When we move out of this house we're only taking one crib with us. That's right: someone's getting himself a Big Boy Bed.

I'm not THAT nervous about it. For one thing, he's been sleeping in twin beds at both grandparents' house for over a year now. He still doesn't know what to do with a pillow and scorns the concept of blankets (WHY?) but he doesn't freak out and he falls asleep, and the thing I suppose most people worry about -- falling out -- has never happened. And if it did? Eh. He'd survive. I'm sure the spill he took on our front sidewalk today produced worse injuries than a potential bedtime crash.

I love to camp. I grew up camping with my family and loving *almost* every minute of it. (There were those few times I had to use the potty in the night and was terrified of bears, rabid squirrels or intoxicated campers I might encounter.) We spent a lot of time planning our trips and some of my happiest childhood memories are camping with my family, even driving in the car to get to our camping destinations. That’s where we bonded, out in nature away from the distractions of home.

Dan does not so much love the camping. Dan camps because he loves me. We’ve gone a few times as a family and always managed to have cold or rainy weather and at least one crying baby along for the ride. Maybe I tried to start the tradition too soon. Maybe the kids are too young and maybe I should have waited until the absolute blazing hottest day of summer. I enjoy it even when it’s cold but Dan holds a grudge against the weather. I keep trying and I feel certain that once we get it right, Dan will be hooked on camping just like my family was.

When I was born, my mom made me a 2-sided flannel blanket that I lovingly referred to as Woobie as I was growing up… and all through college… and after I was married. My NEED for the blanket diminished with time but it was still nice to have around. I used it as a blindfold when my room wasn’t dark enough. I kept it in a drawer beside my bed in case I was sad one night and needed an old friend. Woobie was always there for me until the last few shreds of fabric had disintegrated and there was nothing left to grab onto.

Years later, a mother myself, I was going through the hardest period of my adult life when I called my mom one day crying and asked her to make me a new Woobie. She made it and FedExed it and I received it with the next day’s mail. It was so comforting to me and now when I go away overnight, I leave it with Dan so he won’t get lonely.

Well, I’m not the only one to receive one or two of these flannel blankies from my mama. She’s also made one for each of the grandkids. They work great as swaddlers when they’re young but as Laylee got older, the blanket’s appeal for her waned. Magoo is a different story all together.

I don’t know why the United Nations gets itself all up in a twist; I have found the simple and certain key to world peace. Are you ready for it?

It’s a room full of four year olds singing Skidamarink-a-Dinky-Dink.

It’s true. It’s biologically, chemically impossible to witness this type of thing and retain a single negative emotion in your head. I know this, because I stopped by my daughter’s preschool class on Thursday for their annual Mother’s Day breakfast. The four-year-olds had been hard at work for weeks, learning songs and making crafts to share with their moms.

When Maria was just a few months old and at the height of drooly, chubby deliciousness, my husband asked when she would start to speak.

I told him it varies from child to child, but I felt she already communicated plenty. The child then yelled out her first "Mama!'' when she was just 9 months old and has gone full-throttle on the language – two of them – since.