I’ve received so many great emails from all of you!!! I can die satisfied if I can squeeze just one giggle out of each one of you hot mamas.

But let’s not plan my funeral anytime soon…because ONE of you finds throwing my husband and kids under the bus (I mean that metaphorically) for a laugh a little un…mom-ish.

So this one’s for you.

Every night before I go to sleep, I kiss each one of my kids’ ten fingers. And if one’s clenched in a fist mid-dream, I’ll gently pry the little nose-picker free, just so I can touch it. And as I type this, my youngest is on my shoulder, sleeping. I can feel his breath on my neck and it feels like God’s whispering, just to me.

Probably telling me to put him in his crib and start making dinner.

You see…I just can’t do it.

But know this. My children are why I was born. They represent the person I want to become. For that, I owe them my life.

I love my children more than you know.

Most of the time.

I have fallen madly, DEEPLY in love. Benji (my two-year-old) cupped my cheeks and told me he loved me tonight. For the first time. He looked right in my eyes and just said it.

In front of his friends, even.

I can still feel the maple syrup on my cheeks. I feel like a Marcia Brady - for I, too, will never wash these cheeks again…

p.s. YES. I feed my kids French Toast for dinner.

My four-year-old was eating breakfast this morning when he turned to me.

“Mommy, I want to be like you”

I dropped everything, pathetically poised for a compliment.

“How come, honey?” Because I’m gorgeous? Funny? Smart?

“Because you get to wear a bathing suit every day.”

And then he snapped my bra strap and went back to his cheerios.

Dream big, baby. Reach for those stars.

Would you think more of me if I told you I had a celebrity’s number programmed into my cell? Doubly impressed if I told you I had two? Well it’s true and you should be.

If they actually knew who I was.

I sort of used to be Somebody. Or at least, somebody who knew Somebody. And I never deleted the high-profile numbers when I became No One (except for my kids’ mom) because it made me feel so…cool.

But a funny thing happened to me last week. I dialed my girlfriend to tell her about my son’s stitches. (Not because I was upset, but because I was going to be late for our lunch.) I mis-speed-dialed and ended up with celebrity # 1 (they have the same initials) on the other line.

‘Hiiiiiii……cynthia?’ She barely managed to piece it together.

“Hi! What’s up! You were just on my mind and thought I’d say hello! Isn’t it your birthday!’

I know what she was thinking: Stalker. And her birthday was two months ago. Which I shouldn’t know, but I do.

I managed to not-so-gracefully wrap it up on about 30 seconds (about 29 seconds too long for her, given the time change) and collect myself, reflect on my life and where it’s taken me.

It’s not casting me out to Hollywood (or to NY, in this instance), is it? It’s reeling me in. To stitches, pee on the seat and pet worms.

Home sweet home.:)

So my brother got engaged this weekend. He’s 40.

My youngest got six stitches on his chin. He’s 2.

And my oldest got his haircut. Nothing new, except that HE actually asked for one. He’s 4.

My husband made a new friend I hope turns into a “buddy”(I like his wife). My husband’s 44.

So where’s my weekend milestone? Does the fact that I ran one mile without stopping for the first time since the birth of my second child count?

Yes, that counts. Because in the time it took me to run that mile, my brother found love, and my husband practically killed my youngest while enthralled in a conversation with his new buddy. And if memory serves me, Jackson had a full head of hair when I left.

I’m 36, and I’ve never been a runner. This weekend seemed like the wrong time to become one.