By Nicole

Last weekend was a particularly PMS-y weekend for me... and I think the one who ended up the worse for wear at the end of it all was poor Jason.  Not only did I unload a whole bunch of pent-up frustrations, I had a bad attitude and a "woe-is-me" complex to boot.  I still owe him a real apology.  Sometimes us women get away with a lot by blaming it on our hormones.  Every feeling and frustration I was having was very real, but the way I handled it all was pretty crappy (my kids tell me that is a bad word and I shouldn't say it, and they are probably right, but I can't think of a better adjective right now). Anyway, after I unloaded, I felt better. And I might as well just spill it all to you all too.  I had been a bit resentful and grumpy about the impromptu farm that was developing in my back yard and my living room.  The chickens were starting to get big and louder and stinking more quickly.  My morning routine was being mucked up (literally and figuratively) by th

When I was young, I was meticulous about writing thank you notes and preparing thoughtful gifts.  I often said that the blank side of the card was meant to be filled, regardless of the occasion, and I always filled it!  It was something I prided myself in, and something I miss in the older me.  The me that gets caught up in kids, and keeping house, and projects, and the rest of life nowadays.  The me that does too much and runs late and can't seem to catch up.  And then important parts of my life pass by, gone before I did a good enough job of communicating how much I appreciated them.  I didn't write the thank you notes when I should have, even though I thought of it often. Even this... this ridiculous cyber thank you feels cheapened somehow.  But I knew if I tried to write it all on a card, it would be covered in white out and scratches.  Tears and coffee stains, most likely.  And I wouldn't want it read with others around or lost in the shuffle.  Despite all "ands