Date with Will

I wish there were more hours in the day so that I could spend more time with each of my children individually.

A while back, Ian asked if he and I could start having a date once a month where we do something together, just the two of us. Because we both love books, we typically go to dinner and then to the library. We check out tons of books and then go to the ice cream shop, eat our goodies and read together. We have a chance to talk about stuff that is on his mind. So far, he isn't too old or too cool for this special time and I treasure it!

Each time that Ian and I go on one of our little dates, Will feels left out. I understand that. And although Will and I spend a lot of time together when he gets home from preschool, its rarely that we get time that we don't have to share with Maggie too. I decided it was time for Will to have a date with Mommy too.

Today Will's class was going to the Apple Farm. Blah! I have been to the apple farm every year, at least twice a year since Ian started 4K. I am over it. So I decided that instead of going on the field trip, Will and I would take Maggie to school and then spend a little time together.

He was so excited about our date. There were no arguments over his clothes this morning. I told him he could choose to go anywhere he wanted to go for our date. He said, "First off, I want to take you to breakfast. I am starving. I'll buy but we have to get some grub!" Sounded like a plan to me. I asked him where he would like me to take him. "Mom, let's go to your favorite place to eat breakfast." I really couldn't pinpoint where he was thinking because I don't typically eat breakfast. I said, "Well what is my favorite place?" He looked at me and rolled his eyes, "Well duuuuhhhh. Only the place that serves the best Diet Coke EVER..." McDonald's. I must admit, the child knows me well.

Will ordered. "We will have 2 sausage biscuits, a chocolate milk and the biggest Diet Coke you've got." Not bad. The cashier tells him it will be $4.16. To my astonishment, he pulls out his wallet from his pocket and opens it. He had 1 dollar, which he pulled out to pay for our meal. My heart melted. I am doing a good job raising a gentleman. I told him that I was so grateful he would offer to use his money to buy me breakfast but that it was my treat. "Mom, girls aren't supposed to pay on a date. Just like they aren't supposed to open doors. That is what the boy is for." His Daddy has taught him well. :)

I insisted that I pay, we went outside and enjoyed the spectacular weather. We talked about his friend Zachary, who spent the night for the first time last night. We talked about motorcycles, punchbugs (and of course that he was the KING), Barack Obama, and whether cows really make chocolate milk. Toward the end of our meal, I asked him again what he wanted to do. I thought he might suggest the park or Monkey Joe's. But to my surprise, he asked if we could go to the Library.

And we did. He would read to me (which consists of him looking at the pictures in a book and making up totally ridiculous story lines based on the illustrations), I read to him. In fact, I was doing such a good job animating my stories that by the time we got ready to leave, I had somehow inherited 5 other children, who quietly huddled around my little circle,and listened to me read. For Will, that practically made me famous. He kept saying, "Mom, did you see all those kids listening to you read? You were awesome!" It's amazing how important your children's approval can be sometimes.

Maggie fell asleep on the way home from school so Will and I were able to play with Lego's, read the books we checked out, and snuggle for a while on the couch. Later this afternoon, we jumped on the trampoline together and he laughed hysterically when I peed my pants (All of you who have given birth to children understand my plight. Darn kids ruined my bladder!). We had a fantastic day---AND did not have one argument! It was amazing!

Despite all of his strong personality and stubborn ways, he is a pretty incredible kid. I am so glad he belongs to me. It doesn't hurt that he is pretty darn handsome too!

Are They Really Listening?

My greatest wish as a mother, beyond my kids being extremely educated, financially stable (and not living with me when their 30), happy and healthy, is that they grow up to be good people. I want them to be compassionate and kind, I want them to be the kind of person that volunteers their time and energy to good causes, I want them to grow up to love every person they meet, to be free of bias and full of tolerance. Of course, hoping they grow up that way isn't enough. (Sometimes I wish it were!)

I try really hard to teach them important values. Not just in conversation but by example. However, most of the time, I feel like it all just goes in one ear and out the other. I mean, no matter how much I try to teach Will to be nice, most of the time he isn't. At least not to me. Yesterday,  he said, "Mom, you are a fatty." A little shocked, I said, "Who taught you that?" He said, "I am not telling." So I responded, "Will that isn't nice to say to people. It could hurt their feelings." He responded, "Well Mom. I am just being honest." "Well yes, Will, you are but sometimes, it's best to just say nothing because you don't want to hurt people's feelings." (He needs to watch Bambi) Not skipping a beat he said, "Maggie is a fatty too. Look at her belly." (Long sigh from me). At least he got the honesty lesson, right?

I get discouraged but I keep teaching them in hopes that they get it. And sometimes, they surprise me.

As we were driving home from school day before yesterday, we were nearly hit head-on by a drunk driver. We were all a little shaken afterward. As we are pulling in the driveway, Ian says, "Mom I am glad that we didn't get killed." I responded, "Me too, honey. We are lucky that we have some guardian angels." He said, "Yes we do. And I am glad because I have so much I want to do with my life. I want to start company that gives toys to kids that don't have any money to buy their own." My heart swelled with pride. I told him he could start that project right away by going through some of his own toys he didn't play with anymore and take them to the Children's Shelter. He thought it was a marvelous idea!

And then to my ultimate shock, a nice moment from William this morning. Ian asked me if he could have a dollar to take to school to buy ice cream. I told him I would look in the car but I was pretty sure I didn't have a dollar. I suggested that if I couldn't find one, he could take one from his piggy bank and I would pay him back this afternoon. "I am not taking money from my bank." "OK, go without ice cream." While this is taking place, Will doesn't say a word but gets up from his breakfast and disappears into the play room. When he comes back, he is holding his wallet and hands Ian the only dollar bill he had in it. "Will this be enough money, Ian?" I felt tears sting my eyes. Not just because Will was being so uncharacteristically nice, but because he was being so giving without an expectation for anything in return.

 I am glad that at least some of the time, they really are listening.

Never Forget

10 years. 10 years is a long time. Long enough for me to graduate college and earn a Master's Degree. Long enough for me to build a career as a college administrator. Long enough for me to marry and become a mother to three children. But yet, it still seems like yesterday.

September 11, 2001.

I was in my second year of college. On Tuesday mornings, I was a peer leader to an 8am section of Freshman Year Experience. I was leading class that day but I can't at all remember the topic of discussion. About 8:55, the Administrative Assistant for the Learning Center came to let me know a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. She said they thought it was an accident. In my mind, I envisioned a small prop plane. I dismissed class at 9am and walked down the hall to the main lobby where there was a large TV. The room wasn't crowded but there were several people watching the events unfold. At 9:03 when the second plane hit, the entire room gasped in unison, very aware that this was not an accident. As the minutes passed, the room continued to fill with people. No one was going to class. No one talked. Silence enveloped us.

The news coverage seemed so chaotic. And I think the nature of the live coverage made it all that much more traumatic. When it became apparent that a plane had hit the Pentagon, I turned to one of my history professors sitting next to me and whispered "Islamic terrorists." She shook her head in agreement. I remember feeling afraid. What would happen next? Where was my family? Was I watching Armageddon? In a room full of people, I felt painfully alone.

As the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed, I looked to my right. to see my Chemistry professor. He had tears streaming down his face. I put my hand to my face and realized that I did too. A University official came to notify us that class was cancelled for the rest of the day. No one moved. It wasn't until the news reported that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania that I felt compelled to move. I needed to call my Mom. I needed to do something to help.

As I talked to my mom from my cell phone, I drove through town. I ended up at the blood center. Surely they would need blood for the victims. So I went there, hoping that giving some of my life might help save others. People were wrapped around the building. Apparently, a lot of other people felt compelled to something to help too. I gave blood that day, hours after I arrived. Instead of just waiting in line, I went to the door and asked the woman there how I could help them. She said I could answer the phone. So I did. Others wanted to pitch in too. We handed out drinks, took information cards, gave away snacks. We needed to experience order, to create it, in a moment that was completely shrouded in chaos.

September 11, 2011

I can't help but think about that ill-fated morning. The morning that America lost her innocence. The morning we realized that oceans could no longer protect us from the evil that brewed beyond our borders. I can't help but think about the people that went to work or boarded planes that morning and never saw their loved ones again. So much evil witnessed.

But as I was talking to the boys about 9/11, they wanted to know what I remembered most. I can recall every detail, every move I made that day. I told them the basic story. But I also told them the story about how terrorists, no matter how much they wanted to destroy America, could not succeed. Yes they could hijack airplanes and they could destroy our buildings, but they could not destroy all that was good and noble about us. They couldn't destroy the selfless nature that is ingrained in the American spirit.

When it was ordered for people to run away, there were fire, EMS and police personnel that ran toward the danger to save lives. There were every day people that lent a helping hand to perfect strangers to get them to safety. There were workers that went up the stairs at the WTC to search for survivors instead of going down. There were F-16 pilots prepared to use their planes as kamikazes to ram unresponsive planes out of the air because there had been no time to arm them with weapons. And there were the passengers of Flight 93. Knowing that their plane was on a suicide mission, they accepted their fate. But rather than go down as a victim, they chose to do everything they could to ensure that terrorism would not win. They used the defiant resolve so common in America to bring the plane down over Pennsylvania before it could strike the Capitol. I told the boys about how our pain and our grief gave way to unity. Unity led to resolve. America would not rest until justice was done. Our military has carried that burden and made that sacrifice for the last 10 years.

As we go forward, we have to find a way to recapture that unity. Victory over terrorism comes not just from military superiority, but in the ability of Americans to enjoy economic prosperity and social equality. We have to find a way to have differences without being divisive. We have to remember that what divides us isn't nearly as great as what unifies us. After all, 10 years ago, we proved that in the face of terror, every day Americans---of all different races, ethnicity's and genders---were heroes. That, we should never forget.

Remembering Uncle Clyde...



Clyde Savage
October 15, 1938-September 9, 1996

 15 years ago today, one of the most important men in my life left this world for what I like to believe is a better one. Clyde Savage was my maternal grandfather's brother. He was a loving son, father, husband and brother. He was a friend to many. He was a leader and music director in his church. He was a manager at his job and a military veteran. For me, he was so much more than just the great-uncle that lived next door.

Growing up, I had a front row seat to his kind nature and selfless generosity. He was the kind of guy that would always lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it, whether they asked for help or not. As a natural handyman, he often fixed things for people. He didn't ask them for anything in return. He just wanted you to pay it forward.

Uncle Clyde with his brother
(my grandfather) Bobby

Of all the things I remember most distinctly (and often miss the most) was his laugh. He had a deep, hearty, from the gut laugh. There were times that sitting in our living room, we could actually hear him laughing in his own living room. (and we lived in the country, so we weren't that close!) When I think of him, that laugh helps soothe the deep absence I feel without him here.

As the years have passed, his absence has grown stronger for me. Time hasn't healed my wound. Logically, I know he is in a better place, called home for a purpose. But it hasn't made me miss him less. I often think about how much he would have loved his grandchildren. I think about how much he would have loved my own children. I also think about the important lessons he could have taught them.

Give of your time. Uncle Clyde believed that the time you spent with people and helping them mattered. He helped coach ball at school, he volunteered at church, took time to teach me how to ride a bike and shoot a basketball. When my Dad was so busy at the farm, Uncle Clyde would cut our grass. He looked out for Chrissy and me and spent time with us when our Dad couldn't. Not because anyone asked him to, it was just his way of helping where he could.

Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda
with their son Tony

Be honest. Chrissy and I had a golf cart and we liked to ride it everywhere, including all over Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde's yard. One day, Chrissy backed into his truck and left a major dent. She made me swear I wouldn't tell. Being afraid of her like I was, I didn't tell a soul. A week or so later, Uncle Clyde came over to the house and asked us if we hit his truck. Chrissy shot a look at me. "Nope" was my response. He responded, "Well I know you hit my truck because I saw you do it. I am not mad about the dent, but I am so disappointed in you for not coming to tell me about it and then lying about it." Boy were Chrissy and I in a heaping pile of trouble with our parents. But the punishment we got didn't bother me as much as knowing I had disappointed him. At 8 years old, I learned the value and importance of honesty--and it's the one thing I value most in others.

Uncle Clyde with my Mom
June 1961

Share your heart and passion with others. Uncle Clyde's mother knew scripture better than anyone else I have ever met. She could quote The Bible from cover to cover. She loved hymns. Uncle Clyde had that love too. And the Lord blessed him with a beautiful voice. Every hymn that I love today is one that when I hear it, in my heart, I feel his voice singing it. "How Great Thou Art," "When We All Get to Heaven," "The Old Rugged Cross," "Majesty." Of course, my favorite, and the one he sang best (especially with the accompaniment of his sister, Carol) was "Because He Lives." He shared his love and passion for music with others. He shared his heart through music.

Be your best self. Uncle Clyde and I had a conversation not long before he died about my future.  He wanted to know what I wanted to do with my life. At 14, I barely had a clue. He encouraged me to get as much education as possible. He urged me to follow every dream; to reach as far as I could in my imagination and when I thought I had reached the end point, reach a little further. He told me to always strive to be my best self. To never be too good or to proud to be humble. To give more to others than I was willing to take for myself. To pay back every generosity I received with even greater kindness.


Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde with
their nephew Kenny & his children
(next to Uncle Clyde) and their son Todd.
Kenny lived with them growing up.
June 1995

 Rely on your faith for everything. The greatest gift my Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda ever gave to me was the car ride to church every Sunday. They took me to Sunday school and church with them every week from the time I was very little. My Uncle wore his faith on his sleeve and was never afraid to let people know that his heart belonged to Jesus. It was important to him to know that your heart belonged to Jesus too. He would always tell me, "Daughter, you've got to trust in God with all your heart. He will direct your path. Just have faith in Him." Because of him and his constant counsel, I am a Christian. I was baptized just a few shorts months before he died. There have been many times when my questions were greater than my answers, when I didn't have the faith to see things through. In those moments, his words have always come back to me, pushing me to trust a little more, be patient a little longer, give God's time a chance to work things out.


Uncle Clyde's family
Back row: Todd, my Grandfather, Tony
Front: Leslie w/Talyn, Brewer, my grandmother,
Ansley & Aunt Linda.

These are his lessons. These and so many more. And as I have taken the time to put this reflection into words, I am sad. I am sad that he didn't live longer. I am sad that he has been gone from my life longer now than he was in it. I am sad that he isn't here to see what a lasting impression he made on my life. I am sad that I can't hear him sing or listen to him laugh. I am sad that my children will never know the warmth of his embrace or the brightness of his smile. I am sad that his wife and his children and his grandchildren were deprived of years of memories. I am sad that it is true that the good die young. But in my tears, there is gratitude for what he taught me, I'm sure without even realizing he was doing it. There is peace in knowing that I will see him again. There is determination to ensure that his legacy does not die. I want him to live on in the hearts of those who were blessed to know him. Honesty, compassion, faith and love. We will pass them on.


Grandchildren Brewer, Ansley
& Talyn with Aunt Linda







Uncle Clyde with his sibling and Mom
Back: Bobby, Nita, their mother Beulah & Legare
Front: Betty, Clyde & Carol

Cue Clapperboard....Action!

My life is a little like Groundhog Day. 5:30 alarm clock, drive Ian to school, come home and dress Will, take Will to school, come home, drive back to pick up Will, come home, drive to pick up Ian, come home. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. I feel like I am always driving in the car to get somewhere, wait, and then drive some more. At least 3 hours of my day is spent driving to and from and sitting in the carpool line.

My life also feels a lot like Fight Club. At least when it comes to dealing with Will. If the child doesn't grow up and argue a case before the Supreme Court, he'll have missed his calling. He is now at a stage where he knows everything. "I know" is all I hear coming from him. About everything. He is the only three year old boy I know that cares at all about his wardrobe. He prefers button down, collared shirts and khaki or plaid shorts. He wants to wear his Sperry flip flops or his Sperry boat shoes. If he is feeling a little more relaxed, he will wear his tennis shoes. And he cares about making those choices for himself.

Every morning since school has started, we have argued over my choice of outfit. The shirt wasn't the right one or the shorts didn't fit right. He wanted to wear Sperry boat shoes when I thought he should wear sneakers.Yesterday, they were having Beach Day at school and he was supposed to wear his bathing suit. "No way," he said. I told him if he didn't want to wear that, he had to wear the shorts and shirt I picked out for him. "Nope" was his reply. Thinking I could get the upper hand, I said, "Will I don't care if you wear these clothes or the bathing suit. Those are your choices. If you don't like those, the only other choice is to go naked." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay. I'll just go naked." Seriously? Battle. Battle. Battle. He wore his bathing suit in the end, but because he decided that it looked better with his sunglasses. Whatever.

Mentally exhausted from this argument, last night, I told him to pick out his own clothes. He chose a brown shirt with khaki shorts and Sperry flip flops. Perfect. This morning, he apparently changed his mind. OMG! So I sent him to his room to pick a new one. He came out in plaid (navy, orange, green) shorts and a purple shirt. Nope. I told him that it didn't match. He countered that it did. Does not. Does too. Does not. Does too. How about a navy polo? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. How about khaki shorts with your purple shirt? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Fine. Look Silly. I like to look silly. Did I mention this argument was prior to Diet Coke and barely after 8am? He eventually decided the navy would work with the plaid. I really would have let him go naked if I thought he would learn a lesson. Knowing him, he would have sported his birthday suit with a smile, just to spite me.

Finally, my house always feels a little like a kid version of Animal House. Instead of beer cans and empty pizza boxes, my house is littered with toys and goldfish crumbs. There are always more people here than are actually registered on the Census. Other kids' laundry joins the family hamper and I am always left searching for its rightful owner. The dinner I cook could feed an army because there is a good chance that an army of little people (and sometimes their parents) will eat with us. Tonight on the menu? Pizza for 8! Cold beer for the adults! Okay, maybe this really is Animal House....

The point is that even amongst the chaos, I can usually almost always find the humor in my life. I feel like its OK if my life could fit a Hollywood script sometimes. As long as we aren't becoming Lord of the Flies or American Psycho, I think we will be just fine.

Red Bugs, Mother of the Year Feats, and Other Funnies...

We enjoyed a great Labor Day weekend with my parents in the lowcountry. Ian experienced some firsts---he went dove hunting for the first time and he came home with his bout of red bugs (also known as chiggers). When we told him what caused all of the bites, he almost seemed proud. It is a hunting rite of passage.

Josh and I got to go on a date (alone) while we were there. Thanks Mom and Dad for watching the kids for us! We went to dinner, for a long walk on Folly Beach and enjoyed some frozen yogurt. I couldn't help but notice how calm my parents looked when we got home at 9:30. Mags and Will were already in bed. Ian was quietly watching a show about Dinosaurs. My parents seemed slightly offended when I acted impressed with their parenting skills. I should never doubt them.  It really highlighted my novice.

Here are some funnies:

My Dad took Ian dove hunting for the first time. When he got home, I asked how it went. Ian: It was alright. Me: How many birds did you get? Ian. Just 8. Poppa's shooting leaves A LOT to be desired. Me: Ha! Well at least you got some. Ian: Yes we did. But victory surely wasn't ours.

After the dove hunting adventure, Dad took Ian deer hunting that evening. Ian got to see over 20 deer from his stand. He was very excited! My Dad said that they had a small 8 point buck come out. He told Ian to watch the buck because he was going to turn and head toward does that were eating at the edge of the field. Ian said, "Yeah he is going to go down there to find him a good looking doe so that he can make out with her." Geez....

Will is sitting at the table. My Mom said, "Will. Excuse me. Prince William, would you like some breakfast?" Will turned around with all kinds of serious on his face and said, "It is King. King William." Well excuse us!

Maggie rode the four wheeler with my Dad for the first time. She loves it! And when Dad would take the boys for a ride and not her, she would fall to pieces. He took them over to my grandmother's blueberry field. Maggie fell truly, madly, deeply in love with blueberries. So much so that when I took her over there to pick some, she was eating them directly off the tree. As in, putting her mouth onto the berry and yanking it from the tree. Hands free eating! She has been pooping Smurfy ever since---but she is doing it on the potty! Hooray! She has also named her pacifier. It's name is MiMi and she is way too attached. So much so that it is time to kick the habit. I know this but I have made no effort to do it. Why? Because I don't want to listen to her whining and screaming for it. I know, I am up for Mother of the Year.

As I mentioned, Ian has red bug bites. Chiggers like to bite you in warm places on your body. Under your arms, creases of your legs, and your underwear lines. Ian got them worst in his nether regions. As I am looking for the Bendaryl cream, he decides to ask me if his penis has "a bone in it?" I honestly thought the answer was yes but I was second-guessing myself. I said, "You need to ask your Dad that question." I was still looking in the cabinet when he asks me, "Well what makes it do this?" And I look over to see him flexing it up and down. For whatever reason, my face turned about 30 shades of red. I managed, "You'll have to ask your Dad," tossed him the cream, and practically ran out of the bathroom.

Even though today was Tuesday, it felt more like a Monday. Had to re-strap car seats in the pouring rain, take Josh paperwork he left at home, get dressed for work, all before 8 am. When we get back from Josh's office, I get Will dressed for school and ask him what he wants to eat. He said, "nothing." I went to find something and came back to find him watching cartoons and eating a bag of candy corn that my dear friend, Keri Jones, sent to me last week. I didn't stop him from eating them. I really had too much to do to fight with him over breakfast. He nearly devoured the entire bag before we left the house. He asked, "Who bought those candies?" I told him, "Ms. Keri." He responded, "She just might be my new best friend!" I know... I am totally up for Mother of the Year.

Freedom Thursday....and a Potty Story

I recently read an article (I can't properly cite it because I can't remember where I read it) that contained all sorts of survey results about what Moms really think but feel too guilty to say about their lives, desires, regrets, and children. It went through everything from having favorite children to wishing you had a different spouse (baby daddy) and what moms wanted more than anything. Of course, more than 70% of Moms wanted time for herself, without her kids or her partner around, to just relax. My first thought: They actually needed this as a survey question? Duh. My second thought: At least I'm not alone. There are days when I feel like running right past Josh as he is walking in the door in the evenings so I can get some fresh air and clear my head. And I don't feel guilty at all for admitting that.

That is why I signed Maggie up for Mom's Morning Out--I need a Freedom Thursday morning. Just a few hours to get caught up on laundry or cleaning, or email, or work, or ZTA. I want to volunteer at Ian's school without having to find a sitter, go to the dentist or to the grocery store without it feeling like an act of Congress (That is an exaggeration. My kids are far better mannered and faster-moving that Congress). Some Thursdays, I want to go for a walk, or read a book or just lay on the couch and clean out my DVR. Just the thought of that possibility makes me happy.

So today, I had a plan to grade papers, pay bills, and pack clothes for our weekend trip to Charleston. Not total freedom but at least I could do it without interruption. In the parking lot of preschool, Will informs me that he has to go to the bathroom. I respond, "No problem, Hun. We can go when we get inside." He looks at me very seriously and says, "Mom, I have to go to the real bathroom." Me, "Will you can go to the bathroom here to do that." He responds, "I so should have went before we left the house. You have to take me back home." Me, "Will, that isn't going to happen. You can go here. I will take you." Will, "Mom I can't do that here." Me, "Well that is your only choice." Will, "No it isn't. I will just squeeze my butt cheeks while I am here and do it when I get home." Now, part of me thought that if he really needed to go, he would do it at school. The other part of me knew that he really would squeeze his cheeks and wait until he got home. That of course, made me worry about him. He refused to go when we got inside so I left him with arms crossed in his classroom while I dropped off Maggie. She started clinging and whining. This is new. Perhaps she could sense my excitement about Freedom Thursday? I left her but I felt really bummed out (and a little guilty).

I knew that containing the chaos at home would make me feel better. But when I walk in, our Internet is down and so is our cable. Fantastic. I spend 45 minutes of my precious morning on the phone with technical support. When they finally resolve the issue, it will be a while before our stuff is back up and running. I wash dishes, fold clothes, load the washer and suddenly realize: You are here by yourself with no ability to work. Why are you working? That survey crossed my mind and I literally sprinted to the bathroom, turned on the water, stripped off my "Mommy Uniform" and sunk myself into a very hot bubble bath. In the middle of the morning. It was fabulous. I never get to take a bath or shower without someone either physically in the tub with me or talking to me. So I sang to my Pandora station, let my body relax and felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (in the bath, not as a hooker).

Once I removed myself from that relaxing sanctuary, technology was back up and I continued on with the rest of my plan. When I drove back to the preschool, I felt a little more relaxed, the chaos of the last few weeks felt lighter on my shoulders. And I didn't feel guilty at all. I needed it and honestly, I feel like I deserved it. Life was back to normal as soon as I loaded the kids in car. Will informs me that I need to "drive as fast as possible to our house because [his] butt cheeks are about to explode!" Freedom surrendered...