Category Archives: Writing

I Want To Tell The Stories

This morning the rain started as soon as we pulled out of the garage. Then once we hit the highway the sky was still dark, as if it was still night and not early morning, and the rain began to smack the windshield; banging against the glass.

I tried to ignore it and the cars flying by us, their speeds in no way indicative of the hazards that water and blacktop could imagine if not taken seriously. I closed my eyes and attempted sleep and then I opened them again to check my phone in the wake of feeling guilty that I was not taking full advantage of the extra twenty-five minutes the phone app had added to our trip. But even that proved fruitless. My brain and body were tired. Social media would only add to that kind of exhaustion.

So I hoisted my tablet into my lap and typed out the password offering me passage into my latest read. My eyes focused and within a minute I was immersed before I knew it, lost among the characters and their lives.

One reason I love television is related to this. I enjoy getting caught up in someone else’s life, their narrative. I don’t watch reality TV, instead I am slave to the scripted drama and my DVR is full of hour after hour of well written and acted shows that take a peek into a plethora of emotions, relationships and idiosyncrasies.

I have so many stories swirling in my head lately. Some are purely fiction and they fight with nap time and homework time, soccer time and DVR time for the right to haul me over to the computer to express themselves.

But then there are the tales of my own life, the memoirs begging to be told. The stories, that when I am in company and spinning those yarns, hold my audience captive; hanging onto my words, tears springing to their eyes.

They are in.

And I feel strength and weakness all at once.

The stories in the wake of losing Ben are powerful things, they push and poke at me to write them down and share them.

Some of the stories are not mine to tell, they are, instead, like bowls of accompaniments passed down the table from one person to other until they end up on my plate sitting under my fork. And because of that they might be cold or just different by the time they found my mouth.

Yet, there are too many to ignore. Some bordering on the religious and others firmly planted in the simple, sacred world of perhaps it’s just coincidence that are shouting for their time.

So I’ve decided to tell them.

One by one, story by interlinking story, until they no longer sit only on my tongue but inside the hearts of the people who read them.


My amazing friends Mel and Michele (The Ketchup With Us Gals) are putting the top on their bottle and their link for a little while. But before they go they wanted us to link up, tell a story, admit we’re going to miss them and their outfits (I will!).

Starting next week I am going to share a story a week for four weeks about the amazing things that have happened since we lost Ben. Extraordinary and special things, comforting and peaceful and at times, even funny things.

I want to tell the stories.

Be. {Pour Your Heart Out}

It didn’t start out as a mantra.

In fact, if we’re truth telling here, it started because I had yelled the night before.

So deep in frustration and beyond a reasonable reaction to the fact that my son could not recognize the word “my”, I stood in complete disbelief as he stood still, staring at the two letter word as if he’d never seen it.

My son could spell and recognize Harry Potter and Christmas from memory, but “my” was going to be a game changer?

Over my dead, word-loving, body.

So I ranted, raising my voice half an octave before stopping short of admonishing him which was, admittedly, not my finest hour.

We all went to bed that evening with sore throats and sore hearts.

The next morning, as I am apt to do, I crept into their room to shift bodies and sheets, wiping tiny whorls of hair away from sweaty, foreheads to kiss them goodbye before I ran off to work.

I whispered, “I love you most” into their ears, hoping my deep affection for them would creep in among their dreams but that day I added, “be smart” before I told them I’d love them forever and ever. Their sleepy selves’ readjusted, small hands and legs entwined as if they were back in their NICU incubators, and I could only hope they’d heard me.

But as we drove to work, a lump formed in the back of my throat and I found tears threatening.

Be smart.”

I’d meant it to be motivational but in that moment I worried that it sounded condescending. Didn’t I already think my son’s were intelligent little people?


Yes, I did.

So the next morning when I sank to my knees at the edge of their bed and smoothed cowlicks away and kissed their sticky cheeks, I whispered, “Be kind. Be smart. I love you most.”

There is a power in kindness I wanted them to hang on to as they drifted from their dreams into their busy little boy days.

The days stretched into a week and a weekend when my sons (as little boys are apt to do) acted out, ignored simple tasks and sent my blood pressure soaring with their back talk and tom-foolery.

So on Monday morning when I found myself leaning over their messed sleep I found myself murmuring,

Be kind. Be smart. Behave! I love you most.”

No guilt with that one, reminding myself that I wasn’t unlike any other mom who knows her children, inside and out, good and bad. Asking them to behave throughout the day wasn’t a bad thing; it was simply a necessary request of growing boys.

And my little prayer for their day stayed that way for a week or so, until one morning, feeling very sentimental while starting down at their restful, dozy sleep, I found words just tumbling out of my mouth into their ears as grateful tears rolled down my cheeks:

Be kind. *kiss* Be smart. *kiss* Behave. *kiss*. Believe.”

It wasn’t until one morning, teetering on my three inch heels and hurrying through the incantation when I realized Gio’s mouth was moving in time with mine, even as he drifted in and out of his dreamy state.

Believe.” he repeated with me in a sleepy voice.

My wishes had found purchase in the minds of my children and I smiled as I imagined a life where our family prayer was always one of kindness and intelligence sprinkled with the certainty of magic.

Linking up with my amazing friend Shell and her weekly meme that allows us to Pour Our Hearts Out.

You can link up here too.


TMT: I’ll Write You a Story, You Sing Me a Love Song

My Skewed View



I’ve been absent from TMT for the past few weeks.(Sorry Jen!)
Snow, birthdays and well more snow have been keeping me away but I have also been writing, editing and rewriting parts of


And when I am writing love stories like theirs I have certain albums & songs that I play over and over to keep me motivated and inspired to follow the story through.

The past few weeks I had the same idea for my lists.

Motivational songs? (I hate exercising) so I  planned to write about the songs that I had on repeat  when I am weaving love stories.

Love songs? I’d planned to share the songs that are the background to my own love life, the highs, the lows, the make ups and break ups. Turns out they overlapped with my storytelling.

This week is My choice? : I’m  choosing to weave all three weeks into a Mix-tape of songs that are the background music to my writing. These songs inspire, these songs motivate me to change a storyline or add a ripple, these songs remind me (in the best possible ways) of love, redemption and the power of words and melodies.


My go to girl for love songs is Adele, always and forever.

My  English gal pal brings the pain, passion and perpetual search of love to every melodic and smoky number she serenades me with.

Her album 21 is always in heavy rotation if I’m writing.

Turning Tables is a favorite of mine:

Since high school Phil Collins has had a minor (but significant)  role in my love life. His songs have seeped under my skin and played in my head during first kisses, early mornings and late nights, falling in love and falling out of it.

I was 16, dating a college freshman, when he took me to a party and I heard this song off “Face Value” for the first time.

I remember hearing this song in my head every time I fell in love afterwards.

This album and “Hello, I Must Be Going” are favorites of mine for love writing sessions.

This Must Be Love

Kimmy & David is the story of a romantic triangle, and how time, distance and initial feelings are not always the end of the story. This song, by America, is one that I have come back to again and again because it’s become part of the landscape of my love life. Many times, I’ve been called Sister Golden Hair:

Well, I keep on thinkin’ ’bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can’t live without you; can’t you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind

this girl means something to him, just like Kimmy does to David, even if it takes a while to admit it  to himself.

Sister Golden Hair

No one does love like John Legend . I have swooned have Barry White and Manilow, appreciate John Mayer and gotten my sexy on to smooth jazz from Brian Culbertson. But John Legend takes sex and sexy, love and passion to another place.

From Ordinary People to PDA (We Just Don’t Care) his music puts me in a mood and normally makes for some sexy writing.
The song I  always hit repeat for?
Tonight (Best You Ever Had)

…and because Kimmy & David come full circle in the end, returning to each other after their choices and decisions separate and distance them,  I thought I’d end with the voice of Miss Whitney and her song about forgiveness,  second chance and a new start from the beginning.

While it’s not my favorite Whitney Houston song it is the one that always finds its way onto my writing playlists  because it’s about coming back to the arms you belong in.

Like I Never Left


 I’d love to hear about the that remind you of falling in or falling out of love. Share them in the comments.

You can find out about Twisted Mix Tape Tuesdays right HERE and play along.

The Lyrics Pound My Heart {Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday}



Hello my music loving friends.

Thank you so much for the warm welcome last week and all the great comments. I enjoyed listening to your songs and I’m so glad that many of you found something to Sing to your own Spirit here.

Thank you for inviting me back, even if you know that you’re getting a lot of vanilla from me.


This week, in honor of Jen’s Halloween Party, we were asked to share songs that scare us for any reason. I gave this a lot of thought, more than I actually wanted to, since I truly hate Halloween and being scared. Until I came up with five songs that scare me for various reasons: One will be a surprise since it’s a popular song by a popular band but with all these songs it came down to the lyrics for me.

Just because I have lousy taste in music doesn’t mean that I am not purely affected by the artists that I love listening to. Music, like theater, literature, art or even television, is very subjective and interpreted in the places that speak to you.

So with that in mind, I give you the 5 songs that Scare Me:


I am going way back to 2 songs that have scared me since I was a little girl.

First, Helen Reddy,  best known for her ballad homage to female empowerment, I Am Woman, released this song in my childhood  that chills me every time I hear it. The 70s’s channel of Sirius XM radio has this song in rotation and it still turns me cold with fear whenever I hear the catchy chorus.

Angie Baby


The second is another song about killing and sung by Vicki Lawrence in the 1970’s. A small town, a lonely and promiscuous girl, a jealous husband and the politics of a backwards Southern district. Add in a baby sister who doesn’t miss when she points and shoots and you’ve got a song that scares me because god knows it could happen.

The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia (My favorite rendition was the cover by Reba McEntire)

Third takes me back to my childhood home and my teenage years. While I was still listening to Andy Gibb, Barry Manilow and venturing into Whitesnake, Bon Jovi and Motley Crue felt like a walk on the dark side for this Catholic School girl my sister, Dana, had fully embraced Guns N Roses, Pink Floyd and of course Led Zeppelin.

Every night Reo Speedwagon competed for air time on the second floor of our house with Stairway to Heaven. Once we get to my 4th song, I’ll explain a little more fully, but whenever I hear this song by this incredible band I feel scared and hopeless. It feels like that time in your adolescent when everything was “too much” and while this song reminds me of my baby sister, it’s in a relieved sense that “thank god we got through that.”

Stairway To Heaven: Led Zeppelin


So that brings us to the fourth song and the one that is going to frustrate and annoy  many of you along with losing me some friends. See I know that you music lovers (read: snobs) love that angsty punk rock. You love the songs that scream and yell their way into your brains. But (and I’ve thought a lot about how to not bring down this completely fun little meme) they scare the hell out of me.

You see, I grew up in a house of landmines. I have never been silent about my history as a survivor of domestic violence, so when I hear screaming lyrics, when my brain is assaulted by the guttural melodies I am instantly cowering in a corner, hoping that the hitting will end soon. My stomach tumbles, my thoughts cloud and I find no enjoyment or talent in any of it.

I’ve tried so many times to read the lyrics, see a song for more than the outward appearances and put my vanilla to the test but it comes down to this, I relive the worst parts of my life when I listen to a song like

HEAD LIKE A HOLE: Nine Inch Nails (sorry guys!)


and Fifth is my surprise, because it shouldn’t scare anyone. However, from the first time I heard it last summer my stomach clenched. I write about LOVE a lot. It’s my go-to emotion. I believe in love, I trust it and harbor a very childlike ideal of it. So when I heard the lyrics:

I know your insides are feeling so hollow

and that’s a hard pill for you to swallow

but if I fall for you, I’ll never recover

If I fall for you, I’ll never be the same. 

I thought about asking someone to be sure about their feelings for you. To confess that you were standing in their presence, scared to death and willing to give the best parts of yourself , but asking them to not hurt you. To promise them that if you fall, you’ll never recover. That’s scary. It’s terrifying to think that even after you ask for an honest emotion, you might still be lied to, used and thrown away.

The hardest part of this song for me? (well along with the fact that I adore Adam Levine?) is that my son Giovanni loves this song. LOVES it. Asks for it to played over and over again in the car, knows all the words and will warble it in the cutest voice you ever heard while it stings my heart a little for everyone who has been hurt like that.


So there you have it, the songs that spook me.
I can’t wait to read about all of yours.

(and if you’re not joining us for Twisted Mix Tape Tuesdays, what are you waiting for?)

My Skewed View



A Letter to My Father {Pour Your Heart Out}

Dear Daddy,

It’s been 17 years and yet it feels like just yesterday that I was standing in a college dorm room in Shippensburg, PA listening to mom telling me that you were gone. She had all the details, gave me all the information that a first born child should get. Her voice was even and emotional but behind it was the strength and care that is the very core of her, as a nurse, as a mom, as a wife.

Our family was sinking into shock. You were only 52 years old and even as I type that it seems inconceivable that you could be dead then and now. You weren’t ill in any conventional sense. Sure high cholesterol and heart disease would be classified as reasons for your heart to stop beating but back then there were no pills being hocked hourly to deal with those culprits. I think of those miracle drugs and how they might have kept you alive if you’d lived long enough to have your insurance cover them every time I turn on the TV.

Death is unfair. There is no denying that.

I think of you so often now, more in the past few years than I had previously. I see you in Gio’s dance moves and Jacob’s deep and unapologetic love of music and fashion. How much I wish I could see your face light up as they run into your arms or stand over you with my hand on your shoulder as they made good use of your lap and you read Green Eggs and Ham. I don’t pretend to know what kind of grandfather you would have made, but I know that these little boys would have lit your world.

In writing about you I always sit on the invisible fence of remembering the good or  the bad. There were so many bad times, so much hurt and ache in our history. Screaming, yelling, fear and bruises and yet when I bring you to mind my thoughts scurry to the good side: to the sight of you as I attended my first formal dance, or the times you danced me around the kitchen. I choose deep down and forever, to forget the bad as I embrace the happiness that you gave me. I close my eyes and hear you imitating Fr. Guido Sarduci, I reminisce about how much you adored music, Halloween and the special wrapping paper that you bought every year for mom’s Christmas gifts. I tear up thinking of the way you used to look at her, a mix of love, lust and pride, which I always promised myself that I would find in the man I gave my heart to.

There is a saying that I have grown to adopt, “don’t let your struggle become your identity”.  So many times I could have made my writing and my existence about my past. I could have been the ‘Daughter of an alcoholic”, ‘The daughter of domestic violence”, “the daughter of a Vietnam vet with PTSD”, “the daughter of a survivor of domestic violence “(because your childhood was even more painful than my own). I could have chosen to make that my whole story, claim it as my identity but I know that’s not what you would want for me.

You loved me as much and as deeply as you could. I was the daughter you prayed and hoped for, I was the little girl who was so much like the woman you married that she frustrated and entertained you as much as her mother.  I was the girl who loved tap dance class more than ballet and listened to Anita Baker and Lou Rawls with you. I think that if you were around now, we would have been good friends. You would have loved that I am writing and published and you would have been so proud that I never gave up on my wish to be a mother.  Tenacity would have been a trait that you would have given me a lot of credit for. Many times before I hit the publish button I think of how you’d feel about what I’m about to share with the world (most times I’m sure you’d like it).

Even now, 17 years later, a song will stop me in my tracks, tears springing to my eyes. A well dressed man, good cologne or the scent of French toast will bring you right back to me. Would you love all the shows on the USA network too? Yes, yes I believe you would. This is where I choose to remember you, in the spaces of goodness. I don’t deny our struggles as a family or even yours failings as a father but if you taught me anything it was to survive in spite of them.

I have, we all have.

Dana, Benjamin, Mom and I have a bond that is tight and strong, laced with our collective memories of you. I would be lost without them, because those three people are the core and center of me, my sweetest memories and the holder of all our secrets. They are my family because of you.

So,  thank you for falling in love with my mother and bringing us into the world, for passing along a love of music, skin that tans easily and pure joy in the written word.  I’m sorry that I never fell in love with Star Trek or Tony Robbins and Rush Limbaugh the way you did, but I do kind of have a thing for Patrick Stewart, does that count?

October 23rd is the day you left me physically, but you never really did. You are always and forever tucked inside my heart in the deepest recesses and now, more than ever, you are ever present in the smiles, personalities and character of your beautiful grandsons. Thank you for helping the universe answer that prayer,  I like to think they are the gift of your hasty and untimely leaving.

We are okay. Mom is loved; George is her best mate, he is also the best dad a daughter could have in the second half of her life , the wonderful Pop-Pop  I always dreamed of for Giovanni and Jacob. Dana is a strong, capable and independent person with a mind of her own and so many accomplishments behind and in front of her  and Ben is making his way in this world,  knee deep in the world of music and economics , as if you are still tapping your foot along to his tunes. There are dogs and boats and second houses, they are beach days and family traditions that still have you living on in some part of them. There is peace and quiet, there is harmony and love.


You are unforgettable and loved, Daddy.

Rest in that knowledge, rest in peace.



thank you Shell, for giving me a place to share these words. XO


 A favorite song of ours, my Daddy danced me around the kitchen many times to this song.


A piece of my fiction was published  (I’m PUBLISHED!!!) in the newest Anthology from
Write on Edge: 
Precipice Volume 2  is available now, have you gotten a copy yet?

blog Precipice_print 3-D

Introducing Precipice Volume 2 (The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge)

blog Precipice_print 3-D

“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.” 

Cormac McCarthy, “No Country for Old Men” 

In the second volume of Precipice, twenty-four authors from the Write on Edge community explore the concept of luck in twenty-six works of poetry, short fiction, and memoir.


See this little blonde haired girl?

From the time she was old enough to read, she loved stories.

Loved hearing them, making them up, sharing them with anyone who would listen.

She dreamed of seeing her name on the cover of a book.

Today that dream comes true because alongside 25 other incredible authors I am proud and pleased to announce  that the release of PRECIPICE VOLUME 2 is ready to own.

I have a love story inside.

A story about dating, best friends and meeting your soul mate even when the timing might seem a little off.

Love that’s about LUCK and taking a leap of faith.

I hope you enjoy it, that you laugh and sigh your way through Kismet’s Kiss and then you get lost in the other offerings by some of the most incredible authors I know.

That little girl up there is so proud to have grown into this girl who still believes in love & luck, a girl who believes that dreams do come true because today she can say that she is a published author.


So how can you get your copy of this incredible collection?

Precipice Volume 2 (The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge)

is available TODAY on: 

 Amazon Kindle and the Kindle App (click!) 

Amazon in Print /Paperback form (Click!) 

 All digital formats on Smashwords (click!)

In the next few weeks it will also be available on iTunes, Kobo and through Barnes&Noble.


I would just like to publicly thank the staff of WRITE ON EDGE, especially Cameron, Angela, Mandy and Roxanne for their work, support and tireless dedication to the words and works of the WRITE ON EDGE community.

The Red Dress Club which eventually became Write on Edge lit the spark of my writing in 2010 and I will always be grateful to that tribe of incredible scribes for their support and encouragement.

I am so proud to be in your company.


Now what are you still doing here?

Go Buy your copies!!!!

(I’m celebrating with cupcakes today…*wink*)




If I Were Brave…{Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop}



I often just watch him.

I’ll ask him; “Do you want to go on the swings?” as we watch Giovanni pump his little legs and squeal in delight as daddy pushes him higher and higher into the sky.

Many times, he doesn’t even answer, just waves his hand at me, channeling a little old man who is tired of my questions, instead of a lanky five year.  “No thanks, I’m going to play Harry, and go on the slides.”

“Jacob, would you like to go on the carousel?”

Again his head hangs as he shuts down my question, “No thanks, but Gio look at that giraffe! Or the Blue Horse, you love blue Gio!”

I sink to my knees, eye to eye level with my son, “Baby, I’ll go with you, I’ll hold you and you won’t fall off.”

He ignores me and runs to watch Gio pick his own horse marveling at how he is the best cheerleader for his twin and he excels at it as he waves and shouts to his brother, but refuses to pick his own horse, his own ride.

I wonder why he shies away from it.

“You’re five now.” I  say in my mother voice, “you’re a big boy who can try the swings and ride your own horse.”

The waving hand again as he pulls his cape on and perfects his spells in front of the mirror.

“What are you still so afraid of?”  I silently ask.

And then I look inside my own heart and I know…


Because if I were brave:

I’d ask for what I want

I’d believe in my own abilities

I’d have more confidence

I’d submit that piece to that site and that site, and yes, even that site.

I wouldn’t stop people when they are trying to pay me a compliment.

I wouldn’t think you’re my friend just because you feel like you have to humor me.

If I were brave….

I’d know that the things I call my weaknesses are really my greatest strengths.

I would tell my honest stories, no matter what you thought of them or me.

I would stop being ashamed of my past.

I would hit PUBLISH.

I would finish the novel and stop the listening to the voices in my head that say “not as good as”, “not as interesting as”, “not worthy of writing those words”

I would tell you exactly what I think about that.

I would stop second guessing my  own worth.

If I were brave…

I would come to you

I would make the call

I would say I’m sorry first and stop the blaming

I would believe that I belong here, in this space.

I would not be afraid of the things I know are good, amazing and awesome about myself.

I would just accept the things about me that are not so good, amazing or awesome.

If I were brave…

I would believe you when you told me you liked me, you loved me, you respected me, you thought the world of me.

I would understand that some dreams take a little more time to come true

I would believe that my dreams….WILL.

If I were brave…

I’d be proud of the things I do, instead of the things that I don’t.

I’d forgive myself

I’d try new things, write new stories, live with abandon.

I’d hold on and hang in, I’d be patient and stop being envious.

I’d reach for my stars and shine the light of the spotlight on myself sometimes.

I would love myself as much as I love the other people in my life.


Over the weekend, I asked him again…”Would you like to go on the carousel?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment, before he reached for the tickets and ran for a blue horse of his own. His brother was over at the bounce house, but he was here, smiling for the camera, asking me to hold his wand so he could hold on.

And he did it because he was finally ready and he was brave.


If I were brave…

I’d just be myself (and nothing more) just knowing that my own dreams are patiently waiting for me.

Because how can I teach him about bravery if I don’t have a little of my own? 


written in response to a prompt over at

Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop

Mama’s Losin’ It

Write a post based on the word Brave.

Thank you for stopping by and reading.


Taking Back My Corner (and an Announcement about

Staying quiet.


This past May I celebrated 8 years of blogging, and by CELEBRATING I mean I didn’t even mention or call attention to it. There were no giveaways or trumpets sounding, I didn’t tweet it or acknowledge the date as it came and went.

It’s not that I’m not proud of this space or comfortable in it, this blog gave me a voice when I was hopeless and introduced me to some of the best friends of my life. I am always grateful for the tribe and community it brought into my life.

What I was allowed to say and share here not only opened up my life, it changed it, for the better.

But somewhere along the way this place had changed from a place where I talked about infertility, twin pregnancies , marriage and raising my sons into a fictional world based on writing community prompts. I had found a release and a deep passion for writing until this space had become littered with my stories and romantic works-in-progress.

I was torn, every single day, with my decisions about what I would write about and what stories I was keeping silent in favor of telling you another one.

Just the other day my good friend Angela and I were texting about this and she asked me “do you miss writing the mommy stuff,  you know the day to day stuff? ” and I answered honestly, “not really, but I feel like I have so many stories to tell and so many more that I want to share but I don’t want to tell them in the same place as the fiction.” 

At the time I was showing her my new website (  and considering integrating The Kir Corner there. But there was something about Ang’s question to me that made me stop and consider that decision. In the meantime, the amazing Kimberly Muro who designed my new blog was having a hard time migrating The Corner over to my new space.

All the elements for the perfect storm of a radical and challenging decision were in place.

For 8 years I’d resisted any kind of change of this space, fearful of losing it’s initial message and yet I longed to have a new, clean start where I could share my fictional stories for quite some time.

It wasn’t long before I decided to keep both websites.

From now on, THE KIR CORNER will be the place where I participate in memes, share stories (funny, ugly and interesting and otherwise) about my life: from my marriage, to my thoughts on well, everything. If you want to hear more about how Catholic School and a morning nanny is working out for our family this will be the place to come and I promise enough pictures to keep you returning.

I also know that some of you enjoy my fictional musings so I’m inviting you over and hope that if you feel like you don’t want to miss a chapter of those stories you’ll sign up for an email subscription or add me to your reader.

Just recently my mom was telling me what I was like as a child and that I never liked to hear the word “or”. When I was asked if I wanted “this or that” my answer was normally, “why can’t I have both?”.

It seems that I never quite grew out of that philosophy and now instead of having The Kir Corner or

I’ve decided to share  the stories of my life with you in both places.



I do hope you VISIT.



Thank you for reading me, no matter which website you frequent,  and know that I appreciate

and truly admire every single one of you. 


Special thanks to Kimberly Muro of Kimberly Muro Designs for the work on my spiffy, beautiful new digs.

If you are in the market for a new design or help with your blog  she’s fantastic!


When Hope is a Four Letter Word {Ketchup With Us}


Mel of According to Mags and Michele of Old Dog New Tits are back with Ketchup with Us.

Ketchup With Us

This time they asked to think about (and then write about) the roller coasters of life.


Roller-coasters: I’ve been quite a few during my life:

College (I finally graduated at 28) , dating (and sex) before I got married, cancellations of various Law & Order franchises, but the one whirlwind ride my life took from 2003 until 2008 remains the one that took my breath away, at times left me dizzy, hopeless and convinced that I would never see the end of the ride.

It was called INFERTILITY.



While you stand in line for the ride, you are excited, expectant (which ends up being completely ironic) and cheerfully optimistic.

But over time after you’ve been tossed and tumbled, dipped and stalled : your tummy aches, your head spins, your heart hurts & you  begin to wonder if HOPE is just a four letter word.

Then…a miracle.


(or two)


Join Mel and Michele for Ketchup With Us!



I’m Proof That Ignorance is Bliss {Pour Your Heart Out}

Last month my sons graduated from Pre-K.



Unless you follow me on social media sites, you probably didn’t know that because here in The Corner I am living in a constant state of denial about their age, about the fact that they are starting Kindergarten in a little more than a month, about the changes that are going to be in place when I have children who “Go to School.”

To me it’s just not possible that the little boys I struggled for 4 years and then 35 long, scary, OMG weeks to bring into this world are old enough to be ready for Kindergarten.


The class sang about 10 songs from the ABC’s, to the Isty Bitty Spider,

to Baby BumbleBee to illustrate all the songs 

they have learned since the Infant Room. (Cue: TEARS) 



I’m normally okay with change. I’m not much of a planner anyway so I can generally be persuaded into ignoring “that which I don’t really feel like dealing with” but with this it’s almost as if I am making a concerted effort to just look the other way and wave my hands as if to say…”NOT TALKING ABOUT IT! MY GOD WE HAVE TIME..LOTS OF TIME BEFORE THIS HAPPENS!”


But you all know that’s not true (and sadly so do I).

August 26th is going to be here before I know it and that means that changes are afoot.

Slowly but surely I am trying to embrace  the inevitable.

So on Monday we ventured to (the 8th ring of hell) Toys R Us and a mere 45 minutes later we walked out with new backpacks and lunch boxes.


We’ve interviewed and hired (thank you a babysitter for the mornings who will come in from 6-8am, get the boys dressed, fed and on the bus every morning so that we can get to work and be able to pick them up by 5pm every night. She’s awesome and I’m excited about adding her to our “family”. (Her claim to fame?In her 20’s she worked for the Bon Jovi family..yes! that one!)


I only cry in the privacy of my own bathroom when I realize that I’m going to  need to buy higher heels or Gio is going to be taller than me sooner than later.

I only laugh in the privacy of my own bathroom when I see Jacob pretend to be Harry Potter or Willy Wonka or a “Godfather” (Jacob is currently SMITTEN with Catholic Church and everything about it since we started going to mass with them back in April in preparation for their Catholic School education. Instead of using the term “PRIEST” he prefers “The GodFather” ..which actually makes sense if you think about it and stop laughing. )


I have lots of funny stories about my sons that I’m just not telling here. Instead I get lost in a fictional world and story. It’s not that I don’t want to share Giovanni and Jacob with you, I think it’s more that they are a part of my life that I want to keep for myself.

But I will tell you…

That they love doing the Geico commercial with the CAMEL> HUMP DAY!

Funniest thing you will ever hear is when Gio will say “Guess. WHAT. DAY.IT.IS.”

Jacob’s love affair of church has extended to him singing the Alleluia and Gloria whenever and wherever he feels like it and every day we walk into daycare now to be told that he has performed a mass that day. (I guess we can stop going to church on Sundays. LOL)


Gio loves cars and math and is a CANDY CRUSH aficionado. In fact,  if you can’t get past a level just hand over your phone/tablet/mouse, he’ll work it out. He’s sensitive and funny, he’s introspective and so smart it scares me sometimes.


Giovanni June 2013

Jacob is an ACTOR. He is impatient and distracted, he is creative and draws better than any 5 yr old I know. He can recite movies in British accents and is already so fashionable and outgoing.


Jacob June 2013


Both boys are friendly, kind and empathetic (Unless it’s with each other and then they are beating the crap out of each other).

Girls adore them and they eat it up, enjoying the females in their classes as much as the boys.


and me, well I’m just coasting along.

I know it’s coming.

Kindergarten is coming.

Our goodbye to the daycare/dayschool(and every incredible teacher and staff member who has helped us raise our children for the past 5 years) they have been students of since they were 6 months old is coming.

and I don’t know if I’ll ever really be ready for any of it, but I know it’s coming and when I’m not denying it, I’m trying to embrace it too.



 Pouring my Heart Out with Shell at Things I Can’t Say.