Sometimes it's the little things that help you course-correct in your life.  A letter in the mail, a friend's gentle reminder, or in my case - a birdhouse and a piece of jewelry.

My mom called yesterday morning to see if she and my dad could come up to the house and bring my son his Valentine's Day gift.  It was a quick phone call (I'm busy, after all) and within a minute we'd confirmed the time that they'd be arriving.  Later on, and moments after I met my son at the bus stop, my parents arrived with a balloon, a card, and a box of SweetHearts in hand.  After a lot of hugging, my son opened his gift, ate a few candy hearts and punched away at the balloon (not its intended use). Then, to my surprise, my parents pulled out two additional gifts - both of them for me.  Last I knew, we didn't exchange Valentine's Day gifts. Did I miss something? Two gifts, really?

My dad had handmade a little birdhouse for our deck.  Apparently, he and my son made it together on a recent overnight visit as a 'special project'.  My dad had taken care to place a little wire netting above the birdhouse floor to keep the bird's home clean and comfortable.  He thought I'd like it, and I do; very much in fact.

My mom's gift to me was a little jewelry box wrapped in a red ribbon. "I thought you'd like to have this", she said.  I opened it up and lifted a beautiful rhinestone choker from the box.  It was a piece from my grandmother's collection of costume jewelry (nice stuff, actually).  She had impeccable taste, but not much of a budget.  I also have her beautiful 3/4 sleeve faux fur with mink collar, which tells me that she made the most of her limited resources!  It's really too bad that she died when I was just five years old, since both my mother and I agree that we would have gotten along famously.  This gift really meant a lot to me.

These small acts of kindness from my parents made me realize that my parents are still mine and although they act a whole lot more like grandparents these days (giving my child gummy worms and doing WHATEVER he wants, whenever he wants), I'm pretty lucky to have two living parents that I see on a regular basis.  I'd honestly gotten so used to them being Grandma and Papa, that I'd pretty much stepped out of the parent/daughter relationship all together without truly realizing it.

This year my parents will both turn 70, so it feels pretty important to savor these moments and appreciate them in a way that matters.  Because they do matter.

It's not bragging to say that I do the lion's share of the daily preparation and household chores for our family. Like many moms, I suppose the same might be said if my husband didn't travel for work, but he does.

When he's not spending a week in China or Europe or South America, my husband's jetting off to Pennsylvania, or Texas or Atlanta. This level of travel is partly why I adopted a friendlier work schedule late this summer. With my son heading to Kindergarten and my husband's travel heating up, it became obvious that something had to change.

Because I'm around a bit more these days for things like leisurely weekday breakfasts and putting my son on the bus, which I love, I've become acutely aware of my husband's 'Superhero' status.

Wikipedia refers to superheros as "mystery men", which I suppose is what has ultimately elevated my husband to this status. On top of being away quite a bit, his job requires him to help others, which he's very good at, and he's 'saved the day' on more than one occasion. Although he doesn't wear a cape, his business suit is equally impressive to a five year old.

I might be the one serving up breakfast, lunch and dinner for my son, bathing him, reading him books, playing with him, carting him to sports, tending to bumps and bruises while working (nearly) full time, but my husband's grand entrance after a week away - gift in hand - is what really makes our son light up and smile ear to ear. In my son's eyes, his dad is most definitely a Superhero. I figure that being the Superhero's wife is pretty cool, too.

On a good day, I spend on average 1 1/2 hours with my son in the morning before I drop him off at full day pre school and another 3 1/2 hours at night. Yes, you're adding that up correctly. As a full time working mom, I typically spend 5 hours a day with my child during the week. Breaking it down this way did initially create some anxiety for me and it took time (and more than a few deep breaths) to get used to the numbers. As a family, we've worked with this math for nearly five years now. Here's how we make every moment we spend together count:

1. Start every day with hugs, kisses and kind words.
2. Breakfast (even if it happens to be in front of the TV watching a favorite show like Oswald or Little Bear) is shared with mom and/or dad.
3. Engage in one small project or learning activity before we leave for school.
4. Make car travel time count for learning and sharing. On the way home from school we review the day, share feelings and often a lot of laughter.
5. Dinners are simple during the week, but everyone is involved in the preparation.
6. Reading books and learning are at the forefront of our evening time. We have a Junior talking globe, anatomy books and children's classics and encyclopedias and we keep them where we can use them - not tucked away neatly on a bookshelf.
7. TV time is limited in favor of talking time or outside play time (weather permitting).
8. Bath time and bed time doubles as quality time.
9. Structure in our household is negotiable when it means squeezing in a little more kid/parent/family time. It just works for us. Even if it means bedtime gets pushed to 9:00 pm.

That pretty much covers the way it's supposed to go anyway. In the spirit of full disclosure, though, here's a challenge we face as a working family:

Although we've attempted to institute technology "black outs", it simply hasn't worked. My husband's job is Global, so he needs to be accessible after hours and my job is connected with a daily newspaper that prints nightly. It's just not possible to turn them off. Our commitment is to "control the controllables". We choose when to check our mail and try to set aside designated times to work in the evenings and on weekends. That way, we don't feel constantly tethered to our smart phones and laptops and don't have to deal with interruptions from an active preschooler. It's important to be honest as a working parent. Pretending that it's perfect doesn't serve anyone in the family - least of all your child.

Embracing where we are at this moment makes it possible for us to be just that. In the moment.

A day in the life of living with an (almost) five year old:

My son: "If the principal calls, don't pick up. Don't do it, mom." Me: What? My son: "I'm talking about when I'm in Kindergarten."

While busily discussing world news and preparing to leave for work, my husband and I failed to notice that our son was eating ice cream out of the container on our couch. When discovered, he smiled and said he saw it on Oswald and just wasn't in the mood for the waffle I made him.

I asked my son to go brush his teeth and he responded "you got it, girl!"

It's pretty obvious I'm not Mother of the Year, but I sure do enjoy being a mom.

Like many of you, I'll be participating in the Turkey Trot tomorrow. Not the 9th annual Thanksgiving morning road race in Saratoga (although that would be nice), I'm actually talking about the "shuffle" we do from one house to another (to another...).

Some years my husband, son and I attend Thanksgiving dinner at one house followed by another "later" version of Thanksgiving dinner with other family members. Way too much food. Last year, my husband and I ate Flaming Ramen in Japan, which was completely out of the ordinary and wonderful.

Tomorrow we'll be enjoying dinner at my parent's house with my brother, his wife and her two children followed by dessert at my sister-in-law's home with her in-laws, my in-laws and "the boys" (somehow we all managed to have ONLY boys). It's going to be a busy day filled with family, fun and FOOD.

When I lived in Atlanta, when it wasn't feasible to fly home for the holiday, I'd spend Thanksgivings with friends, friend's parents, and once - random friends and total strangers. My sister Suzanne and I were living in Virginia-Highlands and had decided to stay put. When we were invited to what we now refer to as the "craziest Thanksgiving EVER" we joyfully accepted. My friend Carolyn, in the midst of her divorce, decided to host the traditional dinner at her home and invite everyone and anyone without a place to go - including her soon to be Ex! I was single at the time and my sister was dating an Argentinian guy who brought along his entourage. Being the sweet gal that she is, Carolyn included all the "strays" she knew in her grand plan of creating a well-meaning meal with "friends". [She was equally kind to her furry friends.]

Everyone mingled with a drink in hand remarking on the random nature of the group. There were belly laughs and nervous giggles. Hey, we were all new to to this. One thing I learned is that when you invite a mixed bag of people, you end up with buffet that looks more like a pot luck picnic than a proper Thanksgiving table. Still the laughs prevailed and some new friends were made.

The only other Thanksgiving feast that stands apart from the ordinary was when I lived in Athens, GA and joined a local family of artists for Thanksgiving "Tofurkey". No additional comment required.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all!

[The Y'all is for my pals in Georgia who shared their holidays with me during the 14 years I lived down South]

My sister and I spent last weekend in Atlanta together reminiscing about the years we both spent living there in the 90s. Good times, I assure you. This particular trip down memory lane included swaying to Irish music at Limerick Junction, toasting to good times at Moe's & Joe's, sipping mochas at Aurora Coffee and talking non-stop at Murphy's - home to Atlanta's best cheese grits (in our opinion anyway). It was an amazing trip, in part, because it was the first time in a long time that we had time together by ourselves.

These days we mostly see each other at holiday gatherings - always with kids in tow. Add in the fact that I live in New York and she lives in the Louisville, Kentucky area, and you'll quickly see it's nearly impossible to find time for just the two of us. My sister's milestone birthday served as a catalyst for some much needed sister time! It's hard to believe that there was a time in our 20s and 30s when we spent days on end together...

Although we spent last weekend sans-kids, we did talk about our boys quite a bit. Although my sister had a five year head start on me, we both delivered healthy boys and have shared the journey of parenting an only child ever since. Since we grew up in family of five where I'm the oldest, my sister is the youngest and we have a brother in between, it's hard for either of us to imagine what it's like for our boys. Will they feel lonely as an only? Do we spoil them and dote more than we would with multiples?

For the most part, we don't spend time dwelling (time? who has time?) on these questions. We're too busy actually raising our onlies. Thankfully we agree that the joys far outweigh any negative preconceptions society holds about "only children". You know, they're typcially "spoiled brats"? Not that our boys don't have both "spoiled" and "bratty" moments, it's just that it doesn't define them. My sister and I are happy moms of boys who adore each other and just happen to be only children. They're cousins after all, and to them that's just about the coolest thing ever.

My parents, with my son in tow, graciously picked me up at the airport on Monday afternoon after my long trip home from Santiago. We stopped for lunch on the way home and once we arrived, they helped me unload luggage and get settled in. One of the first things I needed to do (with my dad's help) was check the pool levels, filter, etc. "The water is low", my dad yelled from the backyard. "Let's hook up the hose and run it for 10-15 minutes", I said. I set the timer on the microwave and went about unpacking luggage and opening mail.

The timer beeped and I asked my dad to remove the hose from the pool. "Did you turn the water off? There's no water coming out?" Uh oh, I thought. I went inside and tried the sink faucet. Dry. Not even a drip. Our well was out of water.

After checking the pump in the basement and consulting my dad and my father-in-law, we decided that the best bet was to let the reservoir fill back up and replace the pump switch in the morning. Not many plumbing stores open on Labor Day.

The next morning we had water and I took a much needed shower. My father-in-law headed to Home Depot for parts and spent his morning fixing our pump switch. All was well. Have I mentioned how lucky we are to have two sets of parents close by? Luck-y.

After a full day of work for me and pre-school for my son, I headed to pick him up before closing time. I arrived and he shared the day's activities and an "excellent" status on his daily sheet, we laughed and hugged and headed to the car. I got him buckled in, got in turned the key and nothing happened. Not even a sound. Nothing. "You've GOT to be kidding me", I said out loud.

We went back inside the school so that I could get my son out of the heat and humidity, and I called my parents for help - again. They cheerfully arrived 20 minutes later to fetch their daughter and grandson, took us to the grocery store (since I hadn't been shopping in five days) and then home. Meanwhile, while my husband (who's now making calls from Chile) is talking with his dad about the car. His dad used to own a gas station and service center, so he's an invaluable resource when it comes to matters of this sort. The service station wouldn't be able to tow the car until the morning, so it would have to stay at daycare overnight. My son thought the whole ordeal was really "cool" for some reason.

The next morning my son and I head to school and work in our second car (we drove my husband to the airport for his trip over a week ago) and left the keys for my father-in-law. Unfortunately, he wasn't having any luck with the easy stuff - battery, etc. It was likely the starter which would require a tow and several hundred dollars.

My mother always said "things happen in threes". I, on the other hand, am just fine with two thank-you-very-much.

Wednesday was The Saratogian Day at the Saratoga County Fair and I spent two hours working at our booth handing out complimentary newspapers to visitors. These uncharacteristic hours of work also afforded me the opportunity to visit family members serving up sausage and steak sandwiches to fair goers, which the Cinguegrano clan has done for nearly 50 years. My grandfather and grandmother, James and Violet, started this tradition back in the fifties. My mom, dad, brother, sister and I spent one week every July working at the family's Fair booth. My mom's brother, Jim, his wife, Tina, and their kids spent their summers the same way and my Aunt and Uncle are still keeping the tradition alive today.

Although us kids have (long since, in my case) graduated from college and have careers now, each and every one of us still feels the "pull" each July. Most of us make it to the Fair at least once each year. Some of us now have kids in tow. A trip to the fair isn't quite complete until we have our fill of food and family complete with the family recipe of steak and sausage sandwiches smothered in sauce "gravy", onions and peppers smells like nostalgia to our crew and brings back sacred memories of Fair's past. We've been there as a family for nearly 50 years, so just about all the annual fair-goers knew my Grandfather (my grandmother died too young) or - if not - one of us.

This particular Fair week has been bittersweet for us. Tina and Jim made it to the front page of the paper with pictures and a great story about our family tradition of serving our community one sandwich at a time each year at the Saratoga County Fair. One for the family scrapbook!

Unfortunately, though, a dear family friend (one of my dad's best) passed away after a year-long battle with cancer this week. Kenny and my dad had known each other all their lives and still met for breakfast most Fridays - even after all these years (Kenny being gone will be hardest on him). It's not just the timing that made this Fair week bittersweet, it's the fact that Kenny was one of the "faces" of the Fair. In addition to knowing just about everyone, his family lives at the top of across from the entrance and each year since I've been alive, Kenny, his wife Marlene and their kids would park cars and greet visitors. Our families would meet EVERY YEAR for as long as I can remember. If we didn't see each other often, we knew that at least we run into them during Fair week. And, just about everyone knew Kenny. He was a really great guy. In fact, my husband and I were just saying a week ago that we'd see him "next week". When I heard he passed away early Monday morning - just one day before the Fair began, I wondered if he'd just had enough of parking cars. But if you knew Kenny, you'd know that there wasn't anything he enjoyed quite as much.

I remember thinking that very same thing about my grandfather the first year the Fair came around after he was gone. He enjoyed cutting peppers and onions and stirring sauce the way Kenny loved parking cars. I see that same love of family, friends and community in my Uncle now. It's part of who we are, I suppose. My husband and I will be bringing our son to the Fair this weekend. He can't wait to see the cows, go on rides and see Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Tina!

With family as in life, you've got to take the bitter with the sweet.

Friday around noon I finally gave in to what I was feeling. Sick. I'd been fighting something all week and appeared to be getting progressively worse day-by-day. Urgent Care in Wilton delivered the news I hoped I wouldn't hear: Strep Throat. Yikes!

I asked a co-worker to power down my laptop and forward my phones, while making sure she delivered my sincere apologies to folks in the office for potentially taking down my staff and fellow coworkers on what is essentially the busiest-week-before-the-busiest-week of our entire year. Saratoga Race Course opens in one week's time.

A trip to Rite Aid and I was home on my couch where I'd remain for most of the weekend. Friday was a blur of fever-fueled dreams interrupted only by my Blackberry buzzing. Saturday was no different except that I had all day to alternate sleeping on the couch and my bed. We were signed up to attend THREE kid birthday parties this weekend so I made arrangements for my parent's to bring my son to the party at NOON and my husband to take on the 4:00 PM party on Saturday. Thankfully, he fell asleep on the way home and slept through the night.

First thing Sunday morning, my son said upon waking "Are you feeling better, mama?" "Can you please play with me today?" The answer turned out to be "no". I did make it out to the pool for a short visit while my two boys played and swam. When it came time to go to party #3, I decided to ride along and sit on the sidelines watching the fun. Even that was exhausting.

Although "Team Rose" handled my illness logistically, there wasn't anyone to get me a drink of water, a cup of tea, a cool towel for my neck, or to walk upstairs to get my Tempur-Pedic pillow instead of the poly-filled couch variety. So, who mothers mom when she's sick? No one. I'm not so much complaining as sharing what every mother knows. We're (typically) the nurturers of the family - the warm & fuzzy glue. When warm & fuzzy turns feverish and sneezy, things get ugly and as the saying goes "when mama's not happy ain't nobody happy". I found myself longing for the caring touch of my own mother when I was sick as a child. She'd rub Vick's on my throat and chest and then wrap me up with a hot towel fresh from the dryer. "Thanks mom, I'd say".

My brother married a terrific woman (who happens to be a friend and former co-worker - yay for me!) this past weekend at a private ceremony at their home. It was an intimate family gathering complete with a heartfelt ceremony, teary-eyed champagne toast and lots of belly laughs. My son was especially happy because it was the day that he was officially getting two new cousins. My new sister-in-law has two wonderful children, one nearly six and the other born within days of my son. If our kids getting along is a sign, I'd say our families have gelled quite nicely.

I scored a great outfit for our son at Target (see photo). A preppy little number which I accessorized with leather driving shoes and belt from the Gap. He looked adorable, if I say so myself (note: mom bias). Although he looked the part of a respectable wedding guest, he was quite frankly in 'rare form' that day.

At the moment that the ceremony was about to begin, he decided to wander off to the dining room. I followed him trying to round him up for the exchange of vows and found him admiring a single painting on the wall. "Mom, look at this beautiful painting", he said. I'd like to say he gets his love of artwork from his mother, but he most likely gets it from the character 'Olivia'. If you've read the series of books or seen the Noggin show, you know what I'm talking about. I decided to stay in the moment with him at let him linger in art appreciation before taking him by the hand into the formal living room. His attention span, you see, is equivalent to his age in minutes. In other words the judge had four whole minutes to engage my son. Let's just say, he lost him at two...

Our rather spirited son is going through what we call the "terrible threes". The photographer who is also a mom of two said that the "threes are the new twos" and "fours are the best". I have to admit it's been a tough year attempting to curb bad behavior while at the same time fostering good behavior. We've heard from teachers that our son didn't have his "listening ears on today" or he "couldn't keep his hands to himself" one day while getting reports like "he's very bright" or his vocabulary is "off the charts" for his age. What exactly do we do with this information? Are they saying we've got a smart brat?

At the wedding alone we heard everything from "he is so adorable" followed by "he's scaling the garage door...you better get him." And, "is that champagne in his glass?" No (seriously?), it was apple juice.

Out of control. Very smart. As a parent you hope that the former is a passing phase and the latter is a testament to his intellect. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I'm choosing to focus on the fact that our son is happy, healthy, and cute enough to be a "Gap model" (also overheard at the wedding). The glass is half full, I always say.

On a recent school day morning, my son and I were enjoying coffee (mine), orange juice (his) and a granola bar (also his) while watching Ni Hao Kai-Lan on television. It's one of our morning rituals when we have time to spare which, as you can imagine, is not often.

A few minutes into the program, I noticed he was searching for something. Adding to the puzzled look on his face, he announced that his granola bar had, as he puts it, "gone missing."

We got up and moved the pillows and cushions around. Nothing. "Why don't you check under the couch"?, I asked. As he bent down to look, I burst out laughing. The granola bar (whole) was stuck to his back.

Laughing like hyenas, we fell on the floor. After finally making it back to the couch, he turned to me with a smile and handed me half of his granola bar. We sat side-by-side eating our respective halves, interupted only by the occassional giggle.

Silly moments like these are precious to me, especially when life gets busy (always) and my mind is racing with work-filled details. Being present in the moment is a wonderful place to be - and FREE - as well as being totally underrated in a world filled with Blackberrys, iPhones (and yes, I have both), Twitter and Facebook. Although I don't think I'll find another granola bar stuck to my son's PJs, I will welcome the reminder to savor the moments that I know will soon be fleeting memories.