Because, as you know, nothing says “I love you” better than flowers, which you have to take care of until they (always) die, and chocolates, which you regret eating as soon as they pass your lips.

A colleague of mine, MaryAnn Reilly, has invited fellow bloggers to envision Valentine’s Day in a new way, and to create ways to say “I love you” without purchasing anything.  She calls it CrowdSourcingLove.  She has posted two of her own, and other bloggers are beginning to share their ideas on her blog, as well.

Today, I’d like to share my contribution (hopefully the first of a few) to her project.

Your Story

No one can tell your story like you. 

The first moment you saw him/her.  The first conversation.  The first moment you knew this was something special.

You don’t have to be a beautiful writer.  Just write from the heart.

You’d be surprised how many people have never shared with their partner what they thought in those first moments, or what moment it was when they knew.

Write it down, on paper, in your own handwriting.

There is no story as captivating as the story of your love.

And I realized, as I wrote in her comments, that one of my favorite things about the winter is being able to listen to the kids play.

The monkeys keep up an endless stream of chatter as they play with each other, and as they play alone.

It’s always struck me, because even though I was an only child, I was constantly talking, as well.

To myself, of course, but talking through play, nonetheless.

Although by the time summer rolls around, I am practically tearful with glee as I say “It’s beautiful!  Go outside to play!” I miss the chatter that goes along with their playing. I know they are still having these strange conversations that outsiders would never understand, but that they seem to understand instinctively.  They have that sibling language, where one word or sound sets off a chorus of giggles because they all remember the context from which it was drawn and it is meaningful…just to them.

When they are outside, I miss it.

I started to wonder how often I stop listening to the play and just let it become the background noise that is the soundtrack to my time at home.  I started to wonder how much I am missing when I’m not listening to the talk of play.

This winter, I want to be sure to really listen to the play that goes on in my home.  Try to decipher their language, and see what’s going on in those little psyche’s that only comes out when they play.

Heather writes:

Ok I’ve got one….to me, you seem like an amazingly confident mom…like it just fits you like a glove to be a mom….are there (or were there) any things or times in your parenting journey that were overwhelming or that “push your buttons” in terms of feeling confident as a mom?

I have about a dozen of said moments a day so I’m really curious if I’m losing it or semi normal. Lol.

Heather, I’m no different than any other Mom, and my kids are no different than any other kids.  I feel overwhelmed at least once a day.  I constantly worry that I’m doing or saying something that will mess up my kids.  Monkey in the Middle and I go head to head on a pretty consistent basis, because we are so similar.  I think I’m too critical of Monkey Girl.  I think that I probably baby Baby Monkey too much and let him get away with things the older two would never get away with.  So far, I don’t think I’ve screwed up Tiny, but there’s time.  My kids yell when they are mad because I yell when I am mad and they’ve learned it from me.

So, I’m not entirely confident in my mothering.  However, I am 100% confident that my kids know that I love them beyond all reasoning.  When they walk into a room, whether it’s been hours or minutes since I saw them last, I give them big smiles and hugs and kisses, because I honestly feel that that is what kids really need to feel good about themselves.  The feeling that their mere presence is enough to brighten the world for someone.  And, at the end of the day, when everyone is getting tucked in, if I’ve done something during the day that I’m feeling badly about, I apologize and let them know I’ll try harder tomorrow.  Every day is a new start for all of us.  They know I’m not perfect, and I certainly don’t pretend to be.

Being a Mom is hard, and I don’t know anyone who doesn’t struggle with it.  People always say it’s the hardest job in the world, and they are absolutely correct.  Part of that is because the stakes are so high.  Part of it is because the “client” is continually changing and so what worked one day may not work the next.  And a big part of it is that it is the only job in the world where we are continually being judged by others…and especially by ourselves.  The viciousness with which Moms judge other Moms continually astounds me.  What we should be doing is lifting each other up and saying “Oh, I understand…I get it…good job.”

At the end of the day, I think we’re all doing the best that we can, and unless we are hurting our kids, I don’t think anyone is doing it any better than anyone else.

I’ve taken those questions and suggestions and sometimes, responded directly, and, other times, have crafted posts based on their feedback.

I have a feeling, however, that more people than just those who have email have some opinions about what they’d like to see on the blog.

So, I decided that, today, I’d open up the blog for questions and suggestions.

Got a suggestion for something you’d like to see me write a post about?

Got a question about the monkeys, Real Man or I that you are dying to have answered?

Leave your question or suggestion in the comments below, and I’m going to spend Tuesdays writing about whatever it is that you want to read about!

I hope that you’ll leave your name with your comment, but anonymous questions and suggestions will be answered as well!

Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

We woke to snow on the ground.

Tiny and I enjoyed a quiet breakfast, watching the snow fall.

Once the big monkeys were up, they suited up and headed right outside while Real Man took care of the driveway.

While they were out there, Tiny played with toys in the living room, while I sat on the couch with my book and had second breakfast.

Tiny decided to watch his siblings outside.

Which was, apparently, exhausting.

The big kids came in for some Spaghettio’s…a snow day favorite.

While Real Man and I had fried egg sandwiches.

The monkeys headed back outside after lunch.

I played a little piano, and found I had an audience from the other room (with some help from Real Man).

Then, Monkey Girl came in and decided to play.

I baked some brownies.

Monkey Girl baked her first batch of chocolate chip cookies on her own.

And learned a valuable lesson about how unevenly our oven bakes things.

Real Man and Monkey Girl went to the Girl Scout Father/Daughter Hoe Down.

The monkey big boys played on the computer.

Tiny played with his kitchen.

And Mama played some Wii Glee Karaoke.

After Tiny went to bed, Monkey in the Middle “taught” Baby Monkey how to play chess, I played some Words With Friends, and we chilled until my girl and my man came home.

It was truly a great day and left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

I got none of the things I wanted to get done accomplished, but somehow, I just don’t care.

While Monkey Girl practices her flute at the kitchen table (because her practice space in the library, apparently, isn’t good enough), the boys and I dance around like fools.

During some songs, the boys bust out the recorders and play along with her.

It gets loud.

But then, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s always pretty loud around here.

I like her band teacher, because he’s got them playing songs like “Jump” by Van Halen.

Nothing like a 5th grade band playing some 80′s rock.

Maybe next week they’ll get some Def Leppard.

Anywho…

Then, she starts practicing the theme from StarWars and the boys and I decide to re-enact the scene at the end of StarWars, where Princess Leia gives the boys the medals.

I play Luke Skywalker.

Monkey in the Middle plays Han Solo, and gives a super cute wink when he gets his medal.

If I were Leia, I’d have swooned.

Baby Monkey portrays Chewbacca.

He plays a mean wookie.

Then, we switch roles and Baby Monkey plays Han as he is frozen.

Then, the 6 of us sit around and try to see who can make the best Wookie sound.

Tiny makes a pretty good Wookie.

Looking back, I should have recorded that part of the evening.

If you heard it, your lives would never be the same.

Then, we put the kids to bed.

It’s a Friday night, so they have a sleepover in Monkey Girl’s bed.

After we let them get comfy and snuggly, Real Man and I climb into bed with them, and elbow them and scootch around and say “This is how it feels when people who shouldn’t be sleeping in your bed come in in the middle of the night and take up all the space.”

The monkeys find this hilarious.

I realize I’m actually pretty comfy and don’t want to get out of the bed, but then Monkey in the Middle moves and his elbow digs into my back and I remember the point we were trying to make and I hop out.

Then, Real Man and I snuggle up and play Words With Friends against each other, while sitting next to each other, instead of pulling out the actual Scrabble board.

We’re a very 21st century couple.

Or something.

So, there it is…our rockin’ Friday night.

Very different than our Friday nights when we were dating.

Cuz, you know, we didn’t used to have kids.

Except, perhaps, a happy baby in his bath with a shampoo mohawk.

Doing laundry.

As I am doing with almost every waking moment of my life.

As I pulled out, yet another, item from someone’s pocket and put it on the windowsill where I put all my laundry treasures, I thought, “You know, Amy…you should blog about this.  About your laundry treasures.  Because everyone out in the world wide web world has been dying to see what you find in the laundry.  I just know it.”

Thus, this post was born.

Here is the windowsill where I put my laundry treasures.

I line them up and if anyone wants to come and claim them, they are more than welcome to do so.

Otherwise, out they go.

If it meant so little to you that you couldn’t be bothered to remember it was in your pocket when you took off your pants, I’m not hunting you down to tell you I found it.

Item #1:

This came from the pocket of Monkey Girl.

I don’t know why she took it off, but I’m imagining a moment in school, where her teacher said, “Monkey Girl…if that ring is going to continue to distract you, maybe you should take it off.”

Off it went, into the pocket, and out of sight, out of mind.

If memory serves, there will be a million more of these little, adjustable rings to come into my house before she graduates from high school.

One in the trash isn’t going to kill her.

Item #2:

Also from the pockets of Monkey Girl.

Luckily, I pulled this out BEFORE it went through the dryer.

There is always a tube of lip balm on the windowsill in the laundry room.

My girl has gorgeous, Angelina Jolie lips.

If she doesn’t keep them well covered in lip balm, she gets very uncomfortable.

She complains about those lips being too big and we keep telling her that women shoot toxins into their lips to get the look she has naturally.

To that, she just says, “Gross.”

Item #3:

I’m not sure what this was.

I had never seen it before.

I’m not sure whose pockets it came from.

I’m guessing one of the boys.

It made it through the washer and the dryer.

I pulled it out, played with it a little, and tossed it.

Item #4:

Believe it or not, we have a dice collection.

Big dice, small dice, strangely shaped dice, bronze dice, etc.

Found this in the dryer, also.

Added it to the collection.

Item #5:

Um…this came out of my pocket.

So, I put it in my wallet.

Other people’s money goes in my wallet, too.

You do the laundry, you reap the rewards.

Now, there is also this bag in the laundry room.

Do you know what this bag is?

Can you guess?

Unmatched socks.

I have at least one sock to add to the bag every single time I do the laundry.

Then, when the bag is full, I pay Monkey Girl $5 to make any matches she can.

She takes an hour, dumps the bag, and makes matches.

5 matches later, she’s done, and the other hundred mismatched socks go back in the bag.

I don’t want to talk about it.
So, those are my observations from the laundry room.

Don’t worry…I’m not going to make this a regular post.

I think.