Music has always been a part of my life. For as long as I can remember, I have either been listening to it, singing it, or playing it. It is a part of me. I think it is genetic. My mother is the oldest of seven kids, and all of them are musical. They sing, or they play instruments or they do both! They were even in a band together as teens/young adults called The Loved Ones. It’s no wonder why there was always great music on in the house when I was young. I learned to love the best. The Beatles, Crosby Stills and Nash, The Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, The Doobie Brothers. I have great memories of our family get togethers being a great big sing along. Someone will pull out a guitar, and we  break into Suite Judy Blue Eyes, or one of the many Beatles songs they know. As I got older  and developed my own taste in music though, I don’t remember my mom’s musical appetite growing with me. There were some things we agreed on, but I definitely had my own genre. She fell into that stereotypical parent role of “Turn that garbage down”. It was not garbage by any means. This was the 90’s you see. In the heat of the grunge movement. I have to admit, I was a sucker for the dirty sound of bands like Pearl Jam, Jane’s Addiction, Alice In Chains and Nirvana. If I hear them today, I still want to close my eyes and lay my head back and “get lost” in the music. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost smell the incense burning, and hear my mom banging on the door telling me to turn it down. Now,...

I’m hungry I’m starving I think I”m going to die   My children say this, with a dramatic sigh   I’ve cooked They’ve eaten They each cleaned their plate   Yet here we are in this food debate   It’s bedtime No eating You should have had more dinner   They try to convince me they are growing thinner   So what Big deal You aren’t going to win   I smile at them with my patronizing grin   Eyes rolling  Tummy’s grumbling They hit the sack   I sit down to enjoy a little snack -Beki...

I spoke to a friend today who found out she is about to have her third boy. Welcome to the club, I told her. The boys club that is. I don’t think you are officially in the club with just two boys, even though they can be a handful. It’s that third boy that seems to send a mother over the edge. How will I handle three boys?  I am but one. I have only two hands. Two eyes. There are only two of us. Three boys will….out number us…outsmart us….out….everything us. Trust me. I know. As a mother of two boys, you are up to your eyeballs in trucks, legos, rocks, dirt, frogs, bugs, more dirt. You dream of pink, bows, dolls, dresses, ballet classes. It all seems so…fairytale like. Sure, you have those people who tell you, “Oh, you got the easy ones. Girls are so much harder to raise.”  And you want to say, yeah, but I bet they are quieter…and cleaner. You love your boys…there is no doubt about that, but when you get pregnant for the third time, you convince yourself that this pregnancy feels different. You just know it in your heart of hearts that it is a girl. God wouldn’t give you three boys, would he? God can be so funny sometimes. What’s funny though, is that third boy, was exactly what I needed. He was the sweetest, snuggliest  baby, and to this day is the sweetest, snuggliest boy. I think that tends to happen a lot. I think telling her that, reassured my friend. I also told her about all the other perks of having three boys. I’s a great money saver because you can hand down all their clothes. They can also share toys, rooms...

Doubt has no conscience He knows not wrong from right He does not keep a schedule Doubt sneaks up day or night He lurks among the shadows Only hinting that he’s near It’s enough to raise your hairs to fill your head with fear He comes with just one purpose He’s a liar and a thief Doubt comes to take your confidence and leave you with his grief Doubt partners up with Guilt they work side by side their grip is often suffocating There’s no escape, You can’t hide You second guess decisions When before you were so sure If Doubt keeps on attacking You’re not sure you can endure You fight to keep your strength in your heart you know what’s true but doubt becomes a part of you you’re uncertain through and...

Oh weary mother, Don’t give up! Keep persevering, Your time’s not up! I know it’s hard, This job you do. The hours are long, the accolades few. Your strength grows thin at the end of each day. You try your best to keep frustration at bay. Sometimes the attitudes are too much to bear. There is so much whining, It’s just not fair! Just trudge along, soldier, don’t give up the fight. Keep on teaching them what’s wrong and what’s right. Keep on answering all of their WHY’s. Keep on encouraging all of their tries. Don’t give into weariness, these days have a number! Don’t think of the hours you have lost in slumber! Your time will come to sleep till dawn… For before too long, they will be gone. There will be no more whining, and no more fights, no more deciding who’s wrong and who’s right. No more saying “Because I said so!” No more time to watch them grow. The job is tiresome! But the rewards are great! Your dedication can help to determine their fate. -Beki...