until I tried to stand up that I realized I had a reaction to the anesthesia. I could barely move a muscle. When I stood up my legs hurt so bad I didn't think I could walk. I found out that there is a certain drug in the anesthesia that can cause severe muscle soreness for 2-3 days. Well that was an understatement. Muscle soreness and the inability to move turned out to be the worst part of the first couple of days after surgery.

Waking up from surgery and feeling confused. Where's my margarita??

The nurse helped me to the restroom while James pulled the car around. Armed with a barf bag and 1,000 papers we started the journey to New Bern. I was scared to death of throwing up. A lot of people are sick after surgery but the thought of vomiting with my sore throat was too much to bear. I kept dozing on and off until we reached the drug store. It was going to take 15 minutes to get the prescriptions filled. Ugh! I just wanted to get in my bed! So James drove next door to Zaxby’s to order some lunch. He asked if I wanted some fries (wasn't he listening to the doctor?? Only cold liquids for the first few days!) and I said no. Then I dozed off again and awoke to him eating CHICKEN WINGS in my new car. I kindly asked (demanded) that he stop eating chicken wings and go see if my prescription was ready. Luckily it was and we went home.

 

I got in bed and prepared myself for the pain. I knew it was going to be bad. My nurse had just told me she had hers out at age 28 and it was the worst pain of her life. She told me the narcotics would barely take the edge off the pain. I kept hearing similar stories but felt that maybe my pain tolerance wasn't as bad as I thought. I’d had multiple bouts of strep, tonsillitis, sinus infections, migraines, and went through an unmedicated childbirth. Surely I could handle a tonsillectomy. Kids get them out every day and are back to school the next week. Right? WRONG. This has been the worst pain I have ever experienced. I am on Day 5 and the pain is supposed to increase until day 8 or 9 and then gradually taper off. I have had my cool mist humidifier running non-stop, I keep ice packs on my throat and ears. I set my alarm for every hour during the night to take a sip of water so my throat doesn't dry out. I have been sleeping upright. I take my medication on a strict schedule. I think that doing these things have helped immensely. I know things could be worse. I've read stories of people being hospitalized for dehydration, or bleeding profusely and having to have the area recauterized. I am bound and determined that I will not let that happen. I remind myself daily that the pain is only temporary and soon this will all be a memory.

Recovery Day 2- I tried to drink a protein shake, but it wasn't happening.

Gatorade with crushed ice is pretty much all I've had in 5 days. 

Recovery Day 4- Winston hasn't left my side since I came home.

 I am trying to keep my spirits up by planning things to do when I feel better, reading celebrity magazines, browsing Pinterest and just being lazy. The kids are happy and Cecilia (thankfully!) is having a blast with her dad. I was a bit worried after doing the math and realizing James has only been home 3 months out of the past 12. I thought spending so much time together would be awkward for James and Cecilia but they are hitting it off and acting like they’re best friends. So with my mind at ease, I know I can sit back and let nature take its course. After all, there’s no rush. There’s still plenty of summer left. 

Sink or Swim

Our family loves the water. I don't remember learning how to swim, it's like I just knew. We always had a pool and a boat and we were fortunate enough to live near the river and the beach. My sister says it's because her and I are Pisces' and when my son (also a Pisces) was 4 months old I started to wonder if she was onto something.

Brady cleaning the pool.

Even our dogs love to swim!

His first summer, he took to the pool like a fish. We had set up a baby pool but he wanted to get in the Big pool. So I went out and got the smallest, safest pool floats I could find. I carried him around the pool for hours. His next summer, he was ready for a baby life jacket. During his third summer he used a Puddle Jumper, and at four he was ready for arm floaties. He is still using the arm floaties but knows all the swimming basics. He spends the entire day in the pool, paddling from one end to the other, and only gets out for snacks and bathroom breaks. He isn't afraid to jump in and loves doing cannonballs. He recently expressed interest in learning to go "under water." I, being the overly cautious mom that I am, told him we would try in a couple of weeks. I've been putting it off because I am not a professional. Sure, I know how to swim but I knew I would feel better if he was taught by a trained professional certified in CPR.
When I walked into his school a couple of weeks ago, they had a sign up sheet for swim lessons. I inquired about it and learned that for two weeks, the kids would take a school bus to another location and receive swim lessons. The price was reasonable, the time was (way) too early for us but I figured we will have to start getting up at 6:00 am for kindergarten in two months, so it might not be a bad idea to start practicing. So I signed him up.
Brady was super excited but my nerves began to kick in when I realized he would be riding a school bus. And he would be in a pool. And I wouldn't be there. He does not ride in the car with other people often. My worries led me to interrogate his teacher as well as the center's director. I wanted to know who would be driving, how many people would be supervising, how long they would be there, etc., etc. They're used to me by now and his teacher kindly reassured me everything would be fine.
So this morning we hauled ourselves across town, me with a giant cup of coffee in tow, and I kissed my big boy goodbye and reluctantly drove off. I fought the urge to call and see how things were going. When he got home from school this afternoon, he poured himself a huge bowl of Cheerios and happily told me how it went. He said the instructor told him he was one of the best in the class. All at once I felt proud and ridiculous. My son is growing up and will be doing more and more things without me. I have to let him try and learn new things. I realized that I can't let my anxiety hold him back from doing great things. So with the knowledge that I have raised him right, I am trying to accept that he will exercise his best judgment in any given situation. Things in life don't always go, well, swimmingly, but we have to let our children grow and explore.

Scared straight.

About a month ago, we took Brady to a developmental pediatrician and we were given a to-do list. The main thing on that list was to schedule an appointment with a counselor. I totally did not want to do that, but I promised myself I would try every single thing on the list. So I picked a counselor from the list and made an appointment for the next Monday. I dreaded the appointment all weekend and didn't know if I should even tell Brady about it. I decided to explain that we would be going to talk to a lady about his bathroom habits and his behavior.

I picked him up from school early, dropped Cecilia off at my mom’s work during her lunch break, and drove to the counselors office. It was a really odd feeling- I couldn't recall ever going somewhere with just Brady since before his sister was born. It was that weird somethings-missing feeling, and I was getting nervous. He was excited though and asked if we could get a Happy Meal after we were done. “Sure!” I told him.“If you’re good.”

We walked into the office and a stranger immediately started telling us everything he knew about armadillos, including the time he was chased by one. I felt Brady tense up and sensed he was uncomfortable. He sat in my lap and we pretended to look at a magazine. When it was finally our turn, we hurried into Dr. C’s office. Brady immediately didn't like being there. He fidgeted, refused to talk, and kept whining. The doctor didn't like this and right off the bat told him if he got up from his chair one more time there would be a consequence when he got home. “Excuse me?!” I was thinking. She spent the next half hour fussing at both of us and finally told me a few things to work on. She then handed me a check out slip and told us to come back in 2 weeks. I walked out to the reception area, intending on just leaving, but Dr. C was watching. So I made the appointment, fully planning on calling to cancel when I got home. What was this place? Where was the plush couch, soft lighting, and soothing therapist I was expecting? I certainly wasn't expecting both of us to get fussed at and disciplined by a stranger! When we got in the car, Brady climbed into the third row and refused to come up to his seat. He was almost in tears and so was I. Consequence my foot, lady! I was taking my boy to McDonald's.

We went home and everybody went off to do their own thing. As I was pouring a bottle, I mean, glass of wine to try to unwind, I heard something I've never heard before. A voice that sounded like Brady called “Moooommmm! Can you please come wipe me? I pooped on the potty!” I just stood there, mid pour, wondering if I just hallucinated. Maybe I was the one who needed to schedule an appointment with Dr. C. I cautiously walked into the bathroom and there was my son sitting on the toilet with the biggest grin on his face. I peered into the toilet and I had never been so happy to see a poop in my life. We went to make a reward chart, which had never worked in the past. Let me tell you, Brady filled up his 20 stickers in 4 days. He used the potty every day that week, sometimes twice a day. He ate his dinner, he listened, he was polite! I was thrilled. I thought it would wear off, but every few days I would mention Dr. C and he continued being a wonderfully well-behaved little boy. The night before our second appointment, he even asked if he could sleep in his own bed. The child has never slept in his own bed. I tucked him in a read a book and he stayed in there 2 hours before getting in bed with me. It was still progress though!

At our second appointment, we were lucky enough to share the waiting room with a man in an orange jumpsuit with handcuffs and shackles, and a man tattooed from head to toe. The armadillo man was even back and asked me out on a date. This time, everybody seemed a little friendlier (minus the federal inmate) and we were a little less nervous. Brady played with other kids, and I struck up a conversation with the other moms.

The doctor praised his accomplishments and even got a few words out of Brady. She asked me what I had been doing differently. I told her nothing. She said to think hard, because I must be doing something differently. All of a sudden, it dawned on me. I had been failing one of my most important jobs as a parent: exercising authority.  I replied “Well, when I ask him to do something now, I mean it. There’s no more negotiating or putting things off. If he doesn't do it, he loses a sticker or a privilege. I take away something he values, like TV time.” I cut myself off, sure I gave the wrong answer. “Good job, Mom,” she told me. “Funny how that works, isn't it?,” (her voice dripping in sarcasm, of course.)

If we keep it up, we only have to go back one more time. Brady is continuing to do fabulously and so am I. I have come to realize that some kids need more structure and discipline than others. There’s nothing wrong with either of us, we just needed to find a common ground. There is always room for kids, and parents, to grow.