These, my friends, are my first two grey hairs.   Sigh.

If I work 75 hour work weeks and come home and change out the locks on the broken doors and give haircuts and push myself until I can't possibly go any farther, is this strength? Is this determination? If I never settle for anything less than the best I can do and even then question the quality and whatever it is I am doing, is it having standards? And how exactly will all of it affect my boys? Will they be persevering and confident, or will they question themselves and never feel adequate?         I pray my boys know that I am in charge of what I make of my life. I work 75 hour weeks because I love what I do. I give haircuts and change out locks because it makes my children's lives better (which, in turn, makes my life better). I push myself and have high expectations of myself because I am confident and know I am capable of anything. If I don't know how to do it, I will learn how. I pray that my sweet children realize what an amazing gift this life is. I pray that they see that my "hardships" are blessings. I pray that I will never take for granted the opportunities I have to constantly become the person I want to be.          

And  for the record, I AM strong. I AM determined. I DO have high standards. Yo.

If I had more hours in the day, I would just fill them up and would still have a daily unfinished to do list. I need to take a breath. I simply don't have the time.

ridiculous things I have recently found myself saying

• don't put grapes in your bellybutton
• no, the toys do not belong in the toilet
• today was a short day. I only worked 11 hours
• no you cannot have a tattoo
• no, you didn't eat the dog

"Can we go outside and play?"
"Yes. Go."
"Can we ride our bikes?"
"Yes. Get them."
"Can we go inside someone's house?"
"No."
"Can they come in? We're just going to watch t.v."
"Yes. Just for 20 minutes. We're about to eat."

Suddenly, there is a little girl with a snow cone (that my son apparently made for her) on the end of my bed, taking off her rain galoshes while watching a cartoon on my television and simultaneously telling me something about her grandmother. On my bed. In my room. Taking her shoes off.

"Does their mother know they're over here?"
"Yes. She's going to come get them at 6:30."

It is now 5. So much for 20 minutes.

I seem to have fallen into the world of pastry. Well, I guess I actually jumped. Upon accepting the title of Sous, I fully knew I would be expected to take over all duties held by the previous Sous. This is common practice. Uncommon is the fact that the previous Sous just happens to be an up-and-coming "Pastry Diva."  Oh, and there's a tasting for big boss man in two days. Yeah. Mousse and ganache and rehydrating fruit and candying nuts and cookie bases and sugar applications and well... yes. Lots of pastry. And I feel slightly shaky. Maybe a sugar rush. Funny thing happened. After my 12 hour day of work, a friend/neighbor had a question about a dessert she was making. I got this weird pit in my stomach. One that said "What if you don't know the answer to her question? What kind of pastry chef would you be?" So she asked. And I knew the answer. No doubts. No having to look it up or having to call the Diva. I knew. It wasn't an uber technical question, but I knew. Not only was I relieved, but I was kind of proud. I guess I have to own what I know and continue learning as I go.

goodbye old white shoes

hello new white shoes

I have always had a hard time with goodbyes.  The first time I went to a sleep away camp without my mother, I was miserable.  When I was 5 and my brother's best friend was moving, I hid in the linen closet and cried when he came over to say his goodbyes. After every visit from my grandparents, I would weep like it was the last time I would see them. This month has been laden with more goodbyes than I am used to. And it's not as if they are the forever kind of goodbyes. I realize this.  It will all just take a lot of adjustment.  And possibly a therapist to help me cope with my newly formed abandonment issues.           Now, from a safe distance (you can't throw fish boxes or pans if you're not in my kitchen anymore) I will say thank you to Chef. So, Thank You. Whether you want to admit it or not, you have been awesome. You have shown patience, and kindness, (at this point, I am looking over my shoulder for imaginary projectiles) and been a mentor to me for the past 3 years. Really. Thank you.          So, with all the crazy changes, I am given a chance to grow and show everyone that I may be goofy, but I'm good at what I do. And I will only get better. Yeah.

There is no question as to where my outlook on life stems. There is no question as to why I strive for things creative. There is no question as to who I try to mirror myself after. 

 My mother (now, undoubtedly deemed the world's greatest grandmother) showed up at my doorstep with what she called the "Sugarplum Fairy Tree." It is in fact a 6 foot, brightly colored tree dripping with candy. Not the boring cinnamon hard candies, or ordinary red and white striped peppermint candy canes, but neon saltwater taffies, candy jewelry, chocolate coins, and tootsie pops. The only candy canes on the tree are rainbow colored. I'm not exaggerating, either. This tree could have easily been pilfered from the set of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Remember the scene in the "chocolate room?" The one where Willy Wonka sings the Pure Imagination song? Yeah. That's the one. So, thank you momma. Thank you for the candy. Thank you for being an amazing, artistic, imaginative, selfless person. I am who I am because of you.

Oh, and thank you for the mad sugar rush that ensued shortly after the tree arrived.