Two years ago a friend of ours with a self-employed husband, two kids and an ailing father who had recently moved into her home, made me feel like lazy-schmuck-mom when she decided to go back to nursing school.

About a month ago she graduated…with honors…and yesterday she found out she passed her boards. After two years of hearing, “I can’t. I have to study” it was time to celebrate.

At the last minute I decided to throw together some dinner. A Mexican fiesta, if you will. Mostly because no Mexican fiesta is complete without margaritas.

The kids and I headed to the grocery store and my son got the coveted job of being the “list checker-offer”. His tiny, eight-year-old self, which still fits easily into the seat of a shopping cart, called off the items. As I added them to the cart, he would mark them off the list.

Now, you can not deny that you look in other carts to see what people are buying. I do it. I know you do it too. Standing amid the produce section with a cart full of colorful peppers, lettuce, onions and tomatoes, I knew I was disliked by more than one parent with a non-veggie eater. I could hear them thinking, “How does she do it?” I may have puffed up my chest. Just sayin’.

But, as he usually does, my son brought my delusions of parenting grandeur to a crashing halt when he loudly stated, “Okay, the next thing we need is Triple Sec.”

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My son was sitting on my lap yesterday afternoon when he reached up and cupped his hands around my face. He said, “I love you super much.”

I replied, “You mean so much. Now, why do you love me so much?”

He smiled a ridiculously ornery smile and said, “Because you are the best mommy in the world.”

Looking to see if he could defend this statement I prodded him, “But, why do you think I’m the best mommy in the world?”

He rolled his eyes and answered, “Duh. Because, it’s your birthday.”

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The little girl from my kids’ school, who was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor in November, died on Saturday. I was at a party for school faculty and staff when we got the news.

As we hugged, cried and toasted Ellie, my mind drifted to how I was going to break this news to my children. The two of them have suffered an abundance of loss. If only I didn’t have to tell them.

It is hard enough for an adult to deal with death, even though we know it’s coming. Even though we are fully aware that it is part of the cycle of life. It still hurts. I don’t like to hurt my kids. If only they didn’t have to know this pain.

Death makes our fragility abundantly clear and the death of a child reminds us that, as parents, we aren’t always in control. If only I could protect them forever.

My mom was babysitting on Saturday evening and as I walked in to greet my children and tell them Ellie had passed away, I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. If only I could be strong.

As I gently broke the news, my eleven year old daughter started to cry. I pulled her close. If only they could bounce right back from this.

Then I turned to my hard-of-hearing son and said, “Did you hear me, buddy? Ellie died today.”

He looked up at me and said, “Oh. I have the hiccups.”

I found myself completely jealous. If only we were all so innocent.

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My husband’s birthday was Tuesday. One of his favorite meals is beef stroganoff made from a family recipe. It’s the same stroganoff he ate when he was growing up and since he’s creeping up on 40, I thought it best to try and make him feel like a kid again. Also, does anyone else feel that I’m aging myself by talking about stroganoff? Oh good, everyone then.

After work on Tuesday, I managed to straighten up the house, wrap presents and make dinner. My husband got off work early so he could celebrate with the kids before an evening meeting and once 6:00 pm rolled around, the whole family was hungry and the table was set for a nice, family meal.

Until my son sat down, saw my creation and said, “Ew! Throw up!”

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