Parenting tips

As I'm fixing lunch today I can't help but think of how my kids will react to it. Not that I'm a terrible cook but just because my kids can be terribly picky. For this I blame their father. The man refused to eat thanksgiving food until he was a teen so his mother would fix him pb&j. I on the other hand was raised that you ate dinner or went to bed hungry. (and sometimes you ate dinner and still went to bed hungry. Different blog though.) So with my children I vowed to find a happy medium. Instead of the take or leave philosophy I use the take it, leave it, or fix your own darn meal. Now granted I had to wait for them to become old enough to use this philosophy but at 9 & 7 I finally believe that they are. I don't know how many times I've said "this isn't a restaurant" and yet continue to treat it as though it is. Since I've yet to receive any tips I've decided to start enforcing my philosophy. With this new found method will come some trickery on my part. You may call it lying, I like to refer to it as clever parenting. For example one day we made turkey burgers and even though my kids had never had them, they are notorious for not liking things before they have even been tried. So we told them we were having burgers. Plain and simple right? Well not when the burgers are white instead of brown. As my kids argued this fact I said oh just eat it, it's good. They did and it was. After consuming every bite I let them know it was turkey and not cow. Of course my youngest and pickiest (and most like her father)still decided she didn't like it. Most of the time this trickery doesn't work on her so that's where fix your own meal will come into play. Today as I fix Parmesan pasta with tuna and try to convince them it's chicken I have a strong feeling they, at least the girl (mainly because she just came in here before lunch was ready and told me she wasn't eating it )will be fixing their own meal today or going hungry. 

Before I could post this lunch was done. Drew ate it all and loved it, Mykenzie had bread.

Petals

I found rose petals in my book
Soft and pink
At one point smelling sweet
I wonder who gave them to me
What was the occasion
It must have been you
You were the only one I loved when I last read this book
Were you mean and seeking forgiveness
Were you in love and asking for my hand 
I look for clues on the pages I pressed them into
All I can remember is how you broke my heart 
How you left me in tears wondering what was wrong with me
Still I remember loving you
After all, I saved your rose petals

Happy Birthday Sammi!

My beautiful niece Samantha is 13 today! She is growing up so fast and into such a lovely young lady! I remember when she was about 2 years old Andrew and I were babysitting her and we were on our way some where driving through a neighborhood. There were teenagers riding bikes and skateboards in the neighborhood and Dude said Sammi those are hoodlums. He was pointing to them saying Sam can you say hoodlums but it came out HoHos. "Uncle Andrew those HoHos!" That is one of my favorite memories. I have many more. And it's hard to think that sweet little girl is a teenager, nothing but a hoodlum. Ha! Sammi I love you! The older you get the tougher life will seem just remember your Aunt RyRy is always here.   

Coffeehouse

I am nervous to post this one but I'm trying to learn to jump in scared or not. I wrote this last Friday and as I'm sure you can tell I was feeling sorry for myself. And I'm also sure people can relate to that feeling.



Coffeehouse

There she was
Adorable in her dress and cowboy boots
Belting out my favorite Taylor Swift song
Strumming her guitar you could tell how seriously she took her talent
I'm unsure of her name, all I could see is that it wasn't me
I had forgotten that dream until I heard her
She had the courage to pursue that path
And with the amount of family in that coffeehouse she also had the support
Two things I never could find
As I sat and listened to her it brought tears to my eyes
At 16 I found myself in a cappuccino and knew the plan
At 31 I lost that girl in an iced mocha latte and walked away empty

Sitting in a bookstore

As I sit here in this bookstore I can't help but think of all the time that must have been put into the different stories. 
How difficult some of the words  were to write down. 
Some of them might never get picked up or even given a second glance. 
The countless hours and days that were devoted to the pages that will never find a reader. 
From fiction to non and self help to history someone took the time to work on them but no one has the time to read them
Is it better to be unwritten? 
Or is it better to pour your heart and soul into the pages even if it gets covered in dust. 
Sitting in a bookstore wondering what I'm so scared of.