playing our song

My relationship with my husband didn’t begin in the most conventional way. We met in what was basically a religious cult, and grew to be good friends over time. Around five years later, he began to show some interest romantically, but I wasn’t feeling it yet. Another couple of years later, I finally came to my senses and we were married a year later. I definitely love my husband dearly, but I’m not what one would consider an overly touchy-feely soft and gooey person. I’m practical. I’m not all that into PDA and I’m definitely not a lovey romantic. I feel bad for him, because he is definitely a romantic in his way, but our relationship has always been one of best friends at the foundation with some romance sprinkled on top every now and again.

Way, way back in the beginning he began singing “our song” to me. Actually, he sang three lines of our song to me and then it would always trail off into humming. I’d never heard the song, and hand to god, I’ve always thought he just made it up. He’s always insisted it was a real song, but I had never heard anything that sounded remotely like it, and I just thought he was mixing up something he’d heard once upon a time and put his own spin to it- which was equally great to me. It’s a sweet little tune and early in our marriage he’d sing or hum it to me all the time. Now, it’s usually when he grabs me in the kitchen and slow dances me around or if he knows I need a little chuckle. Do you SEE what a loving romantic I’m married to and how it’s so sad that I’m such a cold fish?! Poor sap.

I’ve been noticing that as we’re getting older and the kids are growing up and life is settling down more, I definitely have become more sentimental and maybe even a little gooey – if only every great once in a while. This week; however, I fear I may have fallen head over heels totally, madly in love with this man. Smitten. Sixteen and a half years later, and he finally got to me.

A few weeks ago we were driving and all of a sudden I heard a very familiar tune. It was the song. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock! He just kept laughing at me and telling me he knew it was real. I was in such disbelief that I didn’t even listen to all the words, we just kept laughing and it was honestly just so surreal. Earlier this week, I flippantly mentioned that I wish I could hear the song again because I wanted to hear the actual words (still thinking he’d made up his own version, haha!)

Yesterday I was in the shower, and I hear him come in and start setting up his music. He always listens to music when he’s in the shower, and I never do. For a split second I was giving an eye roll that he was messing up my quiet time with his music. Then, I heard the tune. I opened the curtain to see him give me a little twinkle-eyed grin, and we both chuckled.  I stood in my shower listening to that song with tears streaming down my face.  It’s like that song was written for us. He’s been carrying around this song in his heart for seventeen years, and I’m just hearing it for the first time. I can’t explain why, but it’s exactly what I needed right now.

Our marriage has always been rock solid. We had to fight for it, and we’ve certainly had our share of battles to overcome over the years. They’ve always brought us closer, and we have always been best friends but sometimes the lovey romance gets lost in the shuffle. Hearing that song, and knowing that this is what he’s been singing to me in his heart all these years has left me in a puddle. It’s nothing short of a gift to my soul right now. Even after seventeen years, our love can be renewed and deepened by one simple act- one simple song. That’s probably the best gift I’ve ever been given. I didn’t even know I needed it, but it’s like a cold drink of water on the hottest day- just the fresh start that I needed for this season of our life.

Thanks to some guy named Sammy Kershaw for singing our song.

(I know that this is just a mush-fest display of affection that is super out of character for me, but I just needed to get it out there.)

it’s about to get real REAL around here

In an effort to undo approximately 12 years of all but ruining my children in the area of personal responsibility, I have recently launched Operation Grow Up. Don’t tell them. They don’t know about it yet. They think I’ve just turned into an evil witch determined to destroy their lives.

Okay, in all seriousness, my 16 and 13 year olds might be a teeny-tiny bit behind what some would advise for personal motivation and self-discipline. If there is one thing I am not going to release onto the world it’s people who can’t take care of themselves in a pinch. So, this summer we are going to work a little extra on some life-skills development. I’m already equal parts looking forward to it and dreading the ever-living shit out of it. I’m looking forward to imparting my vast wisdom of how to actually survive at life, and I am loathing the idea of how much push-back and whining is about to ensue. I’m sure some of the activities are going to be borderline fun for one of them, but I’m positive the fun isn’t going to last more than 5 minutes.

Here’s some things I’m planning to work on:
For the 16 (who plans to get a summer job, but at the very least will be babysitting for cash)

  • Apply and interview for jobs
  • Open and manage a checking account (yikes. I’m most scared of this one.)
  • Develop a personal budget and *fingers crossed* actually follow it
  • Learn to change a tire and other car/driver related things that I’m still working on
  • Email etiquette – practiced by taking over communication with college contacts!

For the 13 (who, up to this point, hardly cleans his room and unloads the dishwasher with any regular success. ugh.)

  • Learn to do laundry and begin doing his own from now till forever
  • Basic money management
  • Basic cleaning skills- things like strip, wash and replace sheets. sweep and mop (thoroughly!) and similar tasks.
  • Purchase gas and fill the car tank
  • Wash and clean cars – inside and out

Tasks to work on together (read also: learning better teamwork with people who think differently than you)

  • Meal planning, budgeting and shopping. I’m thinking Elle will be the boss and supervise Jordan, but I’m also wanting him to plan and execute a week of lunches and her a week of dinner.
  • Basic table and social etiquette
  • If we survive this, I will think of other similar tasks. 🙂

This might seem small and silly to some, but this will probably take all of my mental energy for the summer, ha! I just need these kids to realize a few things:

  1. The things that magically happen in their world on a daily basis while they’re at school or at play aren’t done by magical fairies. It’s hard and thankless work, and it requires sacrifice.
  2. Accomplishing those things also provides a great deal of personal satisfaction and pride in your work ethic if you do them well.

Cross your fingers for us. It might be a bumpy ride this summer.

first grade

I became a helicopter mom in the first grade. Okay, obviously I did not become a mother in the first grade, and we all know there were no helicopter moms in the 80’s, but the foundation was definitely laid that year. My destiny was determined by a series of unfortunate events and a skewed sense of reality.

You know how you have those weird memories of your childhood that are just a perfect snapshot, detailing every tiny nuance? If you ask me to provide that amount of detail about what I had for breakfast just this morning it would be impossible. Ask about the first grade Christmas gift exchange party of 1983, and I’ve got you. I think I’ve recounted parts of this story before, but my perspective on it has certainly changed over the past few years.

My first grade year started with Ms. Pam. She must have been pretty pregnant already, because by Christmas she was out on maternity leave. Miss Kelly came in as a long-term sub, and I’m just now realizing that these are the only two teachers I ever had that went by their first names. It must have been their youth. A short time before the holidays, I’m sure there was some announcement about a Christmas party complete with gift exchange. I remember drawing names for a fellow student to buy for, and the rule of a maximum price tag on the gift. I’m 99% sure my mom and I did the shopping the night before the party. I have no idea what I bought my classmate, or even Miss Kelly, but the gift for Ms. Pam is etched in my brain forever.

We wandered the aisles of Walmart for quite a while, searching for the perfect gift for Ms. Pam. I remember my mom asking me repeatedly how much we were allowed to spend on the gifts and my response being somewhere between $.50 and $5. I don’t know. It was certainly difficult to find something suitable in that price range. I’m sure I had the details wrong, whatever the number I came up with, because I just remember it being quite the ordeal to find that perfect gift.  Finally I found a tiny red candle that was in a white ceramic dish and smelled strongly of cinnamon. I think it had a lid with a heart or angel on top of it, but that part’s a little fuzzy. I remember being really excited to take it to the party and bestow it upon my teacher. I think she was the first pregnant woman I really knew, and she was magical to me.

The next day at the party, once all the gifts were exchanged and kids were bouncing around on sugar highs, I overheard the two teachers talking in concerned teacher voices. Being the ever curious child I was, I listened in to the conversation without their knowing. After hearing bits and pieces of their chat, I realized they were talking about me and the gifts I had brought to the exchange. Ms. Pam had received some very generous gifts, that even my six year old brain had deduced were NOT within the set price range- a handmade baby blanket being the one that stands out most. They were questioning my homelife and wondering what was going on and the stability of my family.

Well into my adulthood, whenever I recalled this memory I would get the same pit in my stomach. I felt embarrassed- less than the other kids, and that same red hot feeling of shame would wash over me. I hated those teachers. I hated them for making me feel like my gift was less than the others that they received. I hated that my mom wasn’t at that party when so many of the other moms were, and that I was left to just feel those feelings all alone. Later, I hated that she didn’t know the details and expected a six year old to know and how that ended up causing me a lot of hurt. And I still hate the smell of cinnamon candles.

A few years ago, when I looked back on that conversation between two teachers, I realized that they weren’t gossipping about a kid who couldn’t afford to bring a decent gift for the teacher.  They were having one of those conversations that concerned adults do when something seems off about a kid. They weren’t aware that I had misunderstood the rules of the exchange and told my mom that we couldn’t spend more on the teacher. They picked up on the fact that my mom, who was working no less than two jobs to support our severely messed up family, was most definitely not in tune with the goings on in the first grade. They saw past the precocious teacher’s pet and found a hurting little girl who was living in a world of alcoholism and abuse from a dad that wasn’t fit to care for a child, and a mom who was working so hard to put food on the table she didn’t have a clue about much of anything that was going on in my life.

Something happened to me in that stupid party, and for years and years of class parties and school events without a parent in sight after that. As seems to be the case with much of my generation, I swung so far in the opposite direction it might have become a little unbalanced. When my kids entered school, I was present for every single possible moment. I was working part-time, but I made sure that I was always there for every meet the teacher, class party, ice cream social, drop-off-to-pick-up moment. I would break laws to make sure I was one of the first parents to the pick up line and that no child would ever be forgotten or picked up late on my watch. Once I went to work full-time, I made sure Jim was on the same page. I would call him (and still sometimes do, much to his annoyance) to make sure he didn’t get so busy in his day that he lost track of time. When they were in daycare, I was a mess. I was neurotic to the point that I eventually quit working full time and became a work from home mom. The decision wasn’t consciously made because of my issues (Jordan really struggled in daycare,) but I’m pretty sure my neurosis did not help my children in any way. Once I was a full-time mom I volunteered in classrooms, chaperoned field trips, dropped off forgotten items, brought in birthday lunches and cupcakes, provided the BEST teacher gifts for every holiday and teacher appreciation day, did much of the work on science fair projects and on and on and on.  I got a little better in middle school, but I still volunteered more than the average parent. And then somewhere along the way, I just got really tired.

More recently than I’d like to admit, I realized that my behavior was just not okay. My kids don’t have the ability to grow if I don’t let them out of this tiny little pot I planted them in. They don’t live in a home where dad is abusive and mom can’t manage to take on any more responsibility. They are nurtured. They have security and stability. They just need more room to grow. Now I fear that my hovering tendencies have done too much damage and they will never leave this nest fully developed. Whenever I want to claw my eyes out in frustration that they seem unable to fully take responsibility for much of anything, I blame myself on a whole new level. Mom-Guilt is the actual freaking worst! Somehow we will all find our way through this, of that I am ultimately determined, but I’ve got to tell you- this really really sucks. Find a balance people. As early as you possibly can- find a freaking balance somewhere between that little girl at the gift exchange and wherever the heck we are right now. 🙂

 

 

the best /adult/ part of the season

Every year Jimmie and I host an adult only Christmas party full of shenanigans and with a ridiculous theme.

See…shenanigans.
shitters-full-pic

We used to host it at our house. (This pic was at our house during the “Christmas Vacation” themed party. I would never allow myself to wear pants that uncomfortable and, quite frankly, UNFLATTERING out in public- and we won’t even talk about Jimmie.)  A few years ago, the party outgrew our house.  We wanted to keep up the tradition, and wanted to make it open for our friends to bring their friends, so we created the Annual Christmas Crawl.  You guys, this event is quite honestly the best thing you can experience in your life, if you like to have fun.  It’s ridiculous on so many levels I can’t even tell you.

What’s a Christmas Crawl, you say?  Quite simply, it’s a pub crawl through the most amazing dive bars in our neighboring small town you can imagine, right in the middle of the most stressful time of year.  Every bar has a challenge or activity and it’s just seriously the most fun you can have within the law (mostly.)  This year’s “guests” topped out at around 60 people when everyone was actually present and accounted for.  There was a lot of wandering aimlessly by some people and a few “oh my god, does anyone have eyes on _____” a few more times in the night, so I don’t think we were ever all actually together.  Grown ups have a lot of stress around the holidays, and an adult night that isn’t spent with your work people, your family or your kids, tends to get a little bit rowdy.

The beauty of the Christmas Crawl, is that it’s an open invite for anyone and everyone. We start by inviting our friends, and we all but beg them to invite their friends.  Like most people our age, we have friends from a lot of different circles of our life. Everyone from family members that we love hanging out with, to friends from our kids’ schools or sports teams to neighbors to the “how did we even meet?!” friends.  This means, the friends of friends crowd is even more diverse and eclectic.  It’s amazing!

We start the night an awkward group of people that loosely resemble middle-schoolers lined up on the opposite sides of the gym at our first school dance, and end the night with some dude you don’t know nestled in your bosom while your husband holds him up and his wife swears he’s been roofied because this is SO out of character (and it truly is.)  It’s truly the most magical time of the year. This year was especially amazing, because around stop number three or four, we just starting adopting people from the bar into our group.  We seriously made friends with a guy who Jim and I immediately made our Facebook friend and decided was now part of our family whether he likes it or not.  He’s front and center of our group photo from the night, as he should be!
christmas-crawl-group
(This is just a sample of the group, hopefully small enough to protect the identities of the innocent.)

This year’s theme was holiday/festive pajamas.  Jimmie was Olaf and I had some ridiculous winter onesie on.  It was…epic. I tried to think of any other word to use because that one is so done, but that’s really all I’ve got. Jimmie in a giant, white, fictional snowman pajama suit can be nothing less than epic.  Most of our friends got into the spirit of it all, and those that didn’t were wishing they did by the end of the night (whether they admit it or not.)

olaf-christmas

EDIT- Jim just read this and demanded I add funny details for everyone to experience…

My favorite part of the night is a little game I like to call drink or dare. It’s full of stupid challenges that intend to 1) break the ice among strangers and 2) embarrass as many people as possible. Some of the challenges are mild: high five every person in the bar, call everyone “Chief” for half an hour and take a selfie with a stranger are a few of my faves. Other challenges are a little silly: every time you laugh pump your arm like Tiger Woods…you get the drift. My personal favorite was “go caroling with a group of friends.”  Imagine your family sitting in a cute little pizza place and a group of strange, possibly drunk, men coming around in their pajamas singing Christmas carols. That happened. And here’s a little video of a small part of those events…


One of our friends was dressed in a Rocky onesie. Everywhere we went he sang the theme song and raised his arms like the champ. Everywhere. And then there was our group Santa Clause. This little outfit is probably illegal in most states. 


I’m honestly not sure why the town of puyallup even allows us to keep doing this year after year. We are complete menaces. 

Probably the most fun event of the night is the photo scavenger hunt. Here’s a pic of the challenges…


It’s amazing what total strangers will do for you to help you win a stupid scavenger hunt that has no real prize. 

I have no other point to make except to tell you that you need this in your life.  Start planning it now. Make a reason to get all of your friends together for something like this- or however best fits into your life.  It’s the best grown-up part of our holiday season.  We walk away amazed at the friendships and love that we have in our life.  Wishing you the same joy and love in your holiday season…

 

 

 

 

trenches

I made a comment on the Facebook a couple of months ago about how I miss the olden days of “mommy blogs,” and what they meant to me. I can’t even tell you how many of my friends were all “preach it sister! We need to bring back the good ol’ days!” (or something far more profound than that.)

Years before this particular blog transpired, my daily lifeline was the blog I wrote when the kids were babies.  A stay at home mom of two little carpet monkeys, deep in the trenches of lifeMySpace and my blog were my life’s blood.  There were mornings I’d stumble to the computer with a baby attached to each limb just to reach out to someone who could relate. –You guys, this was before the smart phone.  There was no rocking the baby while browsing the Facebook (There was NO Facebook.) This was haul out your laptop (if you were so lucky) and hope that the typing sounds didn’t wake the precious little life-drainer.  There were no baby wraps and slings- we balanced those little buggers on one knee and typed with one hand. This was OG real shit. God it was good.

As women, we were a unit.  We rallied around each other when the nights were long and sleep was short.  We congratulated each other on showering and the ability to survive “crying it out.”  We reminded each other to put on our big girl panties and press on through the tantrums and puke-fests.  We cried together when jobs were lost and cross-country moves were made.  We cheered one another on when we managed to handle whatever curve-ball life threw at us.  And we high-fived each other when we somehow managed to sneak in sex and actually enjoy it.  We were REAL, and we saved each other.

I mean this with the utmost respect, but these young/today moms don’t know what they’re missing. I love that they have their instagram and their communities and their pinterest-worthy etsy creations (whatever they may be,) but it’s just not the same. If I were a young mom today I would hide in the bathroom with a bottle of wine and cry myself to nap time. There’s so much damn pressure.  All this “what I’m doing now” staged photography and “join my circle” stuff I can’t even begin to follow makes my head spin.  Girl, if someone told me to take a selfie and post it for my “community” when I was in the trenches I would have asked how much they’d been drinking and did they have more to share.  A SELFIE! After three days of no sleep?  How about you go and fuck yourself?!  Here’s a photo: my dog puked on the floor and my new crawler decided today would be a fun day to discover finger painting. How’s that for a photo op?

I LOVE that things are evolving and social media is what it is.  It’s still somewhat of a lifeline to me, but I don’t have time to stage my house to look like it’s clean so I can take a “what I’m doing now” selfie.  My kids may be in school, but one of them has been sleeping on my floor for three weeks because that damn XBox game with the zombies scared the shit out of him. And I can’t sleep with him snoring at my feet! I’ll pass on the selfie documentation of these bags under my eyes, thankyouverymuch. There’s no less than 6 loads of laundry on my dining room table because my back has been out for days, and I think my dog just peed somewhere. That makes a lovely photo backdrop, right?

My point? It’s just too much. But I do miss having that kind of community.  I miss my ladies laughing and high-fiving, and even crying through the cyberspace together. I miss the men stumbling into our world and getting a brief “oooohhhhh” moment and understanding just what the hell was going on in our minds.  (Or an AAAAAHHHHH moment and running away for dear life!)  I miss the encouragement and the camaraderie.

This past month the OG mommyblogger of us all, Dooce, hung up her keyboard and is moving on from the blogging world.  (Real talk, I didn’t even know she was still blogging.  I kind of assumed that when I stopped so did everyone else. Because…I’m self-involved?)  Heather was a pioneer of mommyblogs.  She made people want to lay their shit bare and gather round one another. When I read about her decision today it made me sad.  Not for her, but that we’re in a time that people don’t gather around one another and push through the trenches together.  People clean one corner of their otherwise CRAZY house/life so they can snap perfectly filtered snapshots of their tidy little life to impress one another.  I’m sure their communities are encouraging and uplifting in their way, but it’s just…not the trenches.

Motherhood is raw.  It’s messy.  It’s ugly.  No instagram filter can hide the vulnerability of motherhood. So who do these women have?  There are people that I love and eternally respect because of the bond we made in the trenches. I ache for those relationships some days.  It’s been twelve years and I still need them on days that my daughter rolls her eyes at me and stomps away. (Usually to remind me that she’s just like me and that yes, I must actually let her live to see another day.)

I want us to revive the trenches.  I want to walk through the next twelve years of motherhood with the same community I started the first twelve with.  I want to show the younger moms that the trenches of motherhood are filled with a love and beauty so deep that a filter can’t begin to mimic its glow. I read about the “Mommy Wars” and I just shake my head.  We had mommy wars, but we were all fighting for the same thing: survival.  If you’d stop trying to make yourselves look so damn perfect,you wouldn’t have the burning desire to tear one another down. (I mean, there will always be that guy, but I just don’t think to the extent that we see now.)

I don’t know, maybe this is just a pipe dream, but I think it might be becoming my dream.

there’s rarely a time when facebook isn’t to blame.

If you follow me on facebook, you probably saw that photo yesterday.  Elle was home from school and locked in the office for a long time on the computer.  I thought she was working on schoolwork that she was missing while home playing hooky. I was such a proud mother.

Then, about an hour and a half later, she came out of the office and gave me a huge hug. And then began talking about a million miles per hour.

I found your blog, mom.  And it’s AMAZING.  I’m so glad you’re going to start writing again.  You are soooo good at it.  But wow, you really swear a lot.  I mean, A LOT.  It’s okay though because it kind of makes it so much funnier.  But wow. You swear a lot.  I mean. A. lot.

I had a moment of sheer panic. How on earth was I going to explain and justify and try to re-hide this from her? HOW DID SHE EVEN FIND IT? Ohhhh…the Facebook.  Damn that Facebook.  This is exactly why I have never accepted any friend requests from my friends’ kids.

That picture up there is the face she made when I asked her how she felt when she discovered the blog. Hahaha. She is hilarious.  The nice thing about having an incredibly mature tween child, is that you can mostly just be you, and they can be them, and life just works.  If she sees a blog post that makes me a little more human and flawed and easier to relate to, I’m okay with that. I may have to limit her exposure to topics that are too mature for her or more embarrassing than either of us wants to live through, but so be it.

I started writing when Elle was three.  Part of that was so I could leave something of myself behind for my kids after I’m gone- a way for them to know their mom forever, and witness my struggles and successes firsthand.  I don’t lie to my kids and I answer all of their questions as honestly and candidly as they are mature enough to handle.  I’d say very little about me will surprise them, especially Elle, at this point.  That’s not to say I’m going to give her unlimited access to this blog.  Not yet, anyway.  Jimmie and I are smack dab in the middle of a 30 days of sex challenge and I doubt she’s going to want to hear anything about how it’s changing our marriage. After thirteen years, sometimes you have to set alarms and reminders, folks. It’s a sad, sad truth. 😉

what do you title a blog post after being MIA for years?

There’s a solid chance three people will read this.  I am kind of confident people don’t even blog anymore.  I’m not even kidding- the new kids have instagram and tumblr (is that even still a thing?) and, honestly, I don’t even know what else.  I think we all know I can’t speak my mind in 140 characters, so that’s out.  But, I’ve had a few things happen recently that has given me the itch. (to write. that’s it, promise.)

Someone must at least read blogs somewhere, because I’ve had three completely unrelated people ask me what the heck happened to me and the blog in the past two months.  I’ve been desperately needing my therapeutic outlet, and Jimmie all but scolded me yesterday (okay, he scolded me, the jerk!) for neglecting this process and my voice.  So…there you have it folks, I guess I’m back to blabbing on this blog.  I can’t guarantee it will be often, but let’s face it, it hasn’t been often since the days of myspace.  Yipes.

I know there are people that leave their blogs for months at a time and then come back like it’s been a week and pick up where they left off.  I don’t know that I can do that, so I have to at least give a little rundown.  I hope you’ll just bear with me. My last post was 18 months ago and it could barely be called a post.  I guess the last time I really wrote anything of significance was when we began pursuing diagnosis for Jordan and ADHD.  YowZa, that seems like a lifetime ago.

In the time since Jordan began therapy and treatment for ADHD and SPD (when I last wrote,) he has since been diagnosed with Aspergers (no longer even the clinical “label” as it all just falls under Autism Spectrum Disorder now, but I digress.)  I guess that was the beginning of the end of writing for me.  I don’t feel like I can just skim past that point. Maybe that’s where we’re going today.

I have to be honest, I was not able to authentically be me on this blog (or otherwise) when we started this path with Jordan. I think anyone who has read me or known me for any length of time knows, if I can’t say what I want in the way I want, I can’t write or function in any way really.  To express the feelings I had when this journey began with Jordan, was just too raw for me to express publicly or even to those closest to our situation.  I very much went into a protective cocoon for…too long.  I guess this is my coming out party.  Here I am, a beautifully flawed mother butterfly, just trying to lead my baby caterpillars through the beginning stages of their own life metamorphoses.  (I also should tell you I’ve become quite poetic while I’ve been gone, in case you didn’t notice.)

It’ll probably take a little while for me to get whatever the writing version of “sea legs” is back underneath me.  Just these few paragraphs are kind of agonizing. It feels like part “holiday card brag letter” and part “miserable group therapy session.”

The fact of the matter is this: I am crazy in love with this life I live.  It’s so incredibly complicated and full of drama that is complete bullshit half the time. I am surrounded by the most bat-shit crazy people you could possibly imagine.  We are so flawed and imperfect and fun and just wicked wonderful.  My children are so imperfectly amazing, I simultaneously want to kiss them and kick them in the shins every single day.  My husband is a saint of a man who also makes me want to spit in his coffee at least two days a week.  My life moves in contradictions.  I think (God do I hope I’m right about this) that most of the people around me feel the exact same way, at least part of the time.

In order to be who I am, I have to release those contradictions into the universe from time to time.  I guess that is where this space of my life comes in handy… I hope there’s still one or two people in the world that will join me here. I like it when there’s at least one person who will high five me for spitting in the morning coffee.

This is my sanctuary.  This is where I find my peace.  This is where you can find me…

family