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Here is another throwback to my early days of blogging, since I haven’t any good fodder at the moment.

I was a pretty black and white thinker in my early and mid twenty’s.  In fact my best friend Andrea and I used to define our friendship as mother/daughter with me being the mother.  She was and still is a free spirit who is unconventional and even though she has suffered more than I have because of this—she always seems to have magical outcomes.  Together we became students of the “new age” philosophies in trying to change our thinking and control our life’s outcomes.  But along with our thirties came more life experience and more confidence and a better understanding of that old adage “ the more I learn the less I know.”

Through the years I have become a whole lot more “gray” and compassionate.  My goal has been to learn not to judge, because no matter what, I always become what I have judged!

A perfect example of this is the one Sunday morning Michael was at Sunday School with Grammy and Papa and Greg and I are having a relaxing morning with our 10 month old (yes ,Pierce was that easy). I was watching one of those shows where they go in and clean out somebody’s insurmountable clutter and give their home a nice functional new design.  Greg was in the kitchen where we have this wooden tool box that looks like a vintage mechanics chest (drawers of various size) stowed against the fridge.  We came up with a great brainstorm to use it as a gate to keep the baby from crawling into the kitchen and playing in the dog’s water bowl which is single handedly the most disgusting thing on earth as we have a 1000 year old pug with a nasty facial wrinkle we stopped cleaning since the kids came along. Anyway, Greg is kind of watching this cleaning show with me from the kitchen as I am witness to this family whose children’s rooms are so cluttered with the parents things that the kids can’t play or even have friends over.  The three year old boy on this show apparently moved into the old home office when he came home from the hospital because they pretty much moved him into the room without moving the office stuff out.  One of the things that is discovered in this child’s room is a drill with a huge drill bit in it left in the middle of the room on top of some other boxes of junk.  Greg and I were fit to be tied with this total parental irresponsibility, throwing out judgments and criticism like confetti.  About 30 seconds later my husband is still standing at the kitchen sink with Pierce right outside the area on the other side of our make shift baby gate.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pierce wielding a box cutter that he found in one of the drawers of the tool box.  Ah—I think this is quite possibly worse that a drill!