When I was sixteen I met my husband. While I was delaying going to class, I was introduced to Eric by my teacher mother as Eric handed in a paper. It was mortifying as she exclaimed, "OH! Abbey, this is Eric! Eric, this is Abbey! Now you can date!" in front of her class. But when I looked past the hot pink cheeks and into Eric's eyes, I knew that I was going to marry him. And, here we are. Five years after our marriage and almost twelve years into our relationship, we sit on opposite sides of the country wishing that we were able to spend the day, heck, a nice quiet meal, together. Our Wedding- June 28, 2008 I recently celebrated my ten year reunion from High School, while I was there, my former classmates were disappointed that they didn't get to see Eric. When they apologized that he was working in Colorado and kind of shook their head at the sad military wife who was alone, I thought it'd be appropriate to let them know that it was okay. We could handl...

Three weeks after his third birthday, it was time. I couldn't take the "it's time to brush your hair" fight any longer, the curls were slowly drooping and only looked good when wet. I'd tried everything: thinning his hair, using curling gel, even using several spray bottles throughout the day to keep his hair damp, but I just couldn't take the shaggy, matted, mullet, has been hockey player look any longer. It was time for a big boy hair cut. Part of my delay was that I hated the fact that every three year old boy out there has a buzz cut. Yeah, I get that it's easy, but I liked that my boys had long, blonde curls that bounced when they ran. I liked that they were unique. I liked that they got compliments every where they went for their adorable curls. I was proud that my kids always looked nice when we went out and at least gave the perception that we were a put together family. The other problem that prolonged the bad hair look, was that if I cut it, I ...

The kids have juice, a snack, fresh diapers and have peed off the deck. They have toys they haven't seen in a while, an episode of Octonauts and phew,  I'm ready. I assume I have more than five, less than eight minutes before I have to be back. I grab my phone and head to the bathroom. I close the door. As soon as I sit down and start to go, Thornado screams. It's not a danger scream, just a warning that he's unhappy. A few seconds later Hank-o-Saurus runs through the hall. Each time he lands the house shakes, then there's Thornado, he's bellowing as he quickly chases his brother and clumsily runs down Hank. I can tell no one is hurt, but the possibility of a disaster is quickly approaching. I yell from the toilet, "Henrik, you give it back to your brother right now!" Clearly my warning wasn't going to work but it was the best I could do. Thornado starts to roar louder, Hank-o-Sarus has been defeated and starts to moan. The situation has escalate...

I know a lot of parents say that their kids stop napping right around age two. I've been lucky that my kids still nap, and sometimes for four hours!  It absolutely gets in the way of play dates and outings, but without it, I'm tortured in a slow and painful way. Recently, the only way I can get them to nap is if I rock them. There is something very magical about that rhythmic rocking and clicking of the rocking chair. It's even soothing to me too. I listen to the classical music, I feel my children drifting away on top of me, our breaths start to sync and when they start to twitch when they are truly asleep, there is just something so angelic about their sleeping faces that I just can't let go of. All of the stress from tantrums, the day, or the battle we had about food is gone. When I see their sleeping faces, the slate is wiped clean. I know that rocking them to sleep is not going to help them sleep in their own beds and I know it's not going to make my night time...

It's 8:30 pm and both of my kids are asleep. I've got a glass of wine, I'm sitting by the fire and I'm laughing with my parents and brother, but, I'm not happy. No, it's not like I need anything else and I'm really not taking the on time bedtime for granted, but it that this early bedtime came at the cost of a very fun, late night yesterday, no nap today, a day filled of fishing and swim lessons, sun and Uncle-Nephew bonding. It came with an out of line (and out of control) three year old, an upset Pop Pop, an irate mother and a room full of family members who heard me at my worst: they heard me yell at my son (and not the loud shrieking yell; the low, slow, quiet, finger pointing, stern yell). It came with evil glares, a firm placement in time out and a mother with her face in her son's face as she smooshed his cheeks and told him that he will never act like this again. As I cover up my boys and walk down stairs I feel ashamed. Not that my boys whin...

Tomorrow morning, Dads everywhere will wake up to brightly colored, overly taped packages full of golf balls, ties and technology. Tomorrow, there will be Dads and daughters, and Dads and sons playing outdoors, attending ball games and having BBQs with family. Tomorrow, older children will return home to have a beer with their Dad and thank them for being influential in their lives. Tomorrow, I will visit both of my dads, but my sons won't see theirs. You see, for five months now we've lived away from my husband. Not because there is anything wrong between us, but because it was best for us. Life threw us some curve balls: My mom got cancer, we had to take care of a flooded house, we had to sell that flooded house, we had to move across the country, and live in a state we didn't yet have a home in. Instead of dragging our kids through that uncertainty, Eric and I decided I'd just return to Michigan where the boys would have their grandparents, some stability and a...

When we found out I was pregnant we did what every new parent would do: called our family, stared at each other in shock, looked at our house and discovered how unsafe it was, looked at the house and realized we'd better get it fixed up, looked at our bank account (could it really cost $250,000 to raise a child?), posted the obligatory pee stick photo on Facebook and then sat on the couch, exhausted and realized that this child would have to have a name. Damn. What on earth do you name a kid? We scoured the inter webs for anything, but our last name wasn't an easy one to work with. Once we figured that out, we looked into Heritage names, something to go with the Swedishness of our last name, we started a Scandinavian search, talk about a culture shock. I didn't want our baby to have a name that stood out, was too hard to pronounce or spell. But when I looked at these names , I wasn't sure this was the right avenue: Algot? Elnar? Agda? Agaton? I wasn't even sure if...