Category: Friends

Shakin’ and Bakin’


After 2 months of a blessedly uneventful start to middle school, today, he forgets to lock the house.

It was bound to happen, sooner or later. And, as usual when my child downloads alarming information, Mommy-mode kicks in, and my focus is on allaying his fears so that he doesn’t trip on the stairs as he climbs into the bus.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You have a great day, ok?”

My next-door neighbor, who works from home, does not answer my call. He is a sound sleeper.

I decide to take my chances, until I remember that we replaced the hinges on the side door a couple of weeks ago, and it still doesn’t shut properly without careful attention.

Visions of my cat-eating dog, loose, and free to eat what she may, viciously flash across my brain, complete with dripping, red background…

Patricia answers on the second ring, as she carefully negotiates the car-rider lane in front of the school.

“Sure!”, she answers without hesitation, as I envision two potentially horrific scenarios.

“Um…What do I do if they are out?”, she asks, with a voice that tells me she is measuring traffic in an effort to make a turn.

“Stay in your car!”, I almost shout, as I imagine my friend, who is violently afraid of dogs, dealing with the blood-dripping cat-eater.

My phone rings, again, as she climbs the driveway in front of my house.

“The door is closed, honey.”, she manages, in a tight voice, not yet given to relief.

I tell her where to find the key, and, my pathetically frightened friend braves the door, and the pouncing, barking, cat-eating dog on the other side of it, as she inserts the key, and finishes the job…

And, tonight, I bake, in thanks.

While I don’t always enjoy cooking, I do enjoy baking, and, especially baking for a reason, and, particularly, baking for other people.

Tonight, I got to do both. I strapped on the IPOD, and cinched up my apron, as I pulled out recipes I had settled on earlier today.

I am baking “Butterscotch Blondies”, courtesy of Alexis Stewart of “Whatever” on Sirius radio,(A guilty pleasure that makes my daily commute doable.), and, “Pretzel Yummies”, a recipe I’ve made only once before, but which is requested on a weekly basis…

I had a great night! Below, I’ve included some pictures, and samples of music that accompanied me along the way. Come have fun with me!

My resident taster…

“Butterscotch Blondies”, fresh from the oven…


My crumb-catcher…


Coating for the “Pretzel Yummies”


“Pretzel Yummies”, complete

Presentation is everything…

The total package…


Baking is hard work…

And my music….

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Shakin’ and Bakin’

>
After 2 months of a blessedly uneventful start to middle school, today, he forgets to lock the house.

It was bound to happen, sooner or later. And, as usual when my child downloads alarming information, Mommy-mode kicks in, and my focus is on allaying his fears so that he doesn’t trip on the stairs as he climbs into the bus.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You have a great day, ok?”

My next-door neighbor, who works from home, does not answer my call. He is a sound sleeper.

I decide to take my chances, until I remember that we replaced the hinges on the side door a couple of weeks ago, and it still doesn’t shut properly without careful attention.

Visions of my cat-eating dog, loose, and free to eat what she may, viciously flash across my brain, complete with dripping, red background…

Patricia answers on the second ring, as she carefully negotiates the car-rider lane in front of the school.

“Sure!”, she answers without hesitation, as I envision two potentially horrific scenarios.

“Um…What do I do if they are out?”, she asks, with a voice that tells me she is measuring traffic in an effort to make a turn.

“Stay in your car!”, I almost shout, as I imagine my friend, who is violently afraid of dogs, dealing with the blood-dripping cat-eater.

My phone rings, again, as she climbs the driveway in front of my house.

“The door is closed, honey.”, she manages, in a tight voice, not yet given to relief.

I tell her where to find the key, and, my pathetically frightened friend braves the door, and the pouncing, barking, cat-eating dog on the other side of it, as she inserts the key, and finishes the job…

And, tonight, I bake, in thanks.

While I don’t always enjoy cooking, I do enjoy baking, and, especially baking for a reason, and, particularly, baking for other people.

Tonight, I got to do both. I strapped on the IPOD, and cinched up my apron, as I pulled out recipes I had settled on earlier today.

I am baking “Butterscotch Blondies”, courtesy of Alexis Stewart of “Whatever” on Sirius radio,(A guilty pleasure that makes my daily commute doable.), and, “Pretzel Yummies”, a recipe I’ve made only once before, but which is requested on a weekly basis…

I had a great night! Below, I’ve included some pictures, and samples of music that accompanied me along the way. Come have fun with me!

My resident taster…

“Butterscotch Blondies”, fresh from the oven…


My crumb-catcher…


Coating for the “Pretzel Yummies”


“Pretzel Yummies”, complete

Presentation is everything…

The total package…


Baking is hard work…

And my music….

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

Rising to the Challenge


I subscribe to a blog on which the writer has posted her picture every morning for 30days, fresh from the rack, sans make-up, and without the benefit of a hairbrush. Yesterday, on day 29, she challenged all of her readers/voyeurs to contribute their photos to the final display. Several did, I among them.

In a summary of her experience, she mentioned the emotions evoked by receiving our pictures, and recognized the fact that some might not understand the importance.

But, I do.

Women, in particular, are taught, from a very early age, that their early morning faces are somehow lacking, and unattractive. The entire cosmetics industry is, in fact, dependent upon a mixture of this artificially ingrained, low self-esteem and natural human competitiveness.

I have written before of my earliest experimentations with face paint, and the clandestine, early morning visits to the girl’s restroom, where I vied alongside many other desperate pre-teens, for a place in front of the mirror. Since that time, I have worn make-up of various brands, in various colors, and in varying amounts.

For years, I went without foundation, painting only my eyes and lips. Later, I slathered on the stuff, opting for an oil-free formula that claimed to control break-outs, while covering zits. Sadly, at the time, the contradiction evaded me. Now, I find myself on the opposite end of the spectrum, as I choose a foundation with multiple moisturizers to control fine lines, while promising to cover wrinkles; and I am completely aware of the dichotomy. I pay more for it now than I did then, but that’s ok, “because I’m worth it”.

My lids have been blue, green, brown, and pink, and always lined. Just as I mastered the art of creating a single perfect line with a tiny paint-filled brush, pencil liners became all the rage. As I drew a single, artfully-smudged line behind my daughter’s lashes on prom night, her friend’s mother exclaimed, “Oh, you do that so well!”. And yet, every morning I still struggle to recreate the effect on my own, somewhat puffy, eyelids.

I am blessed with very long, very thick eyelashes. I say blessed, but, in truth, this too is a curse, because layers of sticky, black mascara tend to clump in thick eyelashes, resulting in the dreaded “spider eyes”. So, again, I pay more, but…..you know the drill.

There was a time, in my early 20’s, during which the only way you could see the “real” me involved a really good flashlight and a possible conviction for breaking and entering. By the time I reached my 30’s, I became more concerned about the quality of my skin, and, thus began to give my aging pores a break by going bare-faced on weekends, unless I had an “event”. I maintained this regime for many years…until Alice challenged me.

My first visit to her morning face evoked many of the same emotions I remember having as my parents and I walked the sideshow at a local fair. I remember thinking, “Oh, that’s interesting.”, and, “I wonder why she wants to do that?”

Before long, I was visiting everyday, and as I read the musings she posted alongside her picture, I began to feel the full weight of her exercise. In short, I became a fan. I found myself pulling for her. Mild interest had turned into rousing feelings of support, much like those I feel when watching my beloved Gators take the field. And, occasionally, I expressed those feelings in the form of a comment, in hopes that she would realize she was having an effect. After a week of starting every morning with her unfettered face, I found I no longer felt the need to paint. The image reflected back to me in my bathroom mirror was, suddenly, good enough. And, for one solid week, I truly “faced” the world.

I sat, in full make-up, as I read her challenge and responded, without hesitation. It was the least I could do….

Thinking back on it, the preparations I made are laughable. I washed, and carefully styled my hair, the night before. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer in search of something frilly, pretty, and flattering, and lay my selections at the bedside for easy access the next morning. I set my clock, while making a mental note that there could be no hitting the snooze button, come morning. I had a responsibility.

The comical noises emitted by my Fisher-Price alarm clock awoke me, as planned. And, as I rose, the chill of early autumn hit me, full force, and the frilly, pretty, flattering lingerie at my feet remained, at my feet. I stumbled, again, towards the bathroom mirror, ran one hand through hair that bore no resemblance to that I had lain upon my pillow, and grabbed the fattest, plushest, warmest robe I own. Cinching it close around me, I headed for the computer, and my camera.

Weeks ago, in hopes of receiving a photograph of a very different sort, a friend had reminded me that my camera had a timer. As I set it, and waited for the flash, I offered up silent gratitude for the tip, and my decision not to use it for his suggested purpose.

The result is an image of me that, before today, few have seen. And, it was remarkably easy, and marvelously freeing, and amazingly uneventful. It is me; just me.

And, it was the least I could do…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Rising to the Challenge

>
I subscribe to a blog on which the writer has posted her picture every morning for 30days, fresh from the rack, sans make-up, and without the benefit of a hairbrush. Yesterday, on day 29, she challenged all of her readers/voyeurs to contribute their photos to the final display. Several did, I among them.

In a summary of her experience, she mentioned the emotions evoked by receiving our pictures, and recognized the fact that some might not understand the importance.

But, I do.

Women, in particular, are taught, from a very early age, that their early morning faces are somehow lacking, and unattractive. The entire cosmetics industry is, in fact, dependent upon a mixture of this artificially ingrained, low self-esteem and natural human competitiveness.

I have written before of my earliest experimentations with face paint, and the clandestine, early morning visits to the girl’s restroom, where I vied alongside many other desperate pre-teens, for a place in front of the mirror. Since that time, I have worn make-up of various brands, in various colors, and in varying amounts.

For years, I went without foundation, painting only my eyes and lips. Later, I slathered on the stuff, opting for an oil-free formula that claimed to control break-outs, while covering zits. Sadly, at the time, the contradiction evaded me. Now, I find myself on the opposite end of the spectrum, as I choose a foundation with multiple moisturizers to control fine lines, while promising to cover wrinkles; and I am completely aware of the dichotomy. I pay more for it now than I did then, but that’s ok, “because I’m worth it”.

My lids have been blue, green, brown, and pink, and always lined. Just as I mastered the art of creating a single perfect line with a tiny paint-filled brush, pencil liners became all the rage. As I drew a single, artfully-smudged line behind my daughter’s lashes on prom night, her friend’s mother exclaimed, “Oh, you do that so well!”. And yet, every morning I still struggle to recreate the effect on my own, somewhat puffy, eyelids.

I am blessed with very long, very thick eyelashes. I say blessed, but, in truth, this too is a curse, because layers of sticky, black mascara tend to clump in thick eyelashes, resulting in the dreaded “spider eyes”. So, again, I pay more, but…..you know the drill.

There was a time, in my early 20’s, during which the only way you could see the “real” me involved a really good flashlight and a possible conviction for breaking and entering. By the time I reached my 30’s, I became more concerned about the quality of my skin, and, thus began to give my aging pores a break by going bare-faced on weekends, unless I had an “event”. I maintained this regime for many years…until Alice challenged me.

My first visit to her morning face evoked many of the same emotions I remember having as my parents and I walked the sideshow at a local fair. I remember thinking, “Oh, that’s interesting.”, and, “I wonder why she wants to do that?”

Before long, I was visiting everyday, and as I read the musings she posted alongside her picture, I began to feel the full weight of her exercise. In short, I became a fan. I found myself pulling for her. Mild interest had turned into rousing feelings of support, much like those I feel when watching my beloved Gators take the field. And, occasionally, I expressed those feelings in the form of a comment, in hopes that she would realize she was having an effect. After a week of starting every morning with her unfettered face, I found I no longer felt the need to paint. The image reflected back to me in my bathroom mirror was, suddenly, good enough. And, for one solid week, I truly “faced” the world.

I sat, in full make-up, as I read her challenge and responded, without hesitation. It was the least I could do….

Thinking back on it, the preparations I made are laughable. I washed, and carefully styled my hair, the night before. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer in search of something frilly, pretty, and flattering, and lay my selections at the bedside for easy access the next morning. I set my clock, while making a mental note that there could be no hitting the snooze button, come morning. I had a responsibility.

The comical noises emitted by my Fisher-Price alarm clock awoke me, as planned. And, as I rose, the chill of early autumn hit me, full force, and the frilly, pretty, flattering lingerie at my feet remained, at my feet. I stumbled, again, towards the bathroom mirror, ran one hand through hair that bore no resemblance to that I had lain upon my pillow, and grabbed the fattest, plushest, warmest robe I own. Cinching it close around me, I headed for the computer, and my camera.

Weeks ago, in hopes of receiving a photograph of a very different sort, a friend had reminded me that my camera had a timer. As I set it, and waited for the flash, I offered up silent gratitude for the tip, and my decision not to use it for his suggested purpose.

The result is an image of me that, before today, few have seen. And, it was remarkably easy, and marvelously freeing, and amazingly uneventful. It is me; just me.

And, it was the least I could do…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

Love Me…Please!!!!

For almost a year now, I have subscribed to an online community of baby-boomers. I was drawn, originally, by the writing groups, one of which actually held writing competitions in which a published author critiqued pieces, constructively. I got really jazzed when she pointed up something she liked about what I had written, and though I never actually won “first prize”, I always placed…

As time went on, I began to explore the site more deeply and came to enjoy many other groups, which also offered me the opportunity to spread my wings. I would browse the questions, and delve into any subject I found of interest without thought to what someone might think, or expect. I have, over time, received many “kudos” and “friend requests”, and have come to know many people on varying levels.

Today, as I entered the site and browsed the topics, I found myself hesitant to answer a question. I was intrigued, and had a ready answer, but after I typed it, I hesitated. I found myself thinking, what will “they” think? In a characteristic reaction of rebellion, I posted my answer. But the question remains…

I have tossed it around all day.

This is what I have come up with…

I am a free spirit. In my “real” life, I am a “live and let live” kind of person. What you see is what you get. If you like it, that’s great! If you don’t, and decide to keep moving, then that’s ok, too. Our time here is too short to spend great amounts of time and energy on something as simple as human relationships. If you don’t like what I have to offer, chances are, there is someone more to your liking just around the bend, and I encourage you to keep walking. I’ll even show you the way!

A forced relationship, in which you feel you have to adhere to someone else’s standard isn’t real, and, thus, a waste of valuable time.

I have a couple of handfuls of friends, to whom, I feel real obligation, and many, many acquaintances, who I enjoy, but, from whom, I entertain no particular burden.

Over the last year, I have engaged in an exchange of ideas with people with whom I have in common a market share, and I have come to value them.

What I have discovered is that, on many levels, I value them as much, or more than. people I see, and speak to, and share air with, every day. With this esteem comes obligation, as in any relationship, and what they think of me has become important. I no longer participate in an open forum with a group of herded strangers. I have uncovered personalities. I am aware of expectations. I feel a need for approval….

I am, and always have been, a big fan of online communication. I love the way it takes down barriers and leaves just what matters….puts it out on the table for our consideration.

And, as I’m wondering why, after 47 years I am suddenly craving approval from a group of people I might not even recognize should I meet them on the street, I have realized there is a drawback….

This morning, I had a ready answer, and I hesitated. I know what these people think, but as I consider their viewpoints, I cannot study their body language. I cannot look into their faces and decide if they are serious or just feeling me out. I cannot read a smile, or feel a look of disdain….

I drive for a minimum of an hour to, and from work. This afternoon, as a sat, in my new-found quiet, waiting for opposing traffic to pass, I thought of a friend; fragile, unhealthy, brave. I tried to remember the last time I had called, just to tell her I love her, and my heart double-clutched…

In the last 24 hours, I have shared opinions, and “vibes”, and stories with hundreds of people I wouldn’t even recognize in a police line-up, and I hadn’t called her once.

We talked tonight, often at the same time. And, as she talked, I didn’t have to wonder what she really meant, or what her facial expressions might have been, because I knew…..

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Love Me…Please!!!!

>

For almost a year now, I have subscribed to an online community of baby-boomers. I was drawn, originally, by the writing groups, one of which actually held writing competitions in which a published author critiqued pieces, constructively. I got really jazzed when she pointed up something she liked about what I had written, and though I never actually won “first prize”, I always placed…

As time went on, I began to explore the site more deeply and came to enjoy many other groups, which also offered me the opportunity to spread my wings. I would browse the questions, and delve into any subject I found of interest without thought to what someone might think, or expect. I have, over time, received many “kudos” and “friend requests”, and have come to know many people on varying levels.

Today, as I entered the site and browsed the topics, I found myself hesitant to answer a question. I was intrigued, and had a ready answer, but after I typed it, I hesitated. I found myself thinking, what will “they” think? In a characteristic reaction of rebellion, I posted my answer. But the question remains…

I have tossed it around all day.

This is what I have come up with…

I am a free spirit. In my “real” life, I am a “live and let live” kind of person. What you see is what you get. If you like it, that’s great! If you don’t, and decide to keep moving, then that’s ok, too. Our time here is too short to spend great amounts of time and energy on something as simple as human relationships. If you don’t like what I have to offer, chances are, there is someone more to your liking just around the bend, and I encourage you to keep walking. I’ll even show you the way!

A forced relationship, in which you feel you have to adhere to someone else’s standard isn’t real, and, thus, a waste of valuable time.

I have a couple of handfuls of friends, to whom, I feel real obligation, and many, many acquaintances, who I enjoy, but, from whom, I entertain no particular burden.

Over the last year, I have engaged in an exchange of ideas with people with whom I have in common a market share, and I have come to value them.

What I have discovered is that, on many levels, I value them as much, or more than. people I see, and speak to, and share air with, every day. With this esteem comes obligation, as in any relationship, and what they think of me has become important. I no longer participate in an open forum with a group of herded strangers. I have uncovered personalities. I am aware of expectations. I feel a need for approval….

I am, and always have been, a big fan of online communication. I love the way it takes down barriers and leaves just what matters….puts it out on the table for our consideration.

And, as I’m wondering why, after 47 years I am suddenly craving approval from a group of people I might not even recognize should I meet them on the street, I have realized there is a drawback….

This morning, I had a ready answer, and I hesitated. I know what these people think, but as I consider their viewpoints, I cannot study their body language. I cannot look into their faces and decide if they are serious or just feeling me out. I cannot read a smile, or feel a look of disdain….

I drive for a minimum of an hour to, and from work. This afternoon, as a sat, in my new-found quiet, waiting for opposing traffic to pass, I thought of a friend; fragile, unhealthy, brave. I tried to remember the last time I had called, just to tell her I love her, and my heart double-clutched…

In the last 24 hours, I have shared opinions, and “vibes”, and stories with hundreds of people I wouldn’t even recognize in a police line-up, and I hadn’t called her once.

We talked tonight, often at the same time. And, as she talked, I didn’t have to wonder what she really meant, or what her facial expressions might have been, because I knew…..

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

Arm-wrestling God

We share 20 years.

She hosted a beautiful wedding as I joined my life to my first real love, and provided a haven when he returned to his; liquid, cold, uncaring, and violent.

She was there through the howls of birth; first mine, and later, theirs.

And, as I suffered through the death of one not to be born alive, she was there as I emerged from the examination room, holding a single rose, and her tongue, on the long, silent ride home.

When I determined to try again, staring down forty, she propped me up when my feet were too swollen to carry me, and never failed to remind me of the folly in my decision.

Now as I bare my soul, share my guilt, and bemoan my lack of restraint, she does what only she can do….

“You arm-wrestled God for a man, honey! What did you think was gonna happen?”

This is her gift…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Arm-wrestling God

>

We share 20 years.

She hosted a beautiful wedding as I joined my life to my first real love, and provided a haven when he returned to his; liquid, cold, uncaring, and violent.

She was there through the howls of birth; first mine, and later, theirs.

And, as I suffered through the death of one not to be born alive, she was there as I emerged from the examination room, holding a single rose, and her tongue, on the long, silent ride home.

When I determined to try again, staring down forty, she propped me up when my feet were too swollen to carry me, and never failed to remind me of the folly in my decision.

Now as I bare my soul, share my guilt, and bemoan my lack of restraint, she does what only she can do….

“You arm-wrestled God for a man, honey! What did you think was gonna happen?”

This is her gift…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

Just Another Reason To Party

I’m not a person who feels tied into age. Age, to me, is a number, and really nothing more. When asked my age, I often have to stop and think. I am fortunate, (I guess), to have friends and family who, apparently keep up with these things…
Every year, as my birthday approaches I encourage everyone to see things as I do. “It’s just another day!”, “I really don’t need presents.”, “I don’t eat birthday cake.” Last year, on September 2nd, I announced I was done having birthdays. I mean, what’s so special about them? Everybody has one! They are like belly-buttons…
This year, as the day approached, my daughter called, wondering how I was celebrating Labor Day. I really hadn’t thought about it. She wondered if she, her friend, and her friend’s new, and completely darling daughter could visit. A son called. He was up for a cook-out. Another son called, also looking for free food…So, the plan was set. Labor Day cookout at my house!
A couple of days ago, I heard, again, from my daughter, who, in her best little girl voice, wondered, hypothetically mind you, if I WAS going to eat birthday cake, not that I would, what kind of cake I would like. I thought for several seconds before telling her, and with that I made a decision. I was having a birthday party. Did I say party? Make that a birthday blowout!
And here’s the reason we have birthdays…
I slept in this morning, just because I could. I checked on Dad who is stubbornly riding the storm out in Destin. And the calls started, interspersed with texts from people, some from whom I rarely hear, who appreciate my being here. As I took the calls, I opened my mailbox to an assortment of good wishes. Sweet!
Around 1:00, my grill master arrived with a variety of meats and mysterious seasonings, and set about preparing to cook out. As the guests arrived, they were greeted by loud music, and louder laughter. Red wine made everyone a better dancer as children ran between our legs, glorifying in the luxury of a game of chase inside the house!
The food was great, the company wonderful, and everyone left feeling just a little better for having shared my day.
And, as for me? I was queen for a day! Cared for, pampered, and fawned over by family and friends. I ate food I rarely allow myself, I drank good wine, I danced to my favorite music, I watched my children enter the house as sophisticated adults and revert back into playmates in the way only siblings can, and I laughed.
As the party ended, and guests began to filter out, my daughter brought the baby to me. She is gorgeous, with Asian features, and soft, marshmallowy limbs. She played with my jewelry, babbled sweetly, and threw her toys to the floor in front of us in sweet anticipation of a ride down to pick them up.
Pudgy hands flayed desperately in an attempt to rub her sleepy eyes as she nestled into my side, and we napped…
Friends, it just doesn’t get any better than this…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Just Another Reason To Party

>

I’m not a person who feels tied into age. Age, to me, is a number, and really nothing more. When asked my age, I often have to stop and think. I am fortunate, (I guess), to have friends and family who, apparently keep up with these things…
Every year, as my birthday approaches I encourage everyone to see things as I do. “It’s just another day!”, “I really don’t need presents.”, “I don’t eat birthday cake.” Last year, on September 2nd, I announced I was done having birthdays. I mean, what’s so special about them? Everybody has one! They are like belly-buttons…
This year, as the day approached, my daughter called, wondering how I was celebrating Labor Day. I really hadn’t thought about it. She wondered if she, her friend, and her friend’s new, and completely darling daughter could visit. A son called. He was up for a cook-out. Another son called, also looking for free food…So, the plan was set. Labor Day cookout at my house!
A couple of days ago, I heard, again, from my daughter, who, in her best little girl voice, wondered, hypothetically mind you, if I WAS going to eat birthday cake, not that I would, what kind of cake I would like. I thought for several seconds before telling her, and with that I made a decision. I was having a birthday party. Did I say party? Make that a birthday blowout!
And here’s the reason we have birthdays…
I slept in this morning, just because I could. I checked on Dad who is stubbornly riding the storm out in Destin. And the calls started, interspersed with texts from people, some from whom I rarely hear, who appreciate my being here. As I took the calls, I opened my mailbox to an assortment of good wishes. Sweet!
Around 1:00, my grill master arrived with a variety of meats and mysterious seasonings, and set about preparing to cook out. As the guests arrived, they were greeted by loud music, and louder laughter. Red wine made everyone a better dancer as children ran between our legs, glorifying in the luxury of a game of chase inside the house!
The food was great, the company wonderful, and everyone left feeling just a little better for having shared my day.
And, as for me? I was queen for a day! Cared for, pampered, and fawned over by family and friends. I ate food I rarely allow myself, I drank good wine, I danced to my favorite music, I watched my children enter the house as sophisticated adults and revert back into playmates in the way only siblings can, and I laughed.
As the party ended, and guests began to filter out, my daughter brought the baby to me. She is gorgeous, with Asian features, and soft, marshmallowy limbs. She played with my jewelry, babbled sweetly, and threw her toys to the floor in front of us in sweet anticipation of a ride down to pick them up.
Pudgy hands flayed desperately in an attempt to rub her sleepy eyes as she nestled into my side, and we napped…
Friends, it just doesn’t get any better than this…

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net