Summer Lovin'

This summer has been quite the eye opening experience for all of us here. We have learned to deal with loss as a family, Natalia turned into quite the swimmer (only by way of goggles, of course), and we have said goodbye to one dog while welcoming in a new dog to our family. The next step will be her adventures in a new school, but I'll get to that in another post.

The thing that has Jeremy and I shell shocked is how Natalia would rather spend time with her friends than hang with he and myself. I know! At age 8 and she has already figured out that her friends are more her style. Every week is the same thing: "I don't want to go to Bodies in Motion (daycare), I want to just be with my friends." You are probably asking the same question I am - "um, why don't you have friends at Bodies in Motion?" Word of advice, don't ask that question. It has a lengthy and dramatic answer which is circular in nature and never really answers the question. I don't let it stress me because every time I've picked her up, another girl is trying to give her "creepy hugs" goodbye. Not to mention I've watched her at play with her friend and can attest that she is no social leper. I have to remember that all this is her perception, her world, not my adult view. Still, she's fine. 

So this summer has been play dates (that's what it is called now as opposed to just playing with friends), sleep overs, swim overs, and all in all just ditching Jeremy and I. It is kind of nice to go to a barbecue and let the kids run and almost kill each other while we have adult talk with adult beverages, but kind of weird at the same time. It's a far cry from the days of a toddler hanging on our arms and every word. 

Speaking of learning new adult things, Natalia's animal kingdom view was broadened greatly yesterday. Imagine this summer picture, if you will: Warm day, kids running and playing through the house and and on the trampoline, hot dogs, adult drinks and a couple of goofy labs running around just to round out this scene. Well wouldn't you know that these labs were both male and trying to one up each other. Now when I say one up each other, I really mean mount each other. Yep. Every chance they could get. Shameless. 

A couple of times Jeremy and I were able to redirect Natalia's attention or she simply was not around to see this Discovery Channel display. Of course, it is when we are all gathered around in the living room getting ready to head off to the neighborhood pool that those guys go at it. They go at it in front of a gigantic window with fascinated 8 year old eyes to behold this non-procreational glory. Natalia shouts to the room "Look at the dogs playing? What are they doing? It looks like that one is doing push ups on the other one!" It was at this moment Natalia gets down on the floor to show us her version of downward dog push ups. I haven't laughed that hard in weeks. It really needed no further explanation. I'll let her keep that exercise explanation of alpha males in the dog world.

So now we are at the end of summer. Natalia has pulled away from us and grown into the next shoe size. She has loved and said goodbye to her dog Chance, and welcomed into our home Miley (no, not like the Cyrus). She's wiped out on the tube pulled behind the boat and wanted to go back for more. It's harder and harder to get a picture of her face, because she is always heading off in the right direction. Sometimes I wish this independence would translate into her finding her own snacks or making her own breakfast, but really, what would I have left?

Because the time has flown by so quickly, I have lightened up a bit. Soon she will be locking the bathroom door and we will no longer have our singing competition while drying her hair. The dog will be in our house longer than she will at this point. One day she will figure out that those weren't push ups after all. It will probably be some other kid on a playground since I have already had the human procreation speech once and that was enough. Still, I have those time when I creep into her room once she is asleep and see the baby that I held in my arms 8 years ago and can smell her sweaty, drooliness that will never change. Summer is going to be over, but I am so ready for the next thing - even if all my pictures of her are of the back of her head.

Who is That Girl I See?

So I'm sure you didn't get the formal press release, but Natalia turned 8 last week. I know, I know. How could you have missed it with the national holiday, parade and half off at Starbucks, but it has come and gone. Yet we are still in the throws of celebration here in Lacowland. As I speak I am typing on a monstrosity of a laptop so Jeremy can labor through millions of pictures and videos to make our annual birthday homage to Natalia. When I put it that way it does sound rather creepy, but we do make a video.

I so look forward to this video every year because I get to reflect back on how much fun we have had and how much my little boogerface has grown up. Usually by now I have taken more time to watch her other videos and cry those proud mama tears because my baby is so cute and growin' up so darn fast. I'll do that later. I know I have whined about some sassiness so I am going to take this opportunity to be all Pollyanna and reflect on the fabulous things that you just can't get out of the baby/toddler years. Deep sigh- and reflection.....

1. Cussing accountability. She knows the words, they spew out of my mouth like pea green exorcist vomit when I get pulled over and not only does she call me out on it, but she tells daddy. Tonight I only made the "shhhh" noise when I burnt dinner. She still told daddy.

2. Girl talk. We talk about nails, hair, shopping, working out, what's going on with her friends, what's going on with my friends. These are real conversations now with a real and very opinionated person. It's nice.

3. She showers herself. This may seem like no big deal, but now I get to cruise Pinterest for 10 minutes and I am pretty sure she will get the shampoo rinsed out of her hair. We still get to bond while I blow dry her hair. It's a test of who can out-sing whom over the loud hum of the hairdryer. We both have excellent range and voices that can carry all the way to the garage. Don't let Jeremy fool you. He loves it.

4. She thinks she knows more than I do and that she doesn't need me, sort of. This is the hardest thing to swallow this past year, but I am determined to embrace it and this is why: She wants to be independant, so we are doing something right. Last night I explained to her what a "mean" mommy really was and that she needed to think of another way to explain her frustrations with me. Tonight she thought of another way (of course). She called me into her room after Jeremy put her to bed to tell me that when she says I am "mean", she really means that I am just "strict". Okay. I can handle that. Then she told me the Icy Hot I put on my neck was burning her nostrils and that she wanted me to get out of her room, but to check on her later.

5. She's happy.

I am starting to see a few personality trends that I don't think will go away for a while. I am picturing a high school age girl crying during homework and singing while blow drying her hair. I'm sure I am going to be "mean" for a few more years and that Jeremy and I could still say the EXACT same thing and she would only argue with me. Then again no one in the family seems to have the same gravitational pull like I do either, so it all evens out. I can't even go to the bathroom without it ending up being a family event. Even the dog makes an appearance. I'll get a book and hide out in Natalia's room in the mommy chair because it is the least used room in the house and all of a sudden every one (including the dog) is in her room rolling on the bed, laughing, barking, then yelling at the dog, then asking me questions. I really only get about 15 minute of hiding before they seek me out.

So this leaves my relationship with Natalia in a strange place. Sometimes I am the person that she can't stand and can't be without. I know it has her just as baffled as it does me and I have enough love to carry both of us through the confusion. All I know is that I like her a lot, and lover her "like five miles much".

A Girl and Her Dog

The Lacow home has had another hit from sad-ville. We had to say goodbye to our sweet boy Chance the dog. He really was the best dog I have ever had and I am proud to admit that I was his human. You know, the one the dog follows to every room, including the bathroom. Yeah, that kind of special bond. The bathroom bond. Anyway, I want to take this opportunity to tell you about Chance.

When we moved to Boise, we naturally knew our house wouldn't be complete without a dog. Well, Jeremy knew that and although I agreed to it, I really wasn't whole hearted on board. Jer was thinking "cute and lovable companion" and I was thinking "food, dog hair and unpredictable". It was through the magic of Craig's List we found an ad for Chance. Jeremy was in charge of this shopping rendezvous and called me up to head over to the Win Co parking lot and check out this dog. He let me know right away that he wasn't sure this was "the dog" because the dog looked a little intimidating. You see, Chance was a rotten lab - as in half rottweiler, half lab. He looked mostly rottweiler with a gigantic meat chunk head and a stocky body. Poor guy. They even docked his tail into this nub thing. It is with great speculation that I gave Chance the once over and knew this was our dog. I could see through that rottweiler stature right into those eyes that told me he was a lovin' dog. My instincts were dead on, thank you very much.

Now, I'm a realist when it came to bringing the dog home and into our lives. The ground rule was that if he ever snapped or bit one of us, it was off to the meat grinder. OK, maybe just back to the pound or his foster family, but I was fierce in the ground rules because Natalia was only three at the time. Over the years Jeremy had tried to entice Chance to bite him (I know, boys. Whatever), but Chance would always just belly up in the end. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. His name even evolved over the years and he would come to us when we called him "Poop". It started as Chance, to Chancy-poop, then just got shortened to Poop. It seemed perfectly normal at the time to call our dog another name for excrement. 

Somewhere along the line that dog figured out I was the alpha female to win over and he became "my dog". Chance would follow me everywhere in the house. If I had to poop, he was there at my feet. Vacuuming? Yep, propped up in the middle of the floor to make sure that vacuum wasn't going to kill us all. Heaven forbid I close him out of whatever room I was in. Crying would ensue. He drove me crazy, but I secretly loved it. He would even make a special appearance during the Natalia bedtime routine, just to make sure everything was status quo. He was totally into our family and loved us very much.

Even though he was "my dog", he had a job to do. He was very "papa bear" about Natalia and even ended up being the school bus stop mascot. All the kids knew Chance and made a point to come over, get slobbered on, and add a slathering of dog hair to their daily outfit. I mean, what kid stays clean and neat for more than 20 minutes anyway. Every school day at 4:00pm, Chance would get antsy near the front door because he knew it was time for Natalia to get off the bus, come bustling in and add chaos to the house. He would get so excited that he would practically knock her over while he paced back and forth to let us all know she was home - even though we were all in the same room. Then he would bark. Annoyingly bark until we were all adding to the noise by yelling at the dog to quit barking. I guess to him we were probably just barking right along with him. He was so happy.

What would set Chance into a pickle would be the mom vs. child job. He wanted to be with me, but Natalia was afraid to be in her playroom alone and would corral him into the land of Barbies and Littlest Pet Shops. Like I said, he had a job to do around here. There was often trickery involved by her luring him in by means of rawhide, but after a couple years, the gig was up. Yes, there was a bit of a learning curve with Chance. Natalia never felt alone at home as long as Chance was with her. That is her biggest concern right now. How is she going to be alone in a room without Chance? We don't know the answer to that yet. I get what she means though because the house is so still now that he isn't here.

Chance was always such a patient playmate to Natalia. He would lay still while being poked and prodded during "Natalia, master Veterinarian" play. She even had play electric beaters that she used on him and he would still just lay there, happy to have her as company. Then there were the times we would dress him up for whatever family play we were putting on. Chance has been a fairy with wings, a dragon with a wig, a doctor during a Jump Rope for Heart cardiac resuscitation, and even sported some doggles (sunglasses for dogs - yes, roll your eyes at Jeremy) during a convertible trip to the ice cream place. All of this and he took it like a true dog. Endured it, loved it, never complained - except the wig. He didn't like the wig.


There isn't a single adult or child who met Chance and didn't like him. Some of my friends he REALLY liked and would "love up" on them. This was a little awkward when we were trying to paint Natalia's room and he would jump on Heather's back and get all freaky-like. He loved him some Heather. Even though he had a rather fierce build, it was obvious he was a lover, not a fighter. Now, it took a little convincing for the mailman when Chance darted out the door towards the mail truck, jumped in the back, then sat down. Jeremy and I knew Chance was bored and wanted a car ride. The mail lady's version was more of a "fear of God while this beast is running towards me". Ah, tomato/tomah-to. He did hate the Federal Express guy, but that guy said all dog's hate him and he's been bitten numerous times. I trust Chance. The guy is obviously a serial killer or something on his down time. Obviously.

We knew it was time to let Chance go when he started to get skinny. You don't understand this dog and food. He was an eater. He ate half my pancakes every morning and at least three nachos every work night. A couple of times the lid was off the food bin in the pantry and we would find him helping himself to second dinner. It was hard to scold him because 1, he already knew it was wrong and 2, it was Chance. He couldn't resist. Some of his more memorable meals were the entire Christmas gingerbread house and a box of 64 crayons. The crayons were a bit much for his sensitive palate and ended up in regurgitated piles in the house. Yes, multiple piles while he followed me around the house being sick. I could practically read his thoughts that day... "Mom, I feel..... " bleeeeeck, "Wait! Mom, I feel ....." bleeeeck. That is why we have a carpet cleaner on hand and ready to go. Gross. The crayon eating was a doggy tantrum because he had to stay home one day when he was SURE we were going somewhere he should be going too. Yep. Trotted right into that Barbie play land room, grabbed the box of crayons and brought them to the living room to show us who was upset and feeling dejected. I guess it backfired on him once the vomiting started.

It was doggy cancer that finally tore him up. After a surgical intervention, two rounds of chemo and a lot of prayers we realized Chance was just not going to pull through this one. His hip would pop and he'd limp around, I already mentioned the weight loss and worst of all, the tumors. Multiple tumors all over his head and neck that made it uncomfortable to have us pet him. Sometimes they would bleed. Poor Chance. We just couldn't control the tumors anymore. I called the vet to ask when I would know it was time to let Chance go. He told me about his own experience and that he was certain it was the right time when his dog would no longer eat a Whopper - as in Burger King. I told that to Jeremy and got a really skeptical look. Jeremy said "Hon, I think Chance could be on his death bed and still rally enough to eat a Whopper. I don't think that is the best test for him." I was certain this was going to be the test. It wasn't. Chance spent the evening crying behind the couch over the past weekend. His appetite never wavered. 

We had a Lacow Family Meeting and set the date with the vet. The day came and I fed Chance extra pancakes, dog cookies and gave him super lovin'. We were all in tears and slept together in the same room the night before. True to form, Chance tore through three cups of treats at the vet's office before his time was finished. The first shot made him sleepy and his last voluntary movement was to stick his tongue out as far as he could to try and get that last treat. He loved to eat. Since he could no longer swallow, I took the treat, rubbed it on his tongue, then put his tongue back in his mouth where it belonged. Silly dog. 

Chance left this world that day with all three of us on the floor with him holding him and telling him what a good boy he was. We let him know that our family was going to be okay and that we loved him. We all took turns whispering in his ears that he was the best dog ever and gave him tons of kisses on his big meat chunk head. We took time between the tears to tell a couple funny "Chance stories", and held each other while Dr. Baker gave Chance his final injection. When we left the little room after we held him and said more goodbyes, Chance looked totally peaceful. He was all curled up and snuggled on that comfy rug on the floor where we all spent our last hugs with him. 

A week ago I was tearful because when I was growing up my mom told me that animals do not have souls. I mentioned this concern to Natalia and she was quick to laugh in a "my poor mentally challenged mom" kind of way and that of course Chance had a soul. Specifically she said "Mom, don't be silly. All living things have a soul and we'll see Chance again in Paradise" (that's what she calls heaven). Today I was reminded that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. That means Chance is still present, just not in his busted up body. Just like Natalia's book "Dog Heaven", Chance is eating ice cream sandwich dog biscuits and playing with Heaven's children. He is running after balls (which he never retrieves) and enjoying heavenly car rides. Most of all, he is waiting. Patiently waiting for us to come home too, just like a good dog should. 

Withholding Judgement

So, in a very sweet way, I have a few friends who reassure me from time to time that I am a good mother. It's great that we lift each up that way. Well, let's see if y'all want to lift me up this week after hearing my little lapses in judgement.

Let me give you a little background into my psyche. I love scary stories. They have fascinated me ever since I was little and I have this wild and colorful imagination to make these stories really spectacular in my head. My mini-me has this same love and I was so excited when she showed a particular interest during our trolley tour in Key West regarding a haunted house. There is nothing better than mixing a bit of fiction with a bit of fact to make a story juicy gooooood.

Well the other night Natalia brought up this story of Robert the Doll (which is good, but totally stupid) and I of course said we should Google it. Why, you ask? Because that is what totally dense mothers do for eight year old daughters right before bedtime. We Google ghost stories about vodoo possessed dolls who terrorized children so our child can actually get a visual image instead of just hearing this ridiculous story. 


Jeremy gave me a face and asked me the completely obtuse question "Do you think that was a good idea before bed?" Obviously my voice of reason was on vacation or had laryngitis, or something. Whatever. I couldn't un-ring that bell, now could I? In fact, Natalia chose that very night to grow up and be a big girl by insisting that she no longer needed to sleep with John Bear and Sleeping Beauty anymore. What a coinky-dink! It's been over a week and she is still a being a big girl with John Bear and Sleeping Beauty taking up bedtime residence next to the bed. At least they didn't get kicked out of the room.

Now, I am not always the fastest of learners. Again, voice of reason is out of commission and like most good wives, I only listen to about 60% of what my husband says. Bring on "mommy/daughter day". After a day of swimming at Grandma's pool and me showing Natalia how to do a back flip under water, I decided it was time to introduce my little boogerface to her first real scary movie. Now, I thought about it and threw out a few contenders due to sexual content or too "real", then I decided on Pet Semetary. Remember that 90's gem? Well, Jeremy's memory was better than my jaded and desensitized mind and again he warned me. Voice of reason said "What?", Natalia said "Oh, dad. I think you're late for work." and I said "It will be fine." Um.... no.


I think she was okay with Pascow and his brains hanging out because he was, after all, a "good ghost" (oh, my gosh. just writing this makes me feel totally incriminated). Then there was the toddler getting hit by the car. Nothing was really shown, but still, horrid. I hate cats - so that's scary for me. Then the invalid in the back room which I finally figured out was a man dressed as a woman (Raaaachellllll). Natalia finally called it quits when the toddler came back to life and bit that Munsters guy in the neck. I told her that was the beginning of the scariness in the movie. She was done. It's kind of like when we got her ears pierced. She will like it someday, she's just not ready for it now.

Needless to say, she was so scared after that movie, if she could have climbed back into my uterus, she would have. Yes, it was a horrible parenting moment. Just one of many, but I'm not perfect and I'm sure I'll hear about it from her therapist twenty years from now. Hopefully this won't warp her for life in some way. Like a twisted fear of toddlers, therefore she will never have that gaggle of grandchildren I am hoping and saving money for. Am I already paying for my mistake? You betcha! Guess who got kicked out of bed last night? I did. Natalia came into our room (again) to say she was scared. I think this time it was about 4am and I grabbed my pillow, muttered something about it being my fault, tucked my angel in next to daddy then headed off across the house. I had to finish off the night in her twin bed with Claire de Lune on repeat and a memory foam topper so plush my arm kept falling asleep. John Bear and Sleeping Beauty stayed on the floor because I'm a big girl too.

Good Grief, Little Boogerface

Well, this is the second time I have tried to write this blog because it's a touchy subject. Touchy as in, my heart aches too and I try to lean more on the cheerful side of blogging with my Grace and Motherhood. Then after thinking about what this blog is really about I realized this is how I chronicle my life with Natalia, good and bad, proud and embarrassed, happy and sad. That's what makes this real, right? So it's with a rather heavier heart that her little timeline involves the death of one of her favorite people - Grandpa Lacow.

The biggest question for my momminess is 'How do I help Natalia grieve?' Well, it's a totally different animal. With adults, you kind of shut yourself in a little, gather around some friends and family, then  resurface when you are able to inhale all that air that just got kicked out of you. Not so much with an eight year old. She needs to vent and play and stay occupied. This comes in the form of play dates, movies, introductions to Teavana and a (dreaded) trip to Roaring Springs. Her world cannot just shut down, therefore, Lacowland does not shut down either. Now that I look back on this really difficult week, I like her way of doing things. Sure there are afternoons spent at Grandma's house to wrap up some details, share a meal and think of good Grandpa stories; but we made a stop at Grandma's pool that afternoon too so Natalia could get her play on. It was like a little grieving vacation for all of us.


 You know how I know she is doing okay with all of this? Singing. It's kind of like how I know she woke up on the right side of the bed before school. She is just absent mindedly singing about her day lately and still smiling in her sleep. Phew. I wasn't sure how this was all going to pan out with her when Grandpa's day finally came, but she is doing pretty well. I get the sense that she has some relief now that he has passed and isn't suffering.


There have been so many bedtime talks about Grandpa being sick, him never getting better, then the whole analogy of our souls being the driver and our bodies being the car. Grandpa has stepped out of his busted car and moved on. She had been so worried about this day and now that it's come, it isn't as painful or fretful as she had thought. Sometimes the unknown is more terrifying than just being in the thick of it all. When you're in it, there are not as many options as our minds can think of in the "not yet". Natalia has a pretty solid imagination, so she had a lot of options she had been working with over the past few weeks.

Right now she mainly wants to know how long this heartbreak is going to be an issue. Yep, that's my girl. "Excuse me, I'd like to know the timeline of this unpleasantness please."  I'll admit I am not above asking my therapist questions like this in the hopes that she has a magical formula I just hadn't been able to Google. There isn't. Nope, not even on Google, although I have not asked Jeeves yet. I have to give Natalia the answer that has been handed down to me: Time. No, she doesn't really "get" that answer, but she does "get" this analogy (okay, long Shauna story coming up):


Natalia inherited my right brain way of thinking in pictures, crazy imagination and penchant for vivid nightmares. She will have a terrible time with sleeping when stress upsets her little apple cart, so this is what I tell her. "Your brain is a candy jar and it is our job to control what we put in it. What we should be doing is placing sweeties in our jar. Now, filling up a jar with nothing is a ridiculous notion, so is not thinking about anything. You have to put something there to take up the space." That is when we think of three sweeties to put in our jar before bed. This has also worked while my poor little boogerface is mourning. It's crazy that a similar analogy popped up in church last Sunday. Can I get an "Amen"?! (now everyone raise their hands in your best Southern Baptist way).

Yes, it is sad and hurtful, but pain has a purpose and its own time so we need to let that in too. Dig our toes into it like sand, wiggle them around, then be ready to move on down the beach. You can't really heal until you let the pain sting a little. That is when I make sure to let Natalia know that we are all hurting together, so she doesn't have to feel lonely in her sorrow. When I told her that she cried, smiled, hugged my neck and told me I am the best mom ever.  The good memories temper the pain and always outweigh the loss. Our sweeties for our jar are in the form of memories and joy, funny stories and Grandpa impersonations. Natalia's are the best.


I really do strive to be this person who I sell to Natalia. Please, God, let me live by my own words and take time every day to put sweeties in my own jar so I may never be too empty to fill her up with the hope and joy she needs to create her own sweeties.

Breaking Bread and Cutting Cheese

Now I don't need an Obama to tell me that eating dinner as a family is important. It's actually one of the very grown up things Jeremy and I do with Natalia since we have become a trio. I say that because when you have been with someone since you were 17, well, we still feel like grown up posers sometimes. You know, kind of like we are playing house and it makes me giggle. That being said, we managed to put our own spin on dinner time - it's also family TV time.


For years I felt a little guilty about this because I was afraid that we were missing out on some earth shattering family bonding experiences, but then even when we have the TV off (usually because Natalia is naughty and EVERYONE has to pay the consequences) there are rules like "no talking with food in your mouth" and "no singing at the table". I mean, we are really just sitting there and eating anyway, so I let go of that guilt and decided to focus on my other million things I love to feel guilty about as a mother.


The most important thing about dinner time is that we gather around and eat together. Yes, there is some talking over the TV, but nothing beats the family prayer. I will throw it out there that we have got Jeremy to say the dinner prayer once. It was totally a big deal and we haven't pushed it since. Other than that, Natalia and I take turns. Now, I don't know about your religious beliefs, but mine have changed a lot over the past few years. I see God more as another family member and there is much less ritual to my religion. This is never more apparent than at prayer time. 


Here's an example of how my dinner prayer goes - out loud mind you: "Dear Lord in heaven, thank you so much for dinner and our family (the dog starts barking next to me), and thank you for the invention of the bark collar which I am going to put on the dog so he will get shocked instead of barking at me, thank you for all our blessings and for Natalia, thank you for all our food and Chance's (the dog) food which I forgot to feed him and that is why I think he is still barking at me while I'm trying to pray. In Jesus' name, amen." Usually Natalia has interrupted the prayer at least once to yell at the dog. I know! It's not even a long prayer! She's just really bossy and the power tilts in her direction when it is her vs. the dog.

Here's a typical Natalia prayer: "Dear God in heaven thank you for my food and my family, thank you for helping me make a 100% on my spelling test, please help my plantar warts not hurt, and God please watch out for the Triangle People because I have seen more triangles today on the playground and we know they are out there. Jesus. Name. Amen." The triangle people are her latest conspiracy theory, not something she is actually afraid of or really needs help with. I love prayer time. It cracks me up and makes me happy, so I figure it does the same for God. Besides, it's all about our relationship with Him and, after all, these are the days of our lives (cue the dramatic music).


One of my girlfriends told me that at her dinner table they have this wooden spoon, or something, that they pass around like a scepter and whoever has this spoon of power gets to talk about their day. Once that person has finished, then it is passed to the next kiddo and so on. I guess this way everyone has a chance to talk and the idea is to respect the speaker. Well, since Natalia is the only child, we've never had to do anything like this and I think it would just give she and I something else to fight over. Yes, I am that immature sometimes. 

The last thing I'm going to hit on are our rules. Now growing up, I thought every house had the same rules for dinner and therefore it was only natural when I had to pass those rules down to my own child. Jeremy let me know.... not so much. Of course there are the normal rules like don't chew with your mouth open, don't talk with your mouth full, don't burp out loud at the table or EVER (Natalia and I are getting dinged hard on this one lately. I mean, it just slips out sometimes) and don't lean into your farts at the dinner table. Those are pretty standard I think. It's not that we are a bunch of heathens, but situations have arisen that have required these rules to be stated out loud - numerous times.


Okay, so here are some of the rules that were standard in my childhood home that Jeremy thought were weird, but now he totally gets them: No singing at the table. I'm not kidding when I tell y'all that Natalia and I sing a lot. Sometimes I'll be out in public and I'm not sure if I was just singing in my head or if I had forgot myself and was singing out loud. It's just what we do. Another one is no crying at the table. Now this sounds a little harsh, but I don't mind if she gets upset and we need to work something out, but the waterworks have got to have a limit. It's amazing how quickly she can get them under control when I tell her "I don't mind if you cry sweetheart, but you just can't do it at the table. Just come back when you're ready." She's usually instantly ready. Now my parents never said it to me that way, but there was still the no crying rule. Then there is the "lick it" rule where any new food only has to be licked, not actually chewed and our newest rule is don't criticize the cook because that person is usually me. This stems from Natalia looking at one of my new Pinterest creations and stating "This looks like slop."


Now, had I been myself lately, yes I would have been annoyed, but I wouldn't have teared up. This goes back to the no crying at the table and I started breaking my own rule. Then Natalia felt bad and she started crying, now we are both breaking the rule. Poor Jeremy. He lives in crazy town. Later that night I explained to Natalia that she didn't hurt my feelings, but I would prefer her not to call my food "slop" since I do put my best effort into it. Again, tears because she felt bad. She's such a sweet and sensitive girl - other than the "slop" comment, I guess, but you know what I mean. Hey, we all have our moments and it did come out a grayish color. In true Lacow form, this has become our new running joke. The mommy slop. I mean, it's too easy of a target now that it caused so many tears over a four letter word and a bum Pinterest recipe. Now it's just funny and I think I'll have to work that word into tomorrow night's prayer, just for giggles.

If I want to put a Pollyanna spin on our ritual it would sound like this: We take the time in the evening to sit and spend time together while we eat, practice our etiquette, pray together and share our day. Awe, that sounds so nice, doesn't it? Okay, realistically we gather at the table four days a week on our off days to eat, pray together in our Lacow way, try not to burp out loud, cry or sing, I'll coax SOMETHING about Natalia's day out of her while I mute the commercial, all while the dog is being gently zapped because he gains more joy out of barking at me than he endures pain from the actual shock collar. Whatever it is or isn't, this is our dinner time and I love it.

Checking My Connectivity

What would motherhood be without a little therapy, right? Jeremy and Natalia dropped me off at my counselor's appointment today and Natalia asked me what was up. I told her that it was where I go to talk out some stuff about my childhood and she was totally psyched and wanted to come too. Well, at least she is supportive. I jokingly told her that maybe someday she will go and talk it out about my mothering skills to some random licensed stranger. Her answer to that statement will differ depending on the gravitational pull of the moon, the serotonin re-uptake levels, the color of her socks and the ratio of length of elapsed time since last snack vs sugar content. This is the key to whether I am the Evil Queen, or the Best Mom Ever. I'm practically like Einstein since I figured out this equation and deserve the tween equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize.

I did do quite a bit of soul searching regarding how I stay connected to Natalia, and how I plan to keep that up. Most of my sane living has been self taught by watching a living "How Not To Do Things" tutorial. It's a good thing I pay attention and I'm a relatively quick learner. Take Jeremy, for example: He's the longest standing friendship I've ever had and I've put a lot of work into this one. It's been 99% fun and I love it. He's cute, smart, I'm totally into him and I can do this some more. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around parents who CHOSE to no longer work at having a relationship with their children. I mean, I can kind of get choosing to ignore your spouse, but your baby (they are always our babies)? I know, I know. I've already blogged about that one too, so I'll leave it at that. Let's all roll our eyes at those ridiculous dead beat parents and hold up our hands in the "W" for the "whatever" sign. Whatever.

Now, for y'all with young school age girls, I'm going to do something truly horrible. Remember the Barbie movie "Barbie & The Diamond Castle"? "I feel connected, protected. It's like you're standing right by me all the time. Nothing can break this, nothing can break this, nothing can break this tie. Connected." Okay. That was just me being mean because I've had that song stuck in my head and I just had to pass it on. Annoyingly catchy, isn't it? I didn't even have a point. I just think it's funny.

This week is Natalia's birthday (yes, Lacow girls get an entire week) and she had a day off of school so we took the opportunity to actually plan something besides homework coffee shop night. Jeremy and I even weaseled a date night out of his parents this week. Sweet. For me, nothing says "family connection" like a little competition. That's right. We started off with some putt putt where I learned that if Natalia would just take her time, she's actually pretty good even though she swings her club like a Louisville slugger and cheats like there's no tomorrow. Par two my hiney. Then there was the laser tag where team Lacow was up against team Martinez. Granted, they did have the cutest team member in her three year old formal dress AND she shot me twice! Aside from that, Natalia had my flank and she and I racked up some serious points nailing the home base all Evil Queen/Princess Natalia style.                     

Sure there is still the arguing over toenail length, but then there are plenty of times when she and I are in our mommy daughter zone that even Jeremy doesn't get. Things like clear coat nail polish doused with craft glitter and makeovers where she looks gorgeous and I look "perfect" to her, but the mirror says I have a melanoma mark on my forehead painted on by mascara. Seriously, the exclamation from Natalia when she was done was "AH! Perfect! Mommy you look so good, just like the Bratz dolls from the movie I watched. Look, look!" I was expecting all those Sephora sample trips to have finally payed off and to see some mad skillz. Well, there was this melanoma thing, glitter, and the blue eye shadow...... we'll make more trips to Sephora because practice makes perfect and Sephora makes me happy.

I can't imagine ever not wanting to sit on the floor while painting nails and playing with makeup. I love laying in her bed with her while I go through our bedtime routine. I've found it's the best way to catch up on what is rolling around in that complexly beautiful brain of hers. It's a bit more streamlined when Jeremy puts her to bed, but how it's supposed to go down is we are supposed to 1) Read a book, 2) Sing a song 3) Lights out and I leave. Well, 1 and 2 go smoothly, but then we get to talking and giggling and then I sometimes fall asleep because she is so stinkin' snuggilicious and smells like my baby. I don't remember my mom ever doing anything like that with me so I'm way ahead of the therapy curve I'm sure. Then again, there are always things like my "child labor sticks of despair", making her and her sleepover friend clean up before bedtime (gasp!), and all those arguments over toenails. Maybe I'm still in the running for "my mom ruined my life" therapy after all depending on the above mentioned equation. Quick! Check her socks!

Eight is Enough

Next week Natalia turns eight. Her birthday is always a big deal to me, not just because I am so happy that she was gifted into my life, but also it reminds me how quickly time flies. I've blogged it many times: The older I get, the faster time flies. Especially now since my life has started being fun and full of good stuff.

I will confess this: Eight is not my favorite age for children as a general rule, but Natalia is the best eight year old ever. I used to avoid babysitting eight year olds at all costs when I was in college and just stick with the babies to five year olds. What I mean is it's just an age of roller coaster emotions, terrible two's without the cute baby body, and they generally are more into their friends now because their friends know EVERYTHING! Never mind that I have 35 years of experience and a bachelors degree under my belt. I'm just mom after all. Did I know about the Green Grannysmith spider who could take out six kids in one spray? Did I know that google was a number? Did I know that clothing does not have to match? No. I am obviously lame.

It has kind of blown me away how head strong Natalia is lately and how snotty she talks. It's her version of what a teenager sounds like. It's just weird to hear this kind of noise coming out of such a small body. It reminds me of a voice over on TV and I am mesmerized, then realize I am supposed to do something about it. Yes, I already whined about this and talked about the child labor sticks of despair, but it's my blog and therefore my sounding board. By the way, the labor sticks totally work because nothing will change a child's tune faster than having to take five minutes out of riding her scooter with her girlfriend because she has to pick up poop in the back yard. She isn't cured by all means, but at least I get five minutes free from snotty arguing back talking and I didn't have to clean up poop. Boo-yaah! Mom:1, child: google.

I don't think it would bother me so much if I didn't have my own inner turmoil that I'm working on right now, so knowing this, I mentioned it to Natalia in a very seven-going-on-eight kind of way after she told me I was mean. Now, I didn't do anything Evil Queen specific at that moment, and she couldn't name anything in particular, but she said I have been mean lately. I get it. Like I said, I have some stuff going on, so my fuse has been short and I have felt less connected to everyone lately. That's the only reason I had a little heart to heart with her. Wouldn't you know it that the little smarty pants tried to play the "mean" card against me the next day when she didn't get her way about wearing "high heeled" shoes to school. That I saw right through. She's so smart. If I wasn't so mentally fried, I'd be kind of proud and laughing at the moment. It just takes me a couple days and moments of silence to process how hilarious all that is.

One thing that helps is my own girlfriends. In the past whenever I have had my garbage creep to the surface I have isolated myself. Obviously that has never worked, so this time I have rallied a few close girlfriends around me. Way better. Part of the idea to do this comes from how much I have needed other moms to get me through motherhood and tell me my child is normal and that I am a good mom. Yes, I know on a basic level I am a good mom. I mean, she isn't setting library books on fire and Googling how to make pipe bombs out of Barbies. But, what I am talking about is raising the kind of girl that people will go to for advice about their own crazy daughters. The kind of woman who other women will want to ask out for girls night and laser tag. The kind of girl who someone can pull aside on Easter night who will listen to her friend empty her heart and say "I knew all along". That's the kind of girl I want to raise.

Kara helps me see the bright side too by saying things like "Oh, she runs on her toes, she'll be a great sprinter." and "Yeah, she's head strong, argumentative, and slightly manipulative, but those will be great qualities when she learns to use them appropriately as an adult". Of course those are gratuitous use of quotes, but I'm not exactly a literary genius here. 

I can see Natalia having a bright future in law or politics. Please sweet baby Jesus in a manger surrounded by livestock let her use those forces for good and no longer against her mother. I actually told a co-worker yesterday that I have an eight year old daughter at home and I just could not argue with her anymore. Yeah, she was totally offended and huffed off. Seriously folks. It's about survival and I have to save my energy for my daughter. I can't waste it on other nurses. Besides, she obviously does not have the stamina Natalia does because Natalia never would have let that conversation end there. Weak sauce.

Lacow Child Labor Laws

As mothers, we are diabolical villains. Oh yeah, we love our sweet babies and will lay down our souls for their precious lives, but on the day to day few people will plot against a child like her own mother. I spend so much energy and synopses trying to out smart, out maneuver and up the ante for Natalia. There is no rest for my plotting schemes because the moment I think I've got it figured out - she grows up a little. Crap.

Part of my research and development is me cruising through Pinterest. I know, I know. It's a time suck, but I really have got a lot of good ideas there. Jeremy dreads me being on that site because his "honey do" list keeps expanding. Tonight's diabolically crafty project was my "child labor sticks of despair". Because I am a believer in all things looking cute and fun, these punishment sticks are the cutest ones ever. Well, maybe not ever, but they sure got Natalia all excited - until I told her what they are for. 

You see, we have this (among many) issue with Natalia talking all tween-like. Now, I'm really not sure what a tween is, but they evidently talk snotty - even when they are trying to be polite. It's this quasi-valley girl speak where she'll throw in a "please" so I'm not sure if she's being sarcastic or legit. Oddly enough, she is being legit and doesn't realize how that comes across. It's kind of like when she was trying to learn sarcasm and told Jeremy she was going to poke him in the eye with a spoon. It's a delicate form of communication that has little nuances which require practice. She's much better at sarcasm now, thank goodness.

Even when I try and get her to rephrase a question, comment or concern in "normal speak", she has a hard time breaking this tween talk habit. That's when Jeremy and I (well, mostly me) decided to make it painful. Physically painful. Enter my "child labor sticks of despair". 

They are literally popsicle sticks with crafty paper on one side, and pink paint on the other. Okay, I admit they ended up looking like fancy emery boards, but whatev's. Oops, maybe that's where she learned to talk like that.... Okay, back to my sticks of despair:  Each stick has a label on it with a manual labor chore that I personally hate to do. Every time she talks snotty tween at Jeremy or I, she gets to pick a cutsie little stick out of a fancy, cutsie little bottle. I took a little time scheming because I don't want chores that will require a lot of work on my part - that would not be very Evil Queen like, now would it? Also, these are short chores because you and I both know that whining takes approximately a half hour. Therefore each chore will take about thirty-five minutes. Wanna know what they are? I thought so.

My evil chore list includes picking up dog poop (that first one will be a doozie since we've let some piles accumulate this winter), wiping down the baseboards in a room of my choosing, weeding the flower beds, sweeping either the back patio or walkway (two different sticks of despair), writing her alphabet three times in perfect lettering (yeah, below the belt there, right?!) and others. There were nine in all and I'm ready to make more if I have to. My evil plan is for her to pick her own punishment out of the container. Pure evil, I know. 

Hey, if this is what I have to do to get my daughter to talk in semi-normal American dialect, then I'm gonna do it. I'll keep my Pinterest account active and running with new schemes on my fight against a bratty child. My Pinterest board for this is even called "Mommy dearest". I'm sorry, but Natalia will have plenty of friends in her life, so I don't really need to fill that role. Whenever she tells me "You're not being a good friend, you know that!?" (yes, she says exactly that) I confidently tell her that I am her mommy first and her friend second. Then I also add how charming I think she is and that is why I know she will have plenty of friends. She will, however, only ever have one mommy. One scheming, conniving, researching, tireless, crafty, ever loving mommy who has made it a priority to make her into a polite and tolerable woman. 

Chivalry, Hipocracy and Women's Equality

I've admitted this before: I am a terrible hypocrite. And since I'm being all confessional, there are certain things that will totally fire me up every time and Jeremy thinks it's hilarious to push those buttons. Take for example women's rights or women's equality - whatever term floats your boat.

It started when Jeremy told me about a care tag on a pair of jeans that got a bunch of people very upset because it read something to the effect of "get your woman to wash it, that's her job". I don't know, I didn't take time to Google it, so I am just regurgitating Jeremy info. Laundry is a touchy subject in Lacowland and I use it to show my anger at Jeremy or to retaliate in some way. When I'm upset I don't touch his laundry and I give him absolutely no warning. It's a little below the belt, I know. That's how hard core I am. Anyway, Jeremy and I were having this discussion at the coffee shop while Natalia was supposed to be concentrating on her homework. Since the conversation got a bit heated, of course she was all ears.

Jeremy had a good point that if there was a similar tag on a lawn mower, let's say the manual, then I would totally think it's funny. Blah, blah, blah... how to operate the lawnmower... or just have your husband do it. I refuse to mow the lawn because ours isn't self propelled. Natalia wanted to know what the discussion was about by using her favorite term "I don't get it." I tried to explain to her in G rated terms that some people think women are supposed to do housework while the man goes out and earns a living. I also explained that now it seems women are expected to keep and manage the home all while working full time and keep the kids organized, bathed, groomed, vaccinated, and checked up. Jeremy gave me a bit of the stink eye because when it comes down to it, he is really involved and helps out a lot. Besides, there are some chores that I refuse to do and he has to pick up that slack. Seriously, if I wasn't married, I would hire someone to do the Jeremy chores.

Nothing drives me more crazy than anyone suggesting that women are inferior to men because we have ovaries and boobies. I also abhor the stereotypes of what women should be, or what a woman who thinks she should be equal should be. Here's the hypocrisy part:

While yes I can open a door for myself, I shouldn't when I am with a man. That's right. He should do it every time for a lady. Physically men have more muscle tissue because they carry more testosterone, so they should also do the heavy lifting. Even Plato agrees with me here. I think men should be the dashing hero who believes the lady is amazing and can accomplish anything she wants. Jeremy is pretty amazing in that respect. I also can't stand it when women try to macho it up to prove a point. Yes we can do all the things a man can do, but we are not men and I don't think I should have to masculinate myself to be treated equal. That's why the blond in the show "The Walking Dead" drives me crazy. Now if I can get some help relaying that in seven year old terms please.

Since this is one of my hot buttons, I have to take extra care in how I explain it to Natalia. My first instinct is to go a little "man hater" with it and tell her that men will try and bring her down, so be ready for a fight. I'm pretty sure that isn't sound parenting and that it's "baggage" based. You know who is better at the women's equality speech for Natalia? Jeremy of course. Evidently they have had this discussion before because with a little prompting from him, she was able to recite some wonderful "girls are just as good as boys" tidbits.

What I want her to know is that she should embrace being a girl and not ever let anyone tell her that she is less-than because of it. She and I are genetically hard wired to love dressing up, make up, glitter, drama, and being emotional and sensitive. I realize there are girls who are hard core and more "boy-ish", but that does not make them anymore superior. I don't ever want her to think that she is weaker than her male counterpart simply because she has XX for chromosomes. It's as ridiculous as the thought that my IQ is lower because I'm a natural blond.

It's good to know that while this is a touchy subject for me, which Jeremy loves to pick on, he is also working on building Natalia up as a girl. I swear I could do this parenting thing alone, but she would really be missing out on the male perspective and therefore be imbalanced. I'm obviously imbalanced, but what do you expect growing up with a single mom who made some pretty poor choices in men. They were not Jeremys, or heroes. I'm so thankful to God every day that Natalia has a strong daddy in her life to help shape her into a strong woman. As said by the wise and insightful musical group "The Spice Girls", girl power - zig a zig ah.

Let's Get Physical

Well, I've been in a funk and a little lax in my blogs. I've let some details overwhelm me. Wah. Poor me. Moving on.

In the meantime, nothing has slowed down because time does not wait for mommies to meltdown. What's a mommy to do? Well, jump to week three of Jillian Michaels' Ripped in 30 (seriously, it's $10 and will change your body), buy a hot pink snowboard because if I am going to suck I might as well look cute, and lastly get a little botox for the first time. Yep. It was worth the money and the six injections. I know my mental health is not fixed by such trivial things, but why should I look bad just because I'm feeling bad? Exactly. Besides, I feel slightly better and I'm a huge fan of all three of the above since they all work. It's not frivolous if it works, right?

I am conscious that little eyes are watching. Since Natalia has an allowace with an account balance that sometimes exceeds that of Jeremy and I, she has to buy gifts for her friends and teacher. Mrs. Penney just had a birthday, so Natalia and I were brainstorming a thoughtful gift that would be both creative and original. I asked Natalia what she was into and there was the stuff like frogs, teacher crap and then she told me how Mrs. Penney had started exercising and had lost weight. Natalia told me that she was so proud of Mrs. Penney because she looked good and had been telling the class about her progress. Well, Natalia is on that Jillian Michaels bandwagon with me and wanted Mrs. Penney to have the Ripped in 30 dvd.

Now, this is definately an original and thoughtful gift, but it's also a touchy one and there is no way I am explaining the weight psyche issue to Natalia now. I figure I have another six years before I have to deal with that drama, maybe less since Madame Puberty decided to visit early. So, like a dutiful mom, I went to Target, bought the dvd and wrapped it all pretty like. I also wrapped it with the gift receipt and an explanation Happy Birthday card. It all worked out because Natalia says she loves it (it's seriously amazing) and is still updating the class about her progress.

Since we are on the subject of fitness I'm going to wrap this one up with some uber big news. Natalia made her first point EVER in basketball last Saturday, well that would be if they kept score. Let me tell it all "Shauna Style": Natalia was in charge of beginning the play by passing the ball into play. She ran down the court while some other kid was dribbling or something, I don't know. Over the deafening din of little girl yelling and squeaking sneakers I hear my sweet angel yell "I'm open! I'm open!" A miracle similar to Moses parting the Red Sea, the other player actually passed my little Lebron the ball. She dribbled two steps into her shot zone we had practiced and shot the ball. There was a tense moment as the ball circled the rim and then like manna from heaven it dropped into the basket. I rose to my feet like my chair was suddenly on fire and yelled like the village idiot. On my behalf even the coaches were astounded and shouted. Later at our celebratory mommy/daughter breakfast Natalia said she was in such awe that she almost started crying on the court, she was so happy. That made me tear up a little with happiness.

I guess there have been a lot of waterworks from me lately. I still partially blame the mess up with my Nuvaring. This time it wasn't a double up thing, I found it at the foot of our bed under the covers. No, I'm not pregnant, but I am looking into an IUD at this point. Happy tears, sad tears, tears because Natalia has happy tears. Oh my gosh. Poor Jeremy. I'm so glad he isn't one of those guys who gets uncomfortable around female tears. He wouldn't stand a chance.

You don't Gnome Me, but....

One of the people I work with says he writes a letter to his daughter on her birthday every year for her to read when she is older. His driving force behind this is for her to really know him should anything every happen to him. It sounds a bit macabre, but remember we are ER people who see lives change in seconds. This has been rolling around in my mind for a while and I realized that I really don't know anything about my parents as children at all. I know that my childhood has shaped  me into the woman I am and I want Natalia to know me as a person, not just as a "parent". I won't allow her to read this blog until she is much, much older - like ready to move out older. Maybe this will explain some of my intensity, quirks and fierceness, if she ever goes into therapy over my mothering. Above all else, I don't want my human-ness to ever catch her by surprise. So.... Hello Natalia, my name is Shauna.

I want you to know that my childhood was very different from yours. A lot of times when I mess up as a mom, apologize and tell you "Sorry, I just don't know because I've never been a mom before." it's because I also don't really have a lot to draw from. Most of my childhood I cannot remember because there was some very unpleasantness going on and my smart little brain has blocked it out for me. That being said, it wasn't very specific with just the unpleasantries, so the good stuff took off with the bad. Now when I try and conjure up memories of my childhood when I was little I'll get these flashes of ugliness and then just as quickly everything is a blank, I feel horrible, and I move on with my day. Remember all the talks we have had about good touch/bad touch? I will drill that into you forever and a day. My dad was so shady and ambiguous about it that not only did I think it was normal for a while, but when I outed him he called me a liar and said I was misconstruing a normal father/daughter relationship. I doubted myself until you were born and I saw how your daddy treats you. My dad was wrong and inappropriate and that is why you have never met him. He does not get the honour of your presence. You are a gift that he will not spoil.

Because of this past, you can be sure that I will be constantly on guard with the people around you. I will also be on guard with the way you dress, which is why you have always worn shorts or jeans under dresses. I'm sure the disagreements between you and daddy and I will become more intense as you get older, but just know that I am older and wiser than you. No, seriously. I totally am. For every hot guy that is checking you out in that "outfit" there is some old raunchy icky man checking you out too. Yuck. I'll move on because I'm creeping myself out here.

Just so you know, you come from a family of crazy on my side. I'll regale you with details when you are older, but just trust me on this one. Since I'm writing this at 35 and feel that I have made some pretty sound judgements so far, I think I have dodged that genetic crazy bullet. When I was ten, my mom had to be hospitalized because she had a mental breakdown. To this day I don't even really know what that means, but before that she was telling me that my My Little Ponys had to be thrown away because they were satanic and that she could hear angels talking through the TV. I came home from school one day and she was gone. I don't even know what precipitated that hospitalization, but knowing what I do now, it was something big. That was pretty much the day that I lost my mom. She never fully recovered after that.

She had to be shipped off to Georgia to be with her parents and Aunt Amanda was less than a year old and went with her. A couple of months later I was sent out there to visit, told that my parents were getting a divorce and that I wasn't going back. I have to admit that I was happy and ended up trying to tell my mom about my dad and what had been going on. I ended up chickening out when she tried to talk about it later because I was too embarrassed. Anyway, that is how I ended up in Georgia. Grandma Eddins was very sick then and I ended up helping her in a way that children shouldn't help adults. A child should never have to sit outside their parent's bathroom to ask them to come out and not hurt themselves. I never should have had to help raise my sisters because the man she chose to be with and stay with (second husband) was an abusive alcoholic/heroin addict. He was a real charmer and would spontaneously freak out for no reason by screaming and throwing things. Once he threw an entire pot of rice that I had made for dinner against the wall because I didn't fluff it with a fork before placing it on the table. I don't like him at all. I would try not to giggle because as he was yelling at me and calling me names his dentures were popping out of his mouth and he was pushing them back in. That's right - dentures and he was 32 years old. If you like your teeth, don't do drugs. Okay, back to the story....It's around this time that Grandma Eddins started relying on me to be her support system when she felt like she was crumbling emotionally. This is why I can be your friend, but you cannot be mine. I will never burden you with troubles that I have not already solved in my own mind. I may tell you what is troubling me, but I will never lay my woes at your feet. My feet are ready for your woes, your feet should be ready for your kids, and so on.

Ahhh money. I guess when I was small, money was fine. Like I said before, my memory has been swiss cheesed so I really wouldn't know about then. I'll tell you what money was like after my parent's divorce - it was scary. Like, I don't know if we are going to have a place to live scary. How did I know this? Ah, woes at my feet from my mom because her husband at the time was a total tool. By the way; I had begged her not to marry him because I saw right through him. We will talk about men in a minute. My clothing came from hand me down church donations and our food came from the church food pantry. How embarrassing for a teenager to pull around to the back of the church every Sunday to load up on groceries for the week. Not only that, but since my mom met her husband at church, everyone knew that the reason we had no money was because he decided to by a horse that week. Aren't addicts hilarious? It was pretty much a decade before I could eat rotisserie chicken again after that era. When college stuff came around I actually had a scholarship to any school in Georgia, but I was in such a hurry to escape that I wanted to go out of state. That was one of the worst decisions I have ever made. I ended up costing myself $40,000 in student loan debt by the time I was done and daddy has had to share that burden with me. I can tell you that I would make the same mistake all over again if it was my only way to crawl out of poverty. It's because of this that I will hound you like an apocolyptic horseman to get an education and a real job with insurance. Never live a life that you cannot afford on your own. My theory on men is this: they are like a pair of diamond earrings. They are beautiful and should make you feel special, but your life should be just fine if you don't have them.

That brings me to my last thoughts which are on men. Please, please, please find someone like daddy. Seriously. Take a good long look and study how he treats me because that is what it should be like. Is it perfect? No. Do we always get along and treat each other like we should? No. Is it a miracle that I snagged him? Oh, yeah and I'll tell you why. So I guess by the time you read this you are going to see girls around you who constantly gravitate to garbage men. Not the occupation, the inner personality. Statistically I am supposed to be a poverty level single mother with multiple children by multiple fathers who is uneducated and has addiction problems. Obviously I chose another path for myself. I'll get to that at the end too. Thankfully, through all that insane growing up I payed attention and was able to decipher what I didn't want. In true mommy form I actually made a list. Daddy hit all of them but one. I was hoping I would marry a Christian man, but he's working on it and He's working on it, so I'll stay out of it. Some of the stuff was silly, like how I wanted someone who could physically pick me up (I dated some short guys) and the guy had to have more that four letters to his name, but most of it was real. I didn't want someone who called me names, or yelled at me. I didn't want someone who hit or intimidated me. I didn't want someone who made me cry. I wanted someone who was a good kisser and told me how much he loves me. These men are out there, you just have to be aware of the garbage men. If you aren't sure, ask daddy. He'll tell you if this one is a good guy or not. The toughest part is will you trust us. Remember, we will always be wiser than you until our dementia sets in.

Alright, I'll wrap this up because the rest you can just ask me about I guess. What I really want you to know is that I have never let my past be an excuse for my present. What that means is that I made a decision that I wanted what I thought was a cookie cutter life and I went out and got it. That cookie cutter is going to be a different shape for everyone, but you have to work hard for it. No one bought SAT books for me to study so I could get into a good college. No one researched colleges with me or filled out applications with me. No one told me how to get financial aid, but I figured it out. I decided I wanted to be a nurse, so I jumped schools, navigated downtown Atlanta (which I had been petrified of doing) and did what I needed to do to get where I needed to go. Once I graduated I had you and I have been heart set on being a ferociously good and conscientious  mother to you. I have a lot of junk stored up inside that I will have to rake through from time to time. Daddy knows all about me and loves me inside and out. Even the yucky parts. Because he is the real deal Holyfield, I will put my relationship with him first because I want to teach you about marriage too. My hope is that you won't have to find your guy blindly like I did. You will know what true love looks and feels like because you have known it all your life. My hope is that by reading this you will get me and love me that much deeper because you know me that much more. You are a wonderful and loving girl who I cherish and will always protect because you are my gracious gift. I hope that you someday understand that I worked hard to give you a happy childhood full of silly memories and a loving family. I think of my life before as early payment for my joy that I have now.