I remember sitting in a room during a break out session about sexual abuse in college and watching the majority of women in the room raise their hands and admit to having been assaulted, abused or raped at one time in their lives.

I remember my friend telling me she had been raped on two entirely different occasions.

I remember a few friend’s telling me they had been raped. Or, as they put it, having sex even though they said no. But maybe he didn’t hear them. Maybe it was their fault for being so drunk. Maybe they shouldn’t have gone to that party anyway.

I remember my friends not telling me what had happened to them but still unraveling and struggling internally and working through what they could at weekly therapy sessions.

I remember my college friends setting up an “underground railroad” of sorts for a fellow classmate trying to escape her abusive husband.

I remember slipping what money I could to another friend who was trying to leave her abusive partner with children in tow, unsure of where to go or how to start over.

I remember assuming that abuse and violence just kind of eventually happens to everyone. And I wondered when it would be my turn.

Maggie Dammit, a fantastic writer and blogger, started a site a year ago today called Violence Unsilenced. And I am just one of many bloggers giving her and her site a shout out today.

Violence Unsilenced gives women (and men) a place to go and tell their story. It teaches, shares, connects and empowers each of its writers and readers. If you want to tell your story, read about those with stories similar to yours or support those who have experienced some level of violence in their lives, please visit and continue to support Violence Unsilenced.

Please watch this amazing video created by Maggie in honor of this site’s one year anniversary.

The winter of ‘95-’96 changed my perception of winter forever. I was a junior at Mount Holyoke College. And the snow kept coming. Mother Nature had programmed a pattern of massive two foot snow blizzards every Thursday afternoon. I remember the blizzards seemed at their worst while stuck in the dredges of February. As the heater would steam and clank and whistle in my room and as the science lab work piled up – I’d stare out at the silent white storm snow globing flakes up, down and across my window. And I had all sorts of crazy “I’m going to lose my ever loving mind” Shining-esque thoughts. I had finally found hate for winter.

That May – yes, it took three more long months – I stepped outside one morning. There was sun. And not only that, it warmed my face. WARMED MY FACE. I stopped, I closed my eyes, I tipped my face up. And I started to cry a little bit. Warmth, light, sun made that much of a difference. I will never forget what real, outside warm air felt like that morning as I took off down the hill sporting rumpled shorts worn a very distant 9 months prior.

Five years ago, my husband and I moved to Florida. It seemed almost a joke at the time. I mean come on. We found a job for him in Florida? Near my brother and offering a much cheaper cost of living (after spending two winters stuffed into crappy faculty housing with one bedroom and an 18 month old baby). We considered it an adventure. Sure we’ll go.

The years have gone by, we bought a home, we had another child, we are Floridians it seems. And it blows our minds that we are raising children with no concept of snow or real, freeze your eyelashes and bust your pipes kind of cold. (It doesn’t count if they can’t remember seeing snow, right?) Palm trees lining the streets have lost their novelty. I hardly look twice at the resident alligator sunning himself on the bank of a small lake I jog past regularly. Caribbean style beaches lined with tiki huts are an hour’s drive and Disney is less than two hours.

But it’s February, and I know. I read tweets, facebook updates, emails and hear from my loved ones. February is fricking miserable most other places in the U.S. Spring seems forever off. The snow keeps piling up and the sun won’t warm jack.

And you know what? I feel guilty.

I have somehow adopted a crazy kind of guilt complex regarding Florida weather. I LONGED for the everyday here when I lived north. Dreamt of it, wished for it, and drove to it over spring break. So now that we get it, all the time, oh my God. I just feel bad. I want to share it. I want everyone to come on down. I want to plunk every family member and wonderful friend in my backyard lounge chair and let the sun warm their faces. I want to heal their winter misery. I want to give what I get to them.

Snort. If I was reading this from my frozen dorm all those years ago, I kind of might want to kill me right now. Really. Isn’t that generous of little ol’ Floridian me? Oh how nice of me to even THINK of us northerners while we wish for power back in our homes, dole hundreds of dollars out the window for heating oil and try not to die on our icy commutes to work everyday.

And I think I’d be wishing that resident alligator might take a sudden liking to Floridian me as I ran past. Chomp chomp, palm tree bee-atch.

But then there are people who do come down for vacations and I breath a sigh of relief. Hurray! Ok! See? You can feel some warmth! Step right up. But then? When the weather is cold and rainy and the sun doesn’t warm jack, even in FLORIDA – I feel bad again. What the hell is this? People deserve to feel warm when they come down here. Come ON. If we get good weather most of the time, visitors should have a guaranteed pass! I find myself apologizing for 40 degree temps while pointing at my browned palms, insisting this isn’t natural, and to come back soon and see for yourself!

Because what warmth I feel on my face belongs to every suffering, wintered soul, sharpening their axes on the weather reports promising more snow, thinking how they will hack their way through their front doors, determined to find Spring while screaming “Here’s Johnny!!!” I so get it.

Uh-huh. Shut it, Caroline. Go back to your flip flops and boring palm trees. We don’t care how bad you feel for us.

Not that Florida is all that and a bag of key lime chips with a Corona chaser. Not that we don’t long for gorgeous fall days with crispy leaves or crackling fireplaces on Christmas Eve. Not that Florida’s sun makes up for the culture and family and roots we’ve left behind far far north of here.

And as my friend who recently moved from Florida to Chicago said to me only yesterday, “When spring comes, it will be wonderful and appreciated and I will never take good weather for granted again”. Because, we do here. And that’s not OK either.

Still we get sun and my loved ones don’t right now. So, still with the guilt.

I am probably somewhat certifiable to personally take responsibility for all the winter hate flaring within frozen hearts across our nation. Only I would need to apologize for the temperate norms which are predictable and expected for this little spot on the globe.

But I will never forget what winter means elsewhere.

And just wait. After a winter as hellish as this one (which has resulted in snow on the ground in 49 states), we’ll get ours with a whopper of hurricane which will rip out our electricity and make our roads impossible to drive on. Weather karma maybe?

Again with the guilt.

But how about I offer my lounge chair. To anyone. Anytime. I’m embarrassed to admit that I am rarely out there (the irony, I know – snow or sun, life is busy and doesn’t offer too many moments in a lounge chair) but you are more than welcome to stretch out and feel that sun we seem to have so much of.

Wishing February will pass quickly and there will be early spring warmth in all 49 states soon.

Post script: This one was close to being deleted. I swear my intentions are good, but no matter how much guilt I feel for sunshine in February, I can’t help but feel like this post comes across a tad… well… smug. Clearly, my guilty suffering is no match for any February up north. So just know that I know that. But I will leave it. Because I keep it real. And because after all that writing I hate to toss anything (which I really do need to learn how to do more often… that and fix the filter between my head and my mouth/writing).

Here is my husband’s Valentine.

Because how else would a blogger give a Valentine but through words, online, for all the world to see?

But I think it is about as close as I’ll get to any sort of rooftop where I can somehow yell (to all who might care to listen) that I adore my husband.

Because I do.

Because I think about who we were 13 years ago, when we first met, with all the time in the world to discover and adore the other’s idiosyncrasies. I think about how we find each other now, in fleeting moments, while caught up in the minutiae of our own groundhog days running parallel. I devour those moments and then wait. They always happen again, once the dust settles and the kids are put to bed. And then I think about us in days ahead, dizzy from time gone by, readjusting our identities as parents and partners.

You and I, we’re not tied to the ground

Not falling but rising, like rolling around

Joy is boiled down to it purest form on those days when we both have two bumping, leaping boys besides us. Days we make some variation of adventure happen on an hour long hike or a picnic at a playground. Our days at the beach, digging trenches and crunching sand in our potato chips. These are those days that we’ll hold tight, and retell, and laugh out loud about how our boys were ever that small and wanting and new.

Oh, and when the kids are old enough

We’re gonna teach them to fly

Someday it will be just us again. And we will come back together, without two cracker hungry children whining in between, and miss this painfully same everydayness. And look at each other like, “oh yeah, us.”

We can always look back on what we did

All those memories of you and me baby

But right now it’s you and me forever girl

And you know we could do better than anything that we did

I want to remember us from before and find all that wonderful novelty. I want to hold on to these regular moments before they fall away entirely revealing two young men eating everything in our refrigerator before vanishing into their own lives. I want to look forward to adventures that don’t require kids menus or car seats or getting back to our room by 8pm.

You and me together, we could do anything, Baby

You and me together, yes, yes.

What an incredible gift to share history with another, to share children with another, to share a future with another. I adore you husband of mine. And I can’t wait to spend a couple hours out alone tonight - time together – you and me, baby.

The First Lady has taken on the fight against childhood obesity in her most recent initiative called the Let’s Move Campaign. I got an email yesterday from a journalist at Bay News 9 asking for my thoughts. And as I was reading the link he provided, I saw that the First Lady was speaking live about this initiative on MSNBC. So I stopped, read, listened and sent him my thoughts.

This is basically what I emailed him.

There can be no argument against that fact that we have a severe childhood obesity issue in our country. McDonald’s chains are often more common than supermarkets in some areas. One third of our nation’s children are overweight or obese. Junk food is stuffed into beautiful, fun packaging. Sugar tastes so damn good and its deliciously addictive. We eat big portions in this country – most of which is just a lot of nothing, filling the hole, cheap and easy. It’s here, it’s there, it’s everywhere, nom, nom, nom.

Bottom line? Our bad eating habits are so effusive that they have become a culture issue. My friends and I ate junk growing up, and now my kids and their friends want it too. And unless we want to continue seeing more children facing health issues and obesity before they even get to high school, we need to change our culture’s ideals about fast food fast.

I have to point out that the First Lady made a great point about obesity before she launched into the points of her program. She made it clear that this is not about how someone looks. Its about how children feel. Both in reference to their own body image and how they feel medically.

There is a huge issue of fat-ism (for lack of a better word) and body image in this country – and this initiative can’t and should not be about that. I am hoping that healthier habits change attitudes on many levels but never single out anyone for not fitting some expectation of “model thin” beauty. We are what we are, but let’s be the best we can be. Just saying.

So back to the Let’s Move Campaign. We have to change the culture of our country. So that means we need support. Parents need support from schools, schools need to actively educate children and funding will be needed to really push a campaign of healthy eating habits forward. Sugar has too strong a pull on us not to come back at the causes of obesity with guns blazing.

So will kids actually be able to learn how to eat better? I don’t think it is ever too early to start educating and empowering children about food. My six year old has a peanut allergy and has been reading food labels for as long as he has been able to read. And more recently, we’ve been taking steps to read the entire label. He knows to look for sugar, sodium, trans fat, protein and vitamins. And now that he generally understands what reasonable amounts of each should be in his food, he knows we need to pick Cheerios over Fruit Loops. He may not be happy about it, but at least he now knows why.

Also, it is my hope that some of the funding will make healthier foods more accessible to families in need. Feeding a family off a dollar menu is a hell of a lot cheaper than cashing out at a grocery store. Healthy eating should be something everyone can afford to do.

Finally, there has been some crabbing about this campaign banning certain foods in school. While I think banning food is never a good idea, teaching kids about better choices certainly is. And then, we would hope, kids will learn to pick better food choices and drive the market to provide healthier alternatives in vending machines which kids feel OK about buying.

“No way, dude. I don’t want that lame Ho-Ho. I want that bag of sliced apples! AWESOME!”

Er. Here’s hoping at least.

And if my son’s PTO votes to remove all sodas and cupcakes and sugary crap from the schools vending machines, so be it and good riddance. But that’s the schools collective choice. I’m just hoping that with focused education and better access to healthier foods, it will be my children’s choice someday too.

Oh and be sure to check out my friend Apryl’s post about this too: First Lady Michelle Obama takes a Bite Out of Childhood Obesity. Apryl, who writes at About.com, was in on a conference call to the White House as the President signed the executive order to fight childhood obesity.

The huz is on his way home early.

And here sits the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition.

She’s very pretty. No she is. Super cute. Good for her. I saw her on the Today Show this morning saying how getting this cover is like winning the Super Bowl of modeling. And how cool it is that they print her name on the cover too (because *shocker* models have names as well as bodies). She seemed very nice and I hope she has a very successful career.

But yo. He’s coming home and I’ve got a feeling he’s going to walk right past me and into the loving arms of … wait let me check… Brooklyn Decker and all her glossiness.

I mean how can a scroungy mommy of two boys in an old college sweatshirt, ratty headband, and pink slippers even consider competing with the beautiful Ms. Brooklyn. Me with sidewalk chalk on my jeans and milk on my sleeve and a slight headache from trying to convince my six year old to write two fricking sentences about his favorite thing at school. Just two. Why the tears and the drama?! And I’ve only JUST got them to bed and finally ate a little dinner so screw tiny yellow bikinis and un muffin-topped bellies. I say YAY to headbands and sweatshirts and pink slippers. And sleeping children. Ahhhhh….

Oh he just got home! Well hello there husband! How was your day? Oh a few of your students didn’t show up for the test today? That’s not cool. He’s shaking his head, now grading papers in front of “Lost”, a beer cracked open at his side.

However. The magazine is lying face down right here next to me. He doesn’t know she’s here waiting.

Because there’s her… OR there’s me looking just fiiiine. A certain special kind of fine he sees – ohhhh – just about everyday.

Course he’d pick me. No insecurity here. None. Zero. Zilch.

No really. It’s cool.

I’m going to go give him his magazine. And a big ol’ smooch.

Because I mean, c’mon. Really. Who’d you rather?

I spend a LOT of time in the car.

Dropping off, car lines, picking up, grocery stores, baseball practice, stop hitting your brother, don’t kick the seat, up and down the same roads we go, cracker crumbs trailing behind, to infinity and beyond.

Knowing that I spend this much time driving, my brother happened to notice that I had the option for Sirius XM radio in my car. So guess what he got me for Christmas? Love him for being so thoughtful. It was the perfect gift.

So now I have the option of over 150 different radio channels to scan through during my time spent driving. As I make my way to my son’s elementary school everyday, I’m searching, searching, searching. Amazed and entranced when a song and station identification pops up my screen. Oooooh…. lookee there…

*Squeeeeal…*

Its been a slight…er …distraction I might add also.

Anyhoo. So. While scanning through the endless list of stations, what am I looking for?

Well, first off, music. And there is plenty of that. I’ve been ROCKING out to “good but bad but I listened to it back then” 80’s and 90’s music. Culture Club, Debbie Gibson, Def Leppard, Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam, I’m shameless.

Oh and current stuff too.

“I brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack! Mommy, that’s SILLY!!!! …Whose Jack? …And whose P. Diddy?”

Tik Tok on the clock, but the party don’t stop, no.

My family truckster spins the tunes.

And then there’s the new wave channel. Loving some old Cure and Smiths and Pretenders and doing the “Molly Ringwald” to General Public’s “Tenderness”. Or the Coffee House channel – acoustic covers of everything, even Cory Hay strumming old Men at Work tunes. Reggae, Frank Sinatra, alternative rock from the 90s (when I met my husband, oh the “Sweater Song”, sigh).

And there’s Disney Radio. It’s there, if I’d ever let my kids KNOW it’s there. No Jonas Brothers for now, mmm k? Thanks.

But now and again I am looking for a little talk radio. Hoping for something that catches my attention and pulls me in for the duration of the car line still creeping forward at an snail’s pace.

There are all sorts of news options which I like. A slew of ESPN and sports channels (whatevs, never listen to those). Religion, health, weather. And Howard Stern of course.

(Sidebar: While much of what Stern spews is garbage, I find myself listening sometimes. I guess I’m one of those people that gets so irked by him I need to hear what he says next. Which is, of course, his magic formula and why so many thousands of people listen to him daily. However, I will begrudgingly give him one thing. He does one HELL of an interview. He can get a celeb to say just about ANYTHING. Barbara Walters has nothing on that guy. Nothing. So, yeah, I’ll listen now and then.)

My most recent discovery is the COSMO channel. Oh ho yes. Now that there is a GEM. You know, it’s COSMO as in the magazine, but for radio. And one particular program is call “Cosmolicious”. Cute, no? And the 20-something DJs who talk using question marks chatter ceaselessly about every topic you might find in COSMO magazine.

“I dunno, I mean I think I would tell my husband if I got botox? Because like he would be mad if I didn’t tell him? But he might not even notice? For like a LONG time? So maybe? If he didn’t know? He couldn’t get mad at me about it? And then when he gets the bill? I’d be all ‘I’ve been getting it for a long time so whatever’?”

(True story.)

Like Stern, maybe even more so than Stern, I can’t turn the dial. I NEED to hear what they will say next. How do I make sure (hex? train?) my boyfriend so that he knows exactly what kind of 3 carat engagement ring I want without actually telling him ? How do women get through Valentine’s Day WITHOUT (OMG you poor thing, it so sucks, I can’t imagine) A MAN? But if you DO have a man, what shape should you get your bikini area waxed for Valentine’s Day? A heart? Arrow? Landing strip?

So I’ll switch over to the Entertainment Channel now and again – which has some interesting stuff. But then there’s the Rosie Show. *Sigh.* I want to like it but, I’m sorry, it blows. The fabulous Deb on the Rocks called it a “Hot Mess“. And she is so right. And unfortunately its not even good enough to be that bad that I want to listen to see what variety of hot mess she’ll make today. Bored. Bleh. Next.

There’s always the Martha Stewart channel. Honestly? I think I tried it once. I felt like I had failed at all things Susie Homemaker just by flipping to that dial. Also, next.

And if you want to try and picture what a bunch of Playboy models look like, or what they like to *giggle giggle* do, there’s always the Playboy station. For the two seconds I don’t have kids in my car, that is.

Because Playboy isn’t the only station dropping F-bombs and verbalizing adult scenarios. That’s just what happens with satellite radio and so I take care to police what’s on with two wee sets of 6 and 3 year old ears tuned in behind me.

So back to the music I go. Which is totally fine because there is enough variety for sure. That and the family friendly comedy channel which cracks me up…

“Larry the Cable Guy is Tow Mader’s voice Mommy!”

…Ok, its not that funny.

But what am I really looking for? What is missing from the 150 station long menu of radio wonderment?

Well. Where the hell is MY station?

I want a women’s interest channel. Not Martha, NOT COSMO, not just news, not just sports. I want a women’s interest channel that talks about parenting and school and balancing work and kids and finding yourself after you’ve had kids and marriage and friendships and the dreaded post baby muffin top. I want a channel that debates current topics like Michelle Obama’s fight against childhood obesity or the fact that Florida still won’t allow same sex couples to adopt. I want a channel for smart women, who like to see things happen and change and work – but for women who also like to talk about the best padded bras out there right now to revamp all of what 14 months of breastfeeding took away. I want funny, I want witty, I want current, I want to think.

You know what? The blogging world might be able help Sirius out.

Because really, the perfect women’s radio channel on Sirius should be inspired by a combination of some of the best women bloggers out there. Take Aiming Low, Pundit Mom, Motherhood Uncensored,  MOM 101, Deb on the Rocks, The Bloggess, Redneck Mommy, Uppercase Woman (oh I could so go on, really I could, because I know there are fabulous bloggers out there ALREADY doing webcast shows, rocking it better than Cosmolicious EVER could), include all sorts of topics mentioned daily on BlogHer, mix that with a whole lot of The Ellen Degeneres Show, some political brilliance from The Rachel Maddow Show and a smattering of the debate style from The View and, well, you’ve got my station.

Oh and if there are a few F-bombs or adults topics of discussion, bring it. If I found a station that good, I’d invest in a couple pairs of earmuffs for the boys in the back and let them kick the crap out of my seats as much as they damn well please.

Until then, I guess I am left doing the “Molly Ringwald” at traffic lights. And considering heart-shaped bikini waxes. You know, since I was looking to do something meaningful this Valentines Day.

Still shuffling about my morning, disheveled, glasses on, wanting my cereal and cringing at the sun suddenly streaming into my window, I went over to fiddle with the curtains.

When I heard a very loud WOOSH.

And when I looked up, this is what I saw moving quietly across the sky. I grabbed my camera and pushed open the sliding door and stood amazed. It felt so close I could have quietly said “good morning” and I am quite sure the two people inside that basket would have heard me. But I don’t really do mornings very well so all I did was snap this picture, watch it move by and go back inside.

I probably should have said “good morning”. That’s what you do when a hot air balloon passes over your backyard, isn’t it?

Peaceful, beautiful and just another side to my morning. So to speak.

So Valentine’s Day is coming up.

*Groan*

You know, single folks aren’t the only ones who dread this holiday. Women who have been with their husbands for over thirteen years do too. People in relationships, who feel all kinds of pressure to do something romantic that day, roll their eyes when the hearts and cupids get busted out as soon as Christmas day is over. Because if we don’t come up with something romantic, something good enough, something that stands up well enough to a 10 year marriage, well, what kind of wives, husbands and partners are we anyway?

Now don’t get me wrong. I love my husband dearly. And I am happy to celebrate our relationship whenever I can. And I certainly don’t think we absolutely must prove the worth of our years together simply because this “Hallmark Holiday” has rolled around once again.

But still. It’s Valentine’s Day and, well, I want to do something for us. Because it’s easy to forget about us and this day reminds us to give what we have some attention.

And yet that pink and red aisle and all those stuffed animals and boxes of crappy (whats in the center of those things anyway) candy just annoy me. And the price gouging for dinner reservations. And those insane $50 bunches of roses. And the cheese-ball, heart shaped, diamond chip encrusted necklaces now on sale at JC Pennys for $99.99. Are you kidding me with all of this?

Please no.

So after all these years together, we have to – once again – come up with something for one another. And not any of the usual over-priced silliness listed above either.

So where does that leave us?

We’ve been trying at this holiday for awhile now. And unless you get super creative and thoughtful, it usually comes up flat. And I feel bad about throwing together a card and a kiss and he feels bad about the sad batch of roses he picked up on the way home at Publix that never bloom. I love you for those roses, hon. I do.

Who are we kidding.

Valentine’s Day is meant for kids….

Who chomp away on those heart shaped candies and gleefully give away tiny perforated Valentine notes, making sure the card they pick for that one cute boy at school is the best one in the bunch, and should they sign “love” before their name, giggle, giggle?

Valentine’s Day is meant for high school sweethearts…

Who buy into the boxes of candy and pink stuffed bears and cards and all of the crap. It’s still a novelty then. And your sweetheart makes your heart soar and who cares how silly it all is, I’m buying it for them and they’re going to love it. And they do.

Valentine’s Day is for first loves…

That’s when you do the dinners out. The bunches of roses. And not care how expensive it is. How could you while you can hardly eat or breathe or think from the distraction of the other. Hearts, hearts, hearts, birds tweeting about your head… so what about the rest.

Valentine’s Day is for when you meet your husband…

Ah yes. Those fluttering hearts and tweeting birds spun furiously about my head in February of ‘97 – the first Valentine’s Day I spent with my now husband. Cupid had landed one where it counts and I was utterly besotted, I tell you. Lovesick but on a shoe-string college budget, I was forced to get creative. I made a mixed tape (which is SO what you did for the one you loved back then, never underestimate the romantic power of a good music mix). I also bought a fantastic bottle of pathetically cheap champagne. And I bought four bags of heart shaped balloons. Then, with help from an eye-rolling friend, we blew them all up, bagged them and drove over to where my husband’s car was parked at work, always unlocked. Sure that we would be caught at any moment, I slipped the tape into the tape deck of his old Lumina. I carefully placed the champagne on his passenger seat. And then filled his entire car with those balloons. He drove around for weeks with those balloons in his car.

*Swoon* that he did that too.

Sigh.

That was a good Valentine’s Day.

But as the years have rolled by and kids have busied our days and late work schedules interrupt our nights and breathtaking budgets keep frivolity to a minimum… well, Valentine’s Day? Ugh. Really?

I don’t want any of what’s on sale for that day.

He doesn’t want any of what’s on sale for that day.

The value of our relationship and all that it stands for doesn’t deserve any of what’s on sale for that day.

So where does it leave us? What DO all of our years together actually deserve on Valentine’s Day? Well, the answer is so simple that even CVS forgot to shelve it. If it even could.

The answer is TIME TOGETHER.

The kind of time we had thirteen  years ago. The kind of time where we’d meet at a local coffee shop or bar and wind up spending hours there talking and telling stories. The kind of time when we could laugh uninterrupted and dream up fantasy vacations and sit in the space of the other and adore having a partner as amazing as this one.

It is no wonder that stuffed bears and enormous pink boxes of mystery candy and $50 unbloomable roses just don’t hack it.

After thirteen years, nothing seems to do enough justice to our time together other than time itself.

I love you, husband of mine. We’ll find the time. Wilted Publix roses and all.

It’s Groundhog day! It’s my holiday. Cheers, a toast to me.

Well, its my holiday in the Groundhog Day MOVIE sense of the holiday. Do you remember that movie? With Bill Murray? From about 15ish years ago? I remember going to that movie with an old boyfriend. I thought the movie was kind of lame at the time. So did he. I don’t think I ever thought about that movie again. At least not for a long while.

However. Years later, this holiday – in the sense that it is in the movie – has become my day. And I am sure you can guess why. Or why any mother home with her kids might relate. Stuck in my own personal Groundhog Day, I wash the same damn dishes every day, I yell the same demands of “stop beating your brother on the head with a baseball bat” about the same time everyday, I ask daily that they eat their carrots, and pee in the potty, and pick up their underwear off the ground, and not slosh every drop of bathwater onto the floor, and stop jumping on the bed, and WIPE for God’s sake, and yes you DO need a nap, and look both ways. Its always the same. THE SAME. Everyday.

In some ways there is a certain comfort in it all. I know there is for my children. By nature, kids require adults to create predictable rhythms and army issue schedules which we can set our watches to. They need that routine. And parents abide. To a child, in an ever-changing world, that schedule is wholly welcome and needed and comforting. And who am I kidding – the guarantee that I will see my 6 year old at 3:45 everyday is assuring and wonderful and something I look forward to daily.

But while I look forward to 3:45pm, to see him bopping up to my car with his backpack on, it always seems that this day could be the same as the last or the day before or the next day coming. The same buses pass me on the way to school, the same cars line up and sit next to me in the car line, the same fights happen in the backseat on the way home.

Its Groundhog day. Everyday.

Ugh, so… do I really need to make a disclaimer here? And say that while this painfully predictable same same saaaame-ness in my daily schedule can be extraordinarily tedious… and even though I admit to that plainly here… even so, I do truly love being here for my children. Do I need to say that? I hope not. I hope it is clear that I cherish my time with my boys. Just because my job is mind numbing and exhausting, doesn’t mean I don’t love it. I know. It makes perfect sense.

But oh once just to throw nap schedules to the wind, to bust out of the car line, to not have dinner ready at 6pm. My children would be better off for some spontaneity now and then. Which we try to do. And succeed at now and again. But I will tell you this. While the crazy fun is exciting initially, they don’t do so well with unpredictability long term. And they are much easier to parent if they know what’s happening next. So the routine is a must. It allows them to grow, to flourish and to trust that their world around them is still the same and that dinner will be ready by 6pm, I promise.

But still. Happy Groundhog Day to me.

And if you forget to wish me a happy one today, well that’s ok.

You can always do it tomorrow.