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Prayer for My Daughter On Her 16th Birthday

By Erin

Dear Daughter,

All the world is lining up to tell us that there’s nothing in the world scarier than a sixteen year old daughter. With your bright smile, warm wit, big heart, and stellar brain, we couldn’t agree more. How on earth we created you is a far easier question to answer than how on earth we could possibly contain you!

Your heart and head are full of wild imaginings of adventures far beyond our little home now. While we applaud your desire not to live in our basement for all eternity, you might need some blessings for what lies ahead.

So here’s blessings for a life well-lived. May you turn over all the rocks, climb all the mountains, and ford every stream your heart can take. But more importantly, may you find something that lights you on fire and keeps you burning. We love the funny Vines and Internet jokes too, but these are not the things that will feed your soul, my girl. Cast your net far and wide and see what looks interesting. May the interesting things also come with sizable paychecks and lovely bonus packages as well.

But it’s not all about the Benjamins. May you make new friends but keep the old. I might have taken this one from a box of Thin Mints, but you could do worse than have this one grace in your life. Friends multiply every other blessing ten-fold. Be kind and generous with yours so they’ll stick around long enough to tell you that chic haircut doesn’t really work on you. Then you’ll also see them love on your babies, nurse you through heartbreaks, and make you laugh enough that you’ll count it as a workout. They’ll smooth the edges of your life’s journey and for that we will all be grateful.

And speaking of journeys, may all your roads be free—of ice, snow, hail, wind, any weather at all, catastrophe, bad drivers, good drivers, any other drivers whatsoever, and mistakes. I’d love to throw tolls in the mix, but the government’s involved so that might be hard to arrange. In any case, here’s to safe passages for you for all ways on all paths, everywhere, forever. Amen.

But here’s wishing you some rocky roads too. Your journeys can certainly be a little crooked and not exactly what you had planned all the time. A lot of really great living happens off the beaten path, so while you shouldn’t dismiss the easy path altogether, be open to life’s detours. Sometimes, your head doesn’t always know where your heart was meant to be. Plan ahead, but let life do a little leading too.

When life is leading, may you be strong. Reach in and reach out before you reach your breaking point. The steely stuff within you and the loving hearts around you will be more than sufficient to see you through anything you might encounter. Remind yourself that when you are looking back on this moment in the rear view mirror, this will be the time you were most fully yourself and saw all your blessings before you.

And speaking of seeing things clearly, this is probably the perfect time to adjust your lens on that wanderlust of yours. A lot of life traveling, any traveling, is, well, boring. It’s not all sweeping vistas and magnificent sunsets, so learn to rock a camera angle. Most of life is just how you look at it anyway, so learn to frame the shot the way you want to.

And as you are looking for that perfect shot, may you also find a great partner for the road. Not just someone who could be a stellar shotgun, although that is a pretty great bonus, but someone who really sees you in all your beautiful and flawed perfectness. You could do worse than marry someone who is your best friend though that’s certainly not a requirement for the job. But loving your family is non-negotiable so make that one fact clear: we’re awesome and part of the package deal. You want the gorgeous redhead, you get the crazy family too, capice?

This is your moment, sweet girl. We are mesmerized, enchanted, and, quite frankly, perched on the edge of our seats waiting to see what will happen in this next chapter of your life. Write something amazing.

All my love, Mom

You can see what I wrote about my funny feisty girl last year here. Parents of lunatic toddlers, this one’s for you! There is hope!

Got a wild child? Erin has one too. There’s hope.

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Fourth Time Is A Charm: Should You Have a Fourth Child?

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A friend with an equally oversized brood once said, “Every time I open the van doors, I hear circus music.” Amen, sister, and I never unloaded a minivan again without cuing up a little Big Top soundtrack in my head. Big families are many things, but subtle we are not.

One thing we most definitely are is loyal.

Eleven years ago today, I had my fourth child, a beautiful healthy baby boy. I checked off that box of having a family that mirrored my happy one growing up. But even basking in that bucolic heady mix of newborn love and sleep deprivation, my most Pollyanna self could see that I was also in one hell of a pickle. My husband was set to travel for ten days through South America on the day the baby turned a month old.

A mere two days before the start of school. Gulp.

My mother was a teacher so there was no way she could miss the first week of school, and my mother-in-law was traveling as well. My sister lived in Chicago. All of my friends were busy getting their own kids back to school. In short, I was going to be left to the mercy of the orcs as I tried to get my then six year old and four year old fed, dressed, happy, and on their merry way with a newborn and a really, really helpful two year old.

Help came in the form of my youngest brother, my parents’ number 4, who was in college an hour away. Jonathan would leave classes in the evening and drive an hour north every day for the first week of school. He spent the night and helped me feed and dress everybody every morning that first week and then went back to his classes. He held babies or hands. He changed diapers or TV channels. He filled sippy cups and downtime. He was in short the fairy godmother I so desperately needed with a little more facial hair and less high heels.

Whenever someone asks me if they should have a fourth child, I tell them this story. On the one hand, I think you need to be completely upfront and honest about what you are getting yourself into. That circus music, those sippy cups, that sense of being taken down by some creature no matter how fantastical it may seem—that’s all real. If you are thinking of lowering the birth control defense line, you should have some idea of what you are welcoming across the border.

This is the other story I tell. When Deacon was nine months old, I hosted a get-together with some old friends. I had showered, put on the fancy non-stained GAP t-shirt, and even baked some of my famous chocolate chip cookies. Old friends are the best at delivering the type of fun that makes you forget yourself completely or, in this case, forget to feed your kid. I walked into the kitchen and there was baby Deacon with his hands deep in a box of Cheerios feeding himself a little snack. He didn’t even dump the box on the floor. Good baby, good Momma, good story.

But be open to a fourth child if that’s what your heart desires. Deacon was then and has forever forth been the easiest of children. Sweet and reliable, Deacon is a happy ballast for our family. The steady sturdy tenacity he brings to every aspect of life makes all of our days better. He makes lunches for teens who are too grumpy, cooks a hot breakfast for himself and his dad, and finds all the missing socks, belts, and shoes, and that’s just what he does in the morning.

As parents, we revel in the allure of doing this all the fourth time around and the singular pleasure of him for himself. The gift of having many children is a chance to do every age again and see all of it through another pair of eyes coming into his own.

Today, Deacon moves ever more firmly into the land of tween. Nobody knows how the tumult of the teen years will change him, but I think, like his uncle before him, he will retain his essential sweetness. All of our babies have their own special glow, and the fourth time is really, truly a charm.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!

-Erin

The fourth time is a charm: Should you have a fourth child?

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Blooming

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When my fourth son was born, my grandmother came to visit. Bleary from lack of sleep, I hardly noticed the pink blur of my tiny daughter zipping by, but I couldn’t ignore the sound of something crashing into a gazillion pieces in the kitchen a moment later. Then door slams shook the house as “the blur” left on foot followed in hot pursuit by my mother. My grandmother smiled down at the sweet and still compliant newborn in her arms, and said, “Wow, that’s some rose you’ve got among the thorns.” Truth, Grammy. Truth.

At that point, I had been at the mercy of my daughter for a solid four and a half years. Every ounce of parenting wisdom and confidence I had shored up from the 19 months parenting my first son was rendered immediately irrelevant from the moment she was born. This darling girl thrust herself upon us with the fury of a mini-maelstrom. Everything about her broadcast the undeniable truth: Hello, family, there’s a new queen in town.

There was never the innocent hopeful debate about parenting style with this one. My tiny, feisty child pretty much demanded to be attached 24/7 via sling, baby carrier, or industrial strength duct tape . . . until she demanded that she had had enough of that nonsense. I thought I was tired from parenting ’round the clock, that is, until she leaped out of my arms at the tender age of 8 months and sprinted across the room. I pretty much didn’t sit down again for the next 5 years.

My girl’s speed was matched only by her ingenuity and gift for escape. Harried parents everywhere know this is the perfect trifecta for troublemakers, and she wore that title like royalty. I remember one conversation with the pediatrician when she was 9 months old. I was worried that she was already climbing out of her crib. “No problem,” he said. “Just put her to sleep in the pack-n-play. She won’t be able to climb out, and she’ll still be safe.” Such simple genius advice! If he had told me to shave my head and move halfway around the world right then, I would have bought a ticket and packed a bag. But I swear on my Sour Patch Kids, that baby heard every word he said and laughed herself silly. When I went to lay her down for her nap in the old Graco, she looked me right in the eye, shimmied up the corner of the playpen like Spiderbaby, and vaulted over the edge. My baby girl ended up sleeping on a mattress. ON THE FLOOR. next to her brother in a room we double-baby-gated every night. Our house was like Fort Knox without all the home-cooked meals and time off for good behavior.

But even with this indoctrination, I was unprepared for her toddler and preschool years. Frontlines, trenches, and warzones bring me a certain nostalgia after surviving this time with my girl. It’s easier to list the places we weren’t kicked out of: Zero. Nada. None. Library storytime–see ya later, suckers. Music and Motion class—beat it, bums. Local pizza place—fuggedaboutit. Even church, the last haven for the poor and downtrodden like myself, gave me the old “God will understand if you don’t come to church every week.” To say my girl was a difficult toddler is a disservice and a misnomer. Make no mistake: my darling daughter was adorable and dear, but she was also a terrorist with a tiara and a ‘tude. If you are currently parenting such a child, my thoughts, prayers, and fervent wishes for a quiet moment/night off/white flag are with you. Honestly. But I also offer you this: hope.

Today, my beautiful, feisty, funny girl turns fifteen. It’s hard to see, even now, exactly when she started to mellow, but she certainly did. The wide path she cut early on gave her room to move and grow and tussle with possibility. She treads more lightly now and those steps are more sure, less wild, more purposeful. Her frenetic energy has transformed into a casual confidence that is charming and magnetic. With her great smile, hair, and personality, she could totally sell you down the river, but you would be grateful for the lovely trip.

She loves her friends, her books, her writing, One Direction, tacos, Starbucks, strawberries, Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, and yes, even her crazy brothers, with a passion reminiscent of her early fire. She does have the Irish roots to back up that beautiful red hair after all, and God help the boy that falls for either.

She still runs circles around us, but now she wins ribbons for that. She still makes a beautiful noise but she is in good company and we call that music most of the time. She still can shake this house from front to back and around again but usually with our laughter from some clever thing she said. We all still know who the queen is around here, but her edges are softening as she moves gracefully into that best self we all see just around the corner.

She is Blossoming. Blooming. Becoming.

She is, as she always was, our rose among the thorns.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl! Love, Mom

-Erin

Got a wild child? Erin does too. There’s hope.

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Sisterhood Party Pride

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We have said it before and we have to say it again: We love to party! And not just for birthdays, anniversaries, and such. Heck, if it’s a day that ends in “Y”, somebody bring the beach balls and the booze and let’s crank up the jams. Anyway, here are. . .

10 Parties That Make Us Proud

Erin

1. Irish Girls Do It in Bright Green

I just love that this Irish girl married into a Polish family with a fun-loving real-life Irish Grandmom. We love our GiGi, and all of the fabulous parties that happen on her favorite day each year!

2. Inside This Box is a Fabulous . . .

Road Trip. With five kids and birthdays that come in bunches, we don’t always go the traditional party route. Often times, we hit the road to celebrate. In fact, Biddie and I are still basking in the glow of our great Northeastern Adventure to celebrate her 13th birthday this past summer.

This picture is one of my favorites though. When Biddie was 10, she was obsessed with the First Ladies. Sorry, 1D! Martha Washington was her first real pin-up! Her birthday was the weekend of the Obama inauguration that year. All she wanted was to get to Washington, DC. Here she is scanning the White House windows looking for a glimpse of one of the Obama girls. Still one of my favorite birthdays ever!

But other times we play it straight and we get. . .

3. The Party That Proved Just How Smart I Am!!

Eddie LOVED all things Star Wars the summer he turned four. We had a pool party and these lightsaber pool noodles were the party favor. Cheap, easy to make, and 10,000 times better than a bag of Dollar Store junk. Every mom and kid loved them! And some still have them!

But there is always a fly in the punch. Check out Eddie’s face behind his cool cupcakes. Darn kid’s ruining my boast! I swear no exorcism was required.

4. True Fans Party on Opening Day

Who parties on the opening day of the Liverpool soccer season? Maybe the family that left their North Caroline beach vacation early to see them play on American soil last summer. This might be taking the term Soccer Mom to a whole new level, but I don’t care. I’m hoping these crazy family traditions are gonna be the things that get these kids home for a visit every once in a while after the big, wide world scatters them to the winds.

5. 40 IS Fabulous!

Especially when you do it Sisterhood Style. We always treat our buddies well on their special day, but this party for our friend Lauri was the best! We went kayaking on the river near her house. Her family even had it planned for us to paddle up to a dock for some beverages and snacks along the way. Kind of like a Kayak Crawl.

Ellen

Erin’s proud party moments turned out just like her: all over the place and fabulous. I’m going to stick to the traditional birthday party genre. We take the mantra “Go big or go home” to heart around here when it comes to celebrating those special days.

1. Pandamonium

I love to have my house stuffed with happy girls. I also love our family tradition where the birthday girl gets her very own personalized cake to dive into with abandon. The theme for Jellybean’s 12th birthday was pandas, so with 13 girls sleeping over, it was pandamonium. Get it??

2. Monkey Business

In fact, this is the party where the personal birthday cake tradition was born by chance. So take that Pinterest. I was able to develop fun family rituals long before you rolled up on the scene.

3. Letting the Cat Out of The Bag

Jellybean got our cat Sparkle for her 6th birthday. Imagine my delight when she came downstairs ready for her indoor bounce house party dressed in her kitty cat Halloween costume. Melt.

4. Ginormous Water Slide For The Win

I LOVE throwing little kid birthday parties. Coed teenager parties make my palms clammy. For our first one, I got this huge water slide as a distraction. I should have thought about the bathing suit factor.

5. Back to the Good Ol’ Days

Alright, let’s forget the teen years, I’m starting to break out in hives. Let’s go back to when all I had to do was transform our basement into the American Idol sound stage. And upon review, I apparently also transformed our backyard into a superstar themed obstacle course for about a bazillion little girls. Did I mention “Go big or go home”?

In case all of this party pride is making you a little nauseous, don’t forget the New Year’s Eve when Ellen made everyone actually gag with this little gem of a Pintershit drink.

Also, don’t forget to check out the other bloggers over at Monday Listicles who responded to Stasha’s prompt 10 THINGS YOU ARE PROUD OF. Feel free to join in on the fun.

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Celebrate this, Sisterhood Style!

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Nothing we love here in The Sisterhood more than a great party and some good eats.

One Drink! Two Drinks!! Three Drinks!!!

Thank goodness that between the two of us, there are plenty of holidays and birthdays to go around. Ellen has a chance to show off her cake -making skills. . .

There’s a veritable barnyard of cute animals Ellen’s crafted out of fondant and sugar, but this one’s Erin’s favorite.

. . . and Erin’s husband Steve does too. Erin thanks her lucky stars every year that her in-laws owned a Carvel franchise for years and taught her husband how to handle a pastry bag.

He can freelance like nobody’s business too. He drew this one at the beach using a sandwich baggy and some homemade icing.

You wanna know what else they share besides some serious cake-making skills?? The same birthday. February 9th. They were born ON. THE. SAME. DAY. Yeah, we know, it’s freaky. Especially when Erin says that their voices sound the same in her head.

Oh, and our dear friend Mary’s son was born on February 9th too. When Mary was on bed rest, she gave Ellen and Frank her season tickets to see “Chicago” at the Wilmington Opera House, so that they could have a date night out to celebrate Ellen’s birthday. As Frank and Ellen were watching the curtain come up, Lil’ G was making his debut.

Do you hear what we are laying down?? Three special people in The Sisterhood share the same birthday! We might as well turn this into an official Sisterhood holiday. What, you say, this is barely a reason for a holiday?

Well, in addition to the crazy coinciding of the birthdays, this year February 9th has been attracting activities and events to it like a Kardashian to some media coverage. We would like to offer our calendars as Exhibits A, B, C, and D, but the paper ones are unreadable and the electronic ones are groaning from the data we keep trying to input. Erin may not be the technology-whisperer, but she can hear her iPhone saying, “Put me down, girl. I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more.”

Still not buying it? Well, February is a month for dubious holidays anyway. Perhaps snow does not just make you blind, but deaf, dumb, and stark-raving mad as well. These February holidays all started out honorably enough, but they have strayed far from their noble roots. Mardi Gras is now just an excuse to make bad decisions all day long. And Presidents’ Day? A ruse to spend one last day on the slopes (not that we’re complaining) or to buy a new mattress.

Yep. We think you’re awesome, Abe. Too bad they have you schlepping new Sertas!

Groundhog Day? Puh-leez! Phil saw his shadow this year, so you know what that means?? Bupkis. NADA. Nothing. Dust off your 5th grade science book or steal your kid’s iPad: that’s not how weather works. Sorry if this rains on your happy dance parade because you thought spring was right around the corner. It is. It’s called March.

And don’t even get us started on Valentine’s Day. There’s the Hallmark version: St. Valentine, hearts, love, letters, chocolates . . . well, you know. Then there’s the real story: Pope Gelasius got a little slaphappy bestowing sainthood on people and included Valentine in with a bunch of other saints, saints like St. George of “St. George and the Dragon” fame. We don’t have to tell you that this got a little awkward seeing as how dragons are a little hard to rustle up. Anyway, the pope validated his batch of questionable picks by saying that they were men “whose acts are known only to God”. Nice umbrella there, Pope G, hope it shields you from the flurry of chocolates and greeting cards headed your way.

Not this type of unicorn

Anyway, we think February 9th has as much legitimate claim to a holiday status as, say, a groundhog who forecasts weather or a knight who slays dragons in the English countryside. If Pope Gelasius had kept going, we might be painting rainbows and hearts in homage to Saint Unicorn-Wrangler.

So, what’s wrong with lobbying for February 9th as a Sisterhood Siesta? It could be a a day to do nothing. Hang out, sleep in, eat cake, relax. Whatever. The Holiday of Meh. For two girls who have yet to find a blank spot on their calendars, this sounds like heaven.

Besides, Ellen could use some cheering up. Remember what we just said about Ellen and Mary’s little boy being birthday buddies? On his first birthday, Ellen gave him a tool box and has been filling it on his special day ever since. This year, Ellen was proactive, organized, and way ahead of the game. Because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Ellen was bound to be drop-kicked on her little overachieving butt for this forethought and productivity. The supercool pair of light-up work goggles she found for Mary’s little boy and bought for him BEFORE Christmas? Well, they are gone. G-O-N-E. Like no trail to follow, no stones to overturn, NOWHERE. We can wish for a happy day when Ellen unpacks them from her Christmas decorations in December, but it’s not likely. They seemed to have been swallowed up by the black hole that exists in our homes since the birth of our kids.

You know what would make her feel better? A day off to look for them. Or not. Whatever.

At the very least, we can all offer some sincere birthday wishes to these three special people without whom The Sisterhood would be a much less fun, funny, and sweet place! Happy birthday, Ellen, Steve (Happy Big 4-0!!) , and Lil’ G!

Oh, and just to keep it real, a bonus birthday anecdote from Erin’s birthday last week:

Ellen calls to check in on some blog stuff.

Erin: Oh, I don’t know if I’ll have time to finish that. The family is taking me out to dinner for my birthday.

Ellen: But I thought your birthday was January 31st.

Erin: Today IS January 31st.

Don’t forget to vote for us as one of the Circle of Moms Top 25 Funny Mom Blogs. Just click the little pink button below. It takes just a minute! Push us, push us real good into the Top 25!

Thanks! Erin and Ellen

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Happy Half-BLirthday!

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Ellen– Get it?

[Blog]+[Birthday]=[bLirth-day]. Six months ago, our blog went live and in the spirit of Sisterhood, we are sharing our bLirth story with you.

Erin– I still think we can call it a bLaunch…

How BLirthing is very different from pregnancy: You can drink to make it all better

Ellen- Ummmmm, no. Just no. Sounds like the noise the cat makes when she coughs up a hairball. But I am really feeling the pregnancy metaphor.

We had only been gestating this baby for 2 ½ months, but you all know that feels twice as long in pregnancy time.

This blog was draggggggging out through the holidays—HALLOWEENTHANKSGIVINGCHRISTMASNEWYEARS. I was tired of the whole thing. I was begging for some relief. The only thing missing was swollen ankles.

Erin- So we did what any sensible mom would do. We kicked the blog under the bed with the dust bunnies and walked away. FOR A MONTH. I once tried to mention the blog to Ellen, and she almost stroked out begging me not to discuss it.

Ellen– But then we got our Christmas miracle. Steve surprised Erin with a MacBook Air.

Erin’s Steve, not this one.

Erin- Forget that he broke our “Hey, it’s a frugal Christmas” agreement. Forget that I felt huge guilt when he was opening his dixie cups and chapstick (For real. We were supposed to be frugal, People, and, that’s right, I wrapped them, too. What of it?). I was already posting on Facebook from my shiny, new Mac.

This sweet man in one grand gesture gave me the biggest, best vote of confidence in our blog. With one click, I dragged our blog out from underneath the metaphorical bed and blew off the dust. I loaded our site with everything we had written and then some.

Ellen- We are giving Steve props for getting us back on track. We were going to make everything perfect. We were going to finally birth this baby. So we did what every sensible mom does, we made a plan. We even made a date, for scheduling a date, to create our Facebook page and Twitter account. Then with the good fortune that has constantly shone on this project, Elizabeth, our graphic designer, emailed us our banner. Oooo, we could take a step forward! Then came the email from our Tech Angel, Colleen: “Ok, I just added your header – let me know if you think you’re ready to go.”

Ready to go!?! I’m not ready to be a blogger! What do I know about blogging? I made all kinds of excuses to Colleen about why we were not ready: no social media buttons, no contact form, blah, blah, blah.

I have to grab the HTML code? What? First world problems are hard.

As with all good “birthing” plans, ours was not worth the computer file space it was residing in. I woke up the next morning, logged onto the site, and right before my very eyes, I could see Colleen adding the social media buttons. Colleen was addressing every excuse, um, I mean barrier, that was preventing us from taking this blog live. The Sisterhood’s water had broken, and things were starting to move.

I was not entering this bLirth-ing room alone! I picked up my phone to call Erin and… nothing. Direct to Voicemail. No response to text. No response to email.

Erin– To quote one text from Ellen: “I am dying of excitement. Colleen is pimping out our site so we can go live! AHHHHHH! Please call me when you get a chance . I will respectfully continue to blow up your phone with every new development. ”

Ellen is using an emoticon. She means business, but she doesn’t want to yell at me. Yet. Good grief.

Ellen – Soooo, no response still. Whatever. This thing was happening. Over the next 6 hours I proceeded to add some “final touches” to the site. This blog was not ready for prime time. I was laboring in the bLirth-ing room alone, people! A-lone! I felt abandoned like an iPad on the day they launch version “so-much-better-than-the-one-you-just-maxed-your-credit-card-out-on-three-weeks-ago.”

Erin- You are such a PC. Don’t be a hater.

Meanwhile, I was exactly where I told her I would be— teaching Advanced Math to middle schoolers. After 13 years at home, I was dipping my toe back into a classroom as a substitute. No horror stories to tell, but I couldn’t have been more difficult to reach if I were on the moon or at the bottom of a well. When class ended, I checked my phone. Ellen was summoning me, in ABUNDANCE, back to the blog.

Ellen- FINALLY, my phone rang. Erin was like, “Hey, I got your four emails and ten texts during math class. Deleted your Voicemail. I guess we’re starting today.” Someone needed to go to some bLirth-ing classes, because this was clearly not the enthusiastic, supportive response required.

Erin- Oh, I wanted to revel in our moment. I did. But jumping back into the classroom was the easy part of my day. When I got home, an afternoon was brewing unlike any I have had since the days of endless sippy cups and potty-training.

Cue a rising jungle beat crescendo. Serious stuff was going down at home. And Ellen needed my input. A LOT. On this of all days, my kids decided to revert to their alter-egos Whiny, Clingy, Punchy, Needy, and Snotty.

someecards.com - Six out of seven dwarfs AREN'T Happy.

Something to ponder, hmmmmm

Charlie was in a panic, because his report wouldn’t print. He was on the verge of a breakdown. Apparently, he had lost all memory of how to choose printers from the menu bar. Click. Crisis averted.

RRRIIIINNNGGGG (or really, new/age zen crap stanza)

Ellen- What do you want our Twitter user name to be?

Erin- Simultaneously, Biddie lost it. Middle School is a vicious creature and was having its way with her. I needed to talk her out of her tree. Hug. Crisis averted.

RRRIIIINNNGGGG

Ellen- You have to “Like” our Facebook page for me to easily make you an Admin.

Erin- Charlie, now buoyant from his printer triumph, was wrestling with Deacon and Eddie all over the house. At one point, they were perched together on the back of a chair like spider monkeys wrapped in headlocks. Mommy yell. Boys sent to their corners. Crisis averted.

Ellen- Yeah, I heard that one go down over the phone. She might be sugar-coating it a bit.

Erin- Then Ace joined the fun. He couldn’t find his soccer referee card that he needed to be recertified. Not in his room, his ref bag, his wallet, the wash. He was hyperventilating into a bag. Found the website and got his ID # electronically. Crisis averted.

RRRIIINNNGGGG

Ellen- Do you care if we have a gravatar before we launch?

Erin- And then my parents pick THIS moment to call. AND they want to talk about booking our summer vacation. AND they are not tech-savvy. AND they want my help. Oy. I might cry or kill someone.

Ellen- Erin is the best. In the middle of all that was going down in her home, she took every phone call to answer every question. I did giggle directly in her ear that SHE is her parents’ tech guru.

Erin- This was not an ideal environment to be having a moment, even a great one like the birth of our blog, with Ellen. But that’s the way life rolls. It’s coming whether you are ready or not.

Ellen- So, in the midst of Erin’s maelstrom, on January 11, 2012 at 5:47pm, I got the text from Colleen that we were live. We were the proud creators of a bouncing, brand-new blog! As I gleefully watched the visit counter spiral upward, I was so grateful that Colleen “bLaunched” us from our nest. We needed the push.

Erin- Aww, look at you, using “bLaunch.” And I was grateful too. The Sisterhood Secret: By all means, plan, but (and we are totally stealing this from Nike), in the end, JUST DO IT. Time to get blogging!! Happy Half-BLirth-day to us!

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