New year, same me

I don't necessarily believe in New Year's resolutions. I mean, I get wanting to improve yourself/be healthier/etc. That's fine. But why wait? Life doesn't reset when the year changes, all that is different is the calendar. I typically don't even bother making resolutions, plus, I hate exercise. This year I did decide to quit eating processed sugar/sweets for the month of January, but I'm not counting that as a resolution. I'm considering that a way to stop eating cookies every day of my life, nothing against cookies.

I am okay with being the same me I was in 2014 for all of 2015, minus a few hundred cookies. 2014 was good, it brought a lot of surprises. I started it with 3 kids, and my "baby" was 18 months old. Then life decided 3 kids was too easy, 3 kids wasn't a big enough challenge. In March I found out I was going to have a 4th kid, because clearly I had too much time on my hands with just the 3. I was apprehensive, because I have little sanity left at the end of the day, but things turned out okay. This guy is pretty cute, so that helps. He is also very serious when he's asleep. 

Even after 2014 brought me a surprise baby, I still can't be mad at it. This is pretty generous of 2014 after all, I didn't even ask it for anything, and I didn't give it anything in return. All I did was keep on going on through my life, trying and sometimes failing to do my best. Sometimes I just said Screw it! and quit things while I was ahead, but I'm okay with that. I can live with my choices.

I've never been someone who was inherently unhappy with who they are. I'm more of a I can't really change most things so its easier to accept them kind of person. I don't look at this as settling for things, I look at it as being realistic. I'm always going to be the same kind of person, no matter what the year on the calendar says. It doesn't matter what I weigh, what I wear, how many cookies I eat although I'm working on reducing that number, or where I am in life. I would rather just be happy being myself than anxiously waiting for January every year to try and change who I am. Or maybe I'm just too lazy to make resolutions. That's probably part of it. 

The Thin Line Between Love and Fake

***I've been trying to finish this post for over a week, but struggled because I didn't want the tone to be...off. Hopefully this came out the way I intended. 

The tricky thing about keeping it real is this: sometimes there are people who challenge that. It isn't humanly possible to like every single person ever even if you are the nicest person in the world. I mean, everyone probably likes me because I'm awesome, but I'm above average. I want to be nice to people, its not realistic to act like a catty high school girl and just be a total bitch to people because I find them annoying. But I don't want to be fake. Serious dilemma, right?

I'm struggling to find the balance between nice/friendly and fake. I can't be rude, cause I'm an adult and also my father's daughter so I can't help myself but talk to strangers and random people I meet, but I don't want to like have a big slumber party and braid each other's hair and tell them all my secrets. Do they make a card that says "Let's just be acquaintances"? Cause if not, I'm calling up Hallmark right now. 

There have been a couple of times in my life when I was friendly with someone, talked to them, even hung out with them, only to find out later that they didn't like me/talked crap about me. That made me weary, unsure of my friendships. What if none of the people who I called my friends were, in fact, my friends? What if they were just putting on a show, not brave enough to tell me what they really thought of me? Most of these incidents occured in high school, since that is the time in everyone's life when they're most unsure of who they are. Teenagers are immature to say the least, and some of them think that it takes putting others down to feel better about themselves. I don't want to be one of those people, but does that mean I can't laugh at the clueless lady who has her skirt tucked into her pantyhose?

There is a difference between talking about people when they're not there and talking crap about people who aren't there. But its a tricky one. I'd like to say that I never say anything that I wouldn't say to someone's face, but aren't we all guilty of saying not-so-nice stuff every once in awhile. That's where it gets into a gray area, can you be someone's friend if you occasionally voice your negative opinions about them? Of course you are going to have some negative opinions, but should you voice them?

I kind of, hesitantly, wonder what other people think of me. Do they think positive things? Or negative? Their opinions don't really impact how I'm going to live my life, but if someone doesn't like me and I consider them my friend, I'd kind of like to know. You know, so I can cease being their friend. Cause they don't actually like me.

I realized this morning that we are aware of how other people see us at such a young age. Today was crazy hair day at school, and Alana was scared. She didn't want her hair to be TOO CRAZY because even in kindergarten she is scared that people will laugh at her. I made her hair moderately crazy cause what I had planned was really crazy and took her to school. When she got out of the car she looked across the street, and because she did not immediately see anyone else with crazy hair she panicked a little. No one else has crazy hair! I'm gonna look stupid! She's 6, and she's worried about looking dumb. That's how early we start to care about other people's opinions. In freaking kindergarten.


I want to be friendly, and I will be, but the last thing I want to be is fake. At the same time, if disliking someone because I find them annoying even though I've never actually had a conversation with them is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

These Things I Do Daily

I don't know that I ever really knew who I was until I was a mother. Maybe its because it takes a good 25 years on this earth before you can really step back and be comfortable with being you, or maybe its because I never felt like I had a purpose. I went to work, came home, lived my life. But it all seemed like I was going through the motions. When people asked me where I wanted to go, who I wanted to be when I grew up, I had no answer.

I spent most of my childhood and teenage years overly concerned with those around me. I cared what they thought and I cared what they did. I developed personal opinions of what being cool was, what I had to do to accomplish it, and why I wasn't cool if I didn't own all name brand jeans. Do Tommy Hilfiger jeans make you cool? Cause $80 later I still felt the same. And that's $80 earned working at McDonald's for $5 an hour, those jeans should've made me the coolest person alive for that price. 

The first part of my life I wasn't unhappy, but I was never fulfilled. I always felt like something was missing, but it turns out it wasn't really something, it was someone. Three someones actually.

The first time I held Alana I felt suddenly at peace, as if my whole life until that point had built up to that moment. With my other hooligan children I felt like my family was now that much more complete, like I didn't even know what I was missing until right at that second when my life was forever altered by that one tiny person whose butt fit into my hand so perfectly.

Motherhood isn't perfect, but it helped me figure out what I wanted, which was apparently to live in a house ruled by tiny loud people who insist I feed and clothe them. Motherhood is sometimes sunshine and lollipops, and other times its temper tantrums which aren't always thrown by the children and tears. Its hugs and kisses and protests at bedtime, then a sense of relief that they're FINALLY ASLEEP, but a little pang of now I kind of miss them. Not enough to wake them up, but you know, just a little bit. Motherhood takes a lot out of you, but it gives back twice as much. Its the most exhausting job I've ever had, but it comes with cookies and small little people who give hugs so tight you feel like your heart might burst.

Everyday of my life is spent putting their needs before mine, getting up at sunrise because my little farmer boy is an early riser, making lunches for Alana because one time the school lunch burrito had green chiles in it and she's still mad, and countlessly reminding Ava that I don't respond to whining, even though Whinese is her first language, she's bilingual like that.

Motherhood isn't based on a grand gesture. I can't just show up once in awhile with some toys and a box of popsicles and expect that my children took care of themselves in my absence. Its an all day, every day thing. I can't clock out, I don't really get vacations. Being a mother is about what you do, day in and day out. Little things that shape your day, and your kid's day. Those days turn into weeks, that turn into months, that turn into years. Its what you do in that time that shows who you are to your children. If you are happy, and a hardworker, and patient, and kind, and loving, and that is what your children see from you day after day, then that is how they will remember you.

I'm not always happy. I'm certainly not always patient. But even when I've run out of patience and sanity for the day, I try to tell myself that I only want my children to be slightly dysfunctional, just enough to be funny you know? I want my kids to remember me for the mostly good things I do for them, instead of the moments when I feel like hiding in my closet and eating cookies. On good days I eat cookies out in the open, bad days make me less willing to share them. 

Daily things are the most accurate representation of who we are, anyone can be patient for one day, it takes a lot more effort to be patient ALL THE TIME. I'm unsure if its humanly possible at this point, but I keep trying, even though some nights I feel like I was less than kind at least half of the day. I vow to do better, but that doesn't always pan out. I keep on trucking along anyways, what choice do I have. I'm outnumbered by children, and frankly sometimes husbands are more like another giant child than anything else, not that I know anything about that from personal experience. I keep on going, every single day, because I want my kids to have a mother who is always there to help them, no matter what. They deserve that, plus someday I can make them do my laundry.

The act of mothering is in the daily routine, and in the love you show in small gestures. So I will bake cookies, fold laundry, braid hair, and wipe noses, its kind of my job and I take it seriously. Out of patience or not, I'm still the mommy around here, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Where I've Been and Where I'm Going

My dude learning to crawl in my house of boxes and laundry baskets.

By the time anyone reads this post I'll be long gone. Not like, dead or vanished or done with blogging, but moved on to a better place. Because, we are like grown ups and bought a house. I know right?

I've been keeping it on the down-low, I didn't want to jinx it. And I've been so busy packing up all of our crap and selling some of our other crap thanks to a Facebook page designed just for that purpose that I've hardly sat down at my computer for the last month.

We bought a cute little house just a couple miles from where we live now and are set to sign the papers today, but I'm scheduling this post for a few days from now so by the time this hits the internets I will be moved on up.

Its not a big or fancy house, but its cute and its all ours and I can do whatever the heck I want with it. And it has AC! Glorious AC, which will make me a nicer person in the summer, because hot and uncomfortable Jennifer is a real bitch. It also has some things I've been doing without for my entire adult life. Not necessary things, but nice modern convenience things that I will enjoy having. Like a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, and a fridge with an icemaker. I'm ready to throw out my ice cube trays and dish drainer, like now.

I haven't been unhappy in this house, its really the opposite actually. I brought my three babies home from the hospital to this house, 2 of them took their first steps in the same living room I'm sitting in right now. My dude is on the floor right now in this living room trying to learn to crawl, but since we're moving like, tomorrow, he will master that skill and walking in the new house. This house is full of happy memories, and there is a small part of me that will be nostalgic and sad to move on from it. Till summer with the air conditioning. I've just got to get some boxes and pack up those happy memories, there's plenty more to be made.

I've never been someone who sought out change. I was content living in a small house even though nosy people told me I should move. I have no problem with a small house, especially a cheap one. But then our landlord raised the rent, and we have no lease. Then he said in 6 months he was going to raise it more. That planted a seed of discontent. David and I both got restless, so we made big plans for our tax return and started shopping around. We first looked for rentals, because there was a part of me that didn't think we were grown up enough/had everything together enough to be homeowners. But rent in this town is a joke. Everything is overpriced or ghetto. You will pay more in rent than you would to own a house, so we did the grown up thing and bought something.

To say I love our new house (even though as I type this we haven't even slept there yet) is an understatement. Its a cute little bungalow built in the 20s, so vintage and cute! But, the inside is all brand new. With an awesome, nice, beautiful, bright kitchen. I cannot wait to cook it in and then use the dishwasher. There is only one bathroom, and the kids rooms are small. But those aren't dealbreakers. We only have one bathroom now and I can live with it. And did I mention that there is air conditioning? Cause I'm kind of hyped about that. Swamp coolers were invented by the devil.

David and I walked around the yard the other day mentally chopping down ugly bushes and a big stupid mesquite tree. We planned to do actual yardwork, a thing we haven't done since we moved here 9 years ago. It was real. We were happy to have a yard to do yardwork in, a chore I loathed as a child, probably partly because my dad likes to get it done at 4 am.

Of course it goes without saying that I will post pictures on here. We need to buy a new entertainment center first, we sold our old one and our TV is on the floor of our current living room. We've been living with cheap rent so long that we have nice furniture, I'm sure it will look even better in a nice house. I'm ready to live a box free life!

We All Retell the Same Story, Just on Different Days

I'm guilty of telling the same story over and over again. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that its hereditary. You even mention Andre the Giant to my dad and he will retell the same story I've heard all of my life. It involves Andre the Giant, a strip club shaped like a pirate ship, and body odor.

There are stories I've heard 1,000 times, but each story is unique to one person. Thanks to my dad's story I always think of him when I watch the Princess Bride, picturing Andre the Giant in a seedy bar instead of rescuing Princess Buttercup. 

My memories are linked together on a series of anecdotes, with tiny things setting them off. That's why everytime I open my fridge I can hear my grandpa yelling Get out of my fridge and trying to convince us all that he was big and scary, when really he is just loud. Another thing that runs in my family.

Anecdotes aren't the only thing that trigger things. Sometimes I'll eat vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup, just so I can remember what it was like to be a bored little girl at my little grandma's house, watching Unsolved Mysteries and secretly plotting how I would get more ice cream. She used to buy those ice cream cones with the names on them, even though they have not to this day updated them to fit modern culture, so while I licked my ice cream I was Martha or Jane or even Bob. Seriously ice cream cone people, update those already. Suggestions: Alana, Ava, Witten, Jennifer. Just a thought. When I think of taxidermy (which is a random enough subject) I always picture the creepy stuffed squirrel lamp my grandpa had (and probably still has). I'm still fairly sure that it came alive at night and went out foraging for nuts.

We're all lucky to hear our parent's and grandparent's stories. We're lucky to get to be a part of their lives, even if they aren't around forever. I'll still think of my dad when I watch the Princess Bride, or smell WD-40, even long after he is gone. Because everyone I know has made an impression on me throughout my life, whether they know it or not. Everyone I know has retold a story to me at least once, so that now my brain and heart automatically associate those things with that person, and sometimes out of the blue I'll be reminded of them. Sometimes I wonder if little things make people think of me, and if that thought is a good one or not. I hope they're all good things, because I'm sure my tales of how cute my kids are or Look at that thing over there I totally tripped on it one time! get old after awhile. Repetitious stories are a side effect of hanging out with me, you can learn to accept it or you can just pretend to listen.

Forever is Kind of a Long Time

Whenever I hear the news that a couple I know is getting divorced, I always ask the same question. Why? You can't ever really explain the why without the what when where when how. There may not even be a solid good, real reason for the divorce. They call that irreconcible differences. Whatever that means.

It's hard to know the motivation behind events that take place in someone else's relationship. Who knows what makes someone cheat or lie or drink or be abusive or just want out. We all wonder what big cataclysmic event caused a divorce, but it was more likely a chain of small happenings, that all added up, piled on to the huge mountain of resentment that accumulates in a marriage, and that crazy equation of dysfunction ended up equalling the end.

The truth is marriage is a funny relationship. It stands alone in that it takes more work, and its not necessarily unconditional. With your children, you always love them no matter what. You can easily overlook their flaws, cause you made them and their cuteness typically helps. With family, you didn't pick them, but you're essentially stuck with them. You can't divorce your parents or siblings, but you don't have to live with them either. No matter what your parents are your parents, your siblings are your siblings, and your family is your family.

The only relationship you can reverse is marriage. It doesn't have to be a unanimous decision. Not everyone is always on board. Both parties can be at fault or one party can be at fault. One day your spouse can just say Hey I'm sick of this let's call it quits and what are you gonna do? There's no going back from that.

You can put everything you have into something, but there's still no guarantee you're gonna get anything out of it. That's the risk of love, you don't get your money back.

In spite of the risk I'm still willing to be a wife, cause this is the only functional relationship I've ever been in. I got married cause it offers stability. Its a contract that I will pick up David's shoes off the floor and begrudgingly pretend to care about the Cowboys if he will put up with my occasional moodiness. That's the only flaw I could think of, otherwise I'm just peaches to live with. Marriage to me is work, but that work means I don't have to worry that one day it will just end, cause I don't really care for breakups. They're terrible. They suck. They bite. I got married to avoid them for the rest of my life.

In some cases divorce is probably the healthier option. Kids shouldn't be around excessive amounts of dysfunction, medium is probably their limit in order to not end up on Intervention. That is my main goal as a parent, just to keep my kids from being so screwed up by my actions that they end up as some crackhead who can't deal with their feelings and goes on TV all crazy. If I achieve nothing else in life, I will still consider myself a success if I can do that one thing.

My Uterus is the Boss

I did not plan on getting pregnant with Alana. She was a surprise. A surprise I love, but a surprise nonetheless. I liked my surprise so much I decided I needed another one. Not so much a surprise, but an invited guest.

When I did plan on getting pregnant, I had a miscarriage. So much for planning. I set myself for heartache. For disappointment. I tried to purposely plan something that's not a sure thing, and I paid a price for it. That's all trying to have a baby is. A game of luck. You have to put yourself out there, set yourself up for failure. Every month is a chance. It could go your way, but you never know. You plan. Then you wait. You wait for an answer. Some lines. Or a monthly visitor to tell you what the next nine months of your life is going to be like.

Waiting is killer. Every minute can take forever. It's ironic that we spend so much of our lives trying to prevent pregnancy, then when we try to achieve it it seems impossible.

I'm still on the fence about a third baby. I don't know if I want to have to try again. Keep track of things. Try to plan. Set myself up for disappointment. I know it's worth it, but I'm undecided. That's why I've decided to wing it. Leave it up to fate. If it happens, hooray. If not, oh well, it wasn't meant to be.

Fate can be cruel, but so can contractions. I'm not putting all my eggs in one basket. Literally.

I'm gonna leave it up to my uterus. It can decide. It might want to flip a coin, play paper-rock-scissors with my fallopian tubes, see what's in the stars, whatever. It's a big part of baby making, so whatever it decides is good.

But there's one condition. I'm giving it a time constraint. It has approximately one year-ish to make up it's mind. After that, I'm done. I will faithfully take my annoying birth control forever after that. Now I just have to wait and see what's in the cards for me. I tell myself it's okay either way, but a tiny part of me will be disappointed if I don't have one more baby. Part of me is gung-ho, team baby. The part that didn't just yell at Alana for kicking a ball in the house. That part of me wants another little monster. The rest of me is good either way.

The team baby part wouldn't mind doing this again.

Weighing In

Yesterday my kids both had an appointment where they got weighed, and I was surprised at how much they've both grown. Alana is 41 inches tall, 37 lbs. Little chubster Ava is 30 inches tall, 25 lbs. When did they grow? It had to have been when I was asleep, maybe even on Thursday night before the appointment. They definitely weren't that big the day before.

Before they stepped on the scale I was asked how much each girl weighed when they were born. At that moment my mind was like a virtual magna-doodle, and someone took the little lever and wiped it clean. I drew a complete blank. It's not exactly a question I get asked everyday, then add in the heat and my starvation at that moment. Those components all equal mind freeze.

I tried to remember. Alana was......she was 7 lbs....7 lbs 4oz?......7 lbs 11oz?....no, it was definitely 7 lbs 9oz. In hindsight this is the correct number, but it took me forever to think of it. Then came Ava, my baby. Her birth was less than 2 years ago, I should be able to remember. Ava was.....7 lbs.....7 lbs....7 lbs....4oz. Yeah. That sounds okay. 7 lbs 4 oz. We'll go with that. She deemed this an acceptable answer, but later I remembered that Ava was actually 7 lbs 2 oz. Does any of this really matter at this point in time? What does their birth weight, if it was normal, have to do with anything today?

I want my kids to be a healthy weight, but I don't want it to be the focus of their lives. I feel like teaching them healthy eating habits, and occasionally intervening on Ava's potato chip addiction, should be more of a central focus than concentrating on one number.

Everyone can be so obsessed with weight, even letting it rule their lives. I can remember focusing on my weight as a teenager. Not eating disorder obsessed, but I took pride in being thin. And thin I was. I didn't even reach 100 lbs till mid-tenth grade. That's probably when I reached my full height of 5' 7". I clearly remember stepping on the scale in ninth grade, and being happy when the nurse had to move the weight on the scale below 100 lbs, to accomodate my 95 lbs.

In high school being skinny was like an accomplishment, even if I did nothing to get that way. Even as a skinny skinny teenager, I still found things to complain about. Narrow hips = no hourglass figure, which then = no butt and looking like a boy in a bathing suit. My hipbones actually stuck out on the sides so they could look like love handles in the wrong pants, and even though there wasn't an ounce of fat on my body I still found imperfections. Surprisingly enough I never complained about my small chest, because boobs are nothing but trouble.

Despite being able to find imperfections, I still managed to maintain a healthy body image. Skinny was all I aspired to be, and I couldn't really complain about my lack of cellulite. Still can't.

I stayed okay with my weight, even adding a few pounds post-high school, until I got pregnant with Alana. When I got pregnant I was 24, and 125 lbs, which is at the lower end of the healthy weight spectrum for me. Even though being skinny had always been effortless for me, I suddenly found myself petrified of gaining weight. I was deadset on only gaining the minimum. For at least two months I counted calories. After I realized I never even came close to 2,000 a day, I actually started eating a little more. It's amazing what never drinking soda does for you, and I haven't drank soda since I was a teenager.

I eventually loosened up about eating, and at the end I was proud to have gained exactly 25 lbs. But then I came home from the hospital. That was the part nobody warned me about. The even though I gained no extra weight and had a 7 1/2 lb baby, I still kind of looked pregnant because my hips had widened slightly at the end and my uterus wasn't it's normal size. That part was hard for me to deal with. Well, that and the stretch marks that ruined my beautiful stomach.

You can't exactly come home from the hospital and start doing crunches. You have to let your body heal. And you can't exactly go on a diet when you're breastfeeding, you're fricking starving all the time and suddenly there's way more room in there without a baby taking up all the space.

Within a couple of weeks I could wear my regular clothes again, and I lost all my weight pretty quickly. But my stomach will never look the same. If I end up with a third baby, I'm buying some spanx!

Even with a moderately healthy body image, I've still obsessed about my weight. Even now, at 120 lbs, sometimes I don't care for my reflection in the mirror. Those are usually the times that I've eaten a dozen cookies in one day. Or half a loaf of zucchini bread. But it's nothing a spanx tank top can't fix. And a trip to Walmart for some perspective on what overweight people really look like. Thanks random people at Walmart who could probably use some cardio. I'm not judging though, do whatever you want!

All I want to instill in my kids is an acceptance of who they are. Beauty isn't always the same thing. Weight is just a number, it shouldn't define you. I'm fairly sure Alana is secure in who she is, and pretty confident about her appearance. I'm sure because she tells me she looks pretty. Ava is still a baby, but that doesn't stop her from fishing for compliments. She likes to go into her room, put on some high-heeled dress-up shoes and a random piece of jewelry, then come out into the living room so we can all tell her how nice she looks. Then her face lights up, because of course she agrees.

Conflict of Interest

My head and heart are engaged in a heated internal debate. They are fighting with each other, no end in sight, over whether one more kid is a good idea.

My head says Hey lady, you remember how Ava acted at the grocery store yesterday? She won't ride in the cart, she's too heavy to carry around and push the cart, and she wants to run around everywhere like a crazy woman. You wanna do that again? I don't think so!

My heart says But look at your two ladies, they're so cute! And they are so well-behaved!

My head responds Well-behaved? Whose kids are you looking at? They might be nice now, but take Ava out in public, she's a houligan!

My heart says You can't even watch a little baby on TV without gushing over it's cuteness! And you just got a brand new fancy camera, it would be outright wasteful to not use it to take pictures of a newborn baby.

My head weighs in with Do you really want to buy diapers for another two years of your life? And nurse another baby, who considers your boobs their personal property?

My heart is waiting with Look at Ava's feet. They're hardly baby feet anymore. They're chubby toddler feet, with chipped purple nail polish and bonafide dirt on them. Remember how much you love baby feet, then give me an answer. Don't forget how much you also love baby hands, baby necks, baby smell. The way they nestle their little heads into your chest to go to sleep. The way they sleep everywhere, in any position, when they're brand new. And they're so soft!

My head says Isn't it annoying eating with one hand? Wouldn't you prefer it if no one fished around in your drink for a piece of ice when you're at a restaurant? Remember how much of a handful Ava was at Disneyland? She threw up on the way there, and back. She wouldn't ride in a stroller, a leash proved ineffective. Wouldn't it be nice if when she gets through that phase you never had another headstrong 18 month old to deal with? Don't you want to be able to go on vacation on a regular basis while your girls are kids? Only having two kids makes that a whole lot more doable.

My heart doesn't listen. It says You know you like being pregnant. You don't have to share that little baby, you get to feel their kicks and have a constant reminder of them for 9 months. Plus you never have to suck in your stomach!

My head says Then as soon as you give birth you feel pressure to be skinny again. You need to wear your regular jeans again, have a flat stomach again, weigh 125 lbs again. Nobody warned you about that the first time, or the rock hard boobs for that matter. Don't forget about the stitches. Ouch!

My heart says No matter what your head says, can you live with yourself if you only have two kids? Sure you can always hold another baby, but that's not the same. You can't go back in time to have one more kid.

My head says You already have two healthy kids. Be happy with what you have. It's much easier to provide for two kids than three. You don't have room in your car or house or dresser for anymore people. Just be grateful for your girls.

My heart and my head will not agree. It's a standoff. My head is practical, but it's not really the boss around here. I am a woman after all, and my heart and hormones are usually in charge. My head is winning the debate right now, but Ava is helping it make that decision. God forbid she start behaving, then I'm in trouble. The odds of that happening are pretty slim though.

Piece of Cake

Today I borrowed a baby. My kids were off to eat pizza with my dad, while my niece and I stayed at my house, slightly bored out of our minds. While I absorbed the insane quiet of my house, I momentarily remembered what it was like to only have one kid.

I suffer from Mommy amnesia, where the time before I had two kids is vague and blurry. I can't remember what its like to not have someone asking me to get them a bowl of cereal, or change the channel to cartoons, or grunt and point in Ava's case, or ask for their iPod. The time when Alana was a baby and my life was quieter and calmer seems like a distant memory.

My current life is all my brain can comprehend. The past or future don't seem to matter to me, all that exists is the two kid lifestyle I currently occupy.

When Alana was a baby my entire day revolved around keeping her entertained. It was just her and me at home, watching Little Einsteins and playing. Since we added Ava to the mix, and I have two kids who love to play together, I spend way less time entertaining children. Ava is a low maintenance woman most days, and she plays barbies with Alana in a mostly peaceful way, with the exception of some hair pulling incidents.

Sitting at home with just one baby, who doesn't ask to watch cartoons and just rolls around on the floor laughing all afternoon, I find myself wondering what to do with the day. No one is demanding anything of me, and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm free to watch 4 episodes of Sex and the City back to back, and no one has objected so far.

The time when you only have one kid is so carefree and quiet, compared to when you double it and go for two. I wish I had taken more time to enjoy myself when Alana was a baby, instead of hurrying to the next step. She was such a good baby and she's always been so sweet, I'm just grateful for her and her constant hugs and I love you Mommy!s. Life is different when you upgrade to two kids, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if Ava is a hair puller, she's so cute I forgive her.


Alana was pretty excited to get a new sister



Brinley, my companion for the day

Remember When

Alana loves to reminisce. She dreams of a simpler time, before she was four, when life didn't seem so complicated. Her memories don't date back far, after all, she's only four, but sometimes I'm surprised at what she remembers.

Remember when I held the hamster at Aunt Dole's when I wasn't 'posed to and then Aunt Dole made me wash my hands and I said I hate you and you were sad?

Remember when I used to watch Ratatouille every day?

Remember when Ava was a brand new baby and she was nice?

Remember when Jayden and I were fighting over that one toy?

Remember when I used to want to go outside in the back room everyday to blow bubbles?

Remember when we had our dog Daisy and then you didn't want a dog anymore cause you were tired of cleaning up after her?

Remember when we went to Disneyland all those times and I met the princesses and gave them hugs?

Remember when I said I wanted the candy with sour cream in it and you knew what I was talking about but Daddy was confused?

I do remember almost all of these things. I remember her as a chubby little baby with crazy curly hair, but the older she gets the harder it is for me to remember what it was like when she was brand new, even when she was as small as Ava.

My kids love to watch home movies, and I always sit there with a hopelessly nostalgic feeling as I watch a cute two year old Alana hold brand new Ava. I see Alana, then Ava, learn to crawl, then stand, then walk. I listen to Alana talk like a toddler, then grow a little bit sad with every word that she now pronounces correctly. No more fooies, instead of fairies. No more yucky charms, instead of Lucky Charms. Bye bye yittle, hello little.

The baby in our children sometimes fades so suddenly that before we realize what's going on it has vanished. Its nowhere to be found. You can check under the bed and in the closet, but the only place you're going to find it is in old pictures. It seems surreal that 30 pound Alana was once a seven pound baby that was in my stomach. It seems crazy that one year ago Ava couldn't sit up on her own, crawl, stand or walk. Now she's a force to be reckoned with. A stubbornly independent 17 month old who feeds herself and dances along to any music on TV.

I'll try to remember when, but I'm getting old and my mind is a little fuzzy sometimes. Luckily I have photos to help refresh my memory. I swear I just took these pictures yesterday.

Also, for the record: I did not put those ugly socks on Alana in the above picture. And candy with sour cream in it is York Peppermint Patties.

The Possibility of If

I spent my weekend in a limbo of If and When. I had weird suspicions that there was a possibility that I was pregnant. I'm not, confirmed by my doctor. Let's just get that out of the way right now. My mind was busy pondering possible scenarios that would happen if I had a third baby right now. If I was pregnant right now, I would be due in September. If I was due in September I'd have a long, hot summer ahead of me. If it was a long, hot summer I'd need to go to the pool A LOT. If I was having another baby I will get less sleep. If Ava's not potty trained before then we'll have to buy diapers for two kids at a time again, which is dreaded and expensive.

I was very distracted all weekend. Then we got our W2, so I filed our taxes. Yay! What I spend tax money on would be partially determined by a potential unborn baby. If I'm having another baby, I'm gonna have to buy a new carseat, since I was pretty quick to sell the last one. What if it's a boy? I have no boy things, I'd be so unprepared! Boys are gross. What if he pees on me? And lets face it, he probably would.

We had a Disneyland if while waiting to file taxes. If we get enough money back, we are going to Disneyland again! We are getting plenty, we are going. Yay! Now I just have to wait the ridiculous amount of time till we get the money, since the IRS doesn't accept returns till the 14th, so even though I efiled we don't get our return till the 28th. That seems like forever. What if they don't accept them because I made a dumb mistake, then we have to refile and wait longer? I may have put my own last name wrong on a return a couple of years ago. Its all speculation though, nothing can be proven.

There were too many ifs to consider while watching the news Saturday. There was a huge shooting in Tucson, where a Congresswoman that I like and support was shot, and several other people were killed and injured, including a nine year old girl. Too many ifs surrounded this event. It hit so close to home. I lived in Tucson the first half of my life, and now I only live about 40 miles away. What if I had gone to this event? I've always wanted to meet her, and she holds small public events like this frequently. What if someone else I knew had been there, even just as bystander, going to the grocery store or something? Seeing a tragedy like this on a familiar backdrop, somewhere I would normally consider a safe place, really stuck with me.

Of all the ifs and whens of my weekend, I'm glad they're mostly all gone. I know things with certainty right now. I know there is no baby in my immediate future, and although I was slightly relieved, I was also disappointed. Its a pain to try to get pregnant, it would've been kind of nice to do it without the extra work and planning. I know the awesomely large amount of our tax return. I'd like to thank my children, because although they cost lots of money the whole year through, they are an awesome deduction. I know when and if we're going to Disneyland, and I'm excited. I love me some Mickey Mouse. I know everyone that I know and care about is safe, for now.

Be You.

Sometimes we try to change ourselves to fit in. We conform to what everyone else expects of us. We don't think outside of the box, but try to modify ourselves to fit into it, even if its cramped and we don't have enough leg room.

I can't say I've never done something just because everyone else was doing it. Hello, seventh grade, where I carried a hairpick and CoverGirl compact around in my back pocket for the whole year. I also liked New Kids on the Block just because everyone else did, and all that ever got me was sleeping on NKOTB bed sheets with a Jordan Knight poster above my bed.

Once we grow and discover more about who we are it gets easier to be ourselves. Peer pressure is a distant memory. Wondering about what you will wear to school tomorrow becomes less of a priority. No one tries to convince you to smoke a cigarette, against your better judgment. You can be yourself. Worry free.

On occasion, people have tried to convince Alana to do things their way. Color inside the lines. Copy the picture on the front of the box. Match your clothes to each other. Comb your hair. But that's not what's in the cards for my little freespirit. If she wants to wear pink shorts and a pink shirt, why should anyone stop her? If she wants to color all of the fairies in her coloring book purple, why can't she? Who made the rule that fairies can't be purple? And most importantly, why should she copy the picture on the front of the box? If she is going to be a free and independent thinker, then she should be allowed to make her own choices. Within reason of course.

We should all be encouraged to be ourselves. If Alana wants to wear silver dress shoes and green Saturday socks, then that's her choice. I'm her mommy, not her stylist. If making Lotso and Baby Jesus play together is what makes her happy, then more power to her. Who says they're not friends?

I want my kids to be happy, and I want them to make their own decisions when they grow up, without questioning who they are. Character, creativity and independent thinking are important, so don't try to squash them. So when Alana says she wants to go into the TV to meet Ye-Ye, Ni-Hao Kailan's grandpa, I say Go for it. Let me know how that works out for you.

I Have a Way with Words.

I just finished a discussion post for my online psychology class. There's a light at the end of the tunnel for this semester and I couldn't be happier! As I was reading through other student's posts, I had a sudden realization. Ok I realized it a long time ago, but today it was even clearer. Some people cannot write to save their life. Literally. If the fate of the free world depended on them writing one legible and thoughtful and God forbid original discussion post, we'd all be doomed.

It made me think how grateful I am to at least have decent writing skills. So I thought I'd share something I just threw together with all of you. Prepare to be amazed.

Pardon me for being rude.

It was not me, it was my food.

It just came up to say hello,

and now its gone, back down below.

Ok, so maybe I didn't write that. It might be from one of the most awesome movies ever. Can anyone guess? Fine I'll tell you. The cinematic masterpiece is: Austin Powers. Mike Myers really has a way with the ladies.

I know I'm not on the brink of writing the Next Great American Novel, but I do okay. I payed attention in high school English people. Maybe instead of napping and passing notes, a few other people should've been taking notes and actually reading the required books. And I slacked off in high school. I ditched my fair share of classes, maybe even passed a note or two. But I still managed to learn something.

Maybe I'm being too critical. After all, its a community college class. But come on people! How are any of them getting a decent grade? I guess we can't all be talented and awesome writers. And modest.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

As children we're taught to tell the truth. Then when we grow up we teach our children the same thing. Don't lie. Be honest. Always tell the truth. You know. But if we're being honest with ourselves, we're all liars.

If someone asks you if these pants make their butt look big, and they do, it looks huge, what do you say? Yes in fact your butt looks ginormous. No. You lie. You look fine. Great. Spectacular.

When children ask you about the existence of Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny? You lie through your teeth. Santa Claus will only bring you presents if you're a good girl. He will fly here in his magical sleigh with his flying reindeer and slide down the chimney and eat the cookies and milk you left for him and leave you lots of presents that didn't cost your parents any money. Santa breaks the bank around here. He's pretty generous. But he will definitely eat the cookies and milk. The Tooth Fairy will leave you money under your pillow if you leave your rotten baby tooth for her. As long as mommy remembers to get cash out, or the Tooth Fairy might be writing a check. The Easter Bunny will leave you a basket of candy just for the heck of it. That's what Easter's about right? A basket full of candy and hidden eggs.

When the beloved family pet dies? Fluffy went to live on a farm in the country. He'll be happier there. There's lots of fields to run around on and horses to chase. What do the people who live on farms in the country tell their kids when a pet dies?
When someone asks if you liked the present they bought for you, even though you didn't? Sure. It was great. I loved it. I always wanted a Snuggie/ChiaPet/stinky scented lotion that gives me a rash. Awesome. We lie to spare people's feelings. Then you return it for store credit. At least I do.

When invited to go somewhere we really don't want to go? We invent an excuse. I have a dr. appointment. I have to wash my hair. I can't go out after dark. I'm not feeling well. People rarely say I don't want to. It feels like we're sparing someone's feelings by giving what we consider a more acceptable excuse.

Sometimes we lie because we think its better. We don't want to hurt someone's feelings, we want our kids to believe in impossible magic, we don't want to be rude, we are scared to tell the truth.

Eventually if we keep lying to people they might not believe anything we say. People will only believe lies for so long. If you say you're going to do something ten times and you never do, then no one will believe you anymore. Keep crying wolf and someday that wolf is really going to appear and everyone will downplay its arrival, because you said it got here a long time ago.

Are we wrong to tell our kids to believe in Santa, cause its a lie? Or should we keep telling them things to try and extend the short period of time where they believe everything we say? I would rather believe that a fat man in a red suit comes to my house on Christmas Eve and eats the cookies and leaves presents than believe that everyone I know has been lying to me my whole life.

Being a Parent is Scary

The day I brought Alana home from the hospital I had a sudden realization: I was now responsible for her safety and well being. Crap! At the hospital, with nurses helping me and people bringing me all my meals reality hadn't quite set in. It was easy to overlook the fact that I was now a parent. I was hopelessly in love but so naive. Once I got home and settled in it hit me. Like a ton of dirty diapers.

Its not just the parenting part that seemed scary. The growing up part wasn't looking that appealing either. I had to now put someone else's needs ahead of mine. I found myself wondering Who's idea was this anyway? Oh that's right, nobody's. Alana was a surprise. But I liked her so much I had a second one on purpose.

Slowly but surely I found my footing in parenthood. I eventually started to wash my hair again. Alana eventually, at like age two, slept through the night.

When we decided to have a second baby it wasn't without its hardships. I got pregnant right away but had a miscarriage just as quickly. Every month until I got pregnant again was like torture. The very sight of a pregnant woman or brand new baby made me want to curl up in a ball and cry. I even did a couple of times.

Once I was pregnant with Ava I learned that parenting isn't the only scary part, pregnancy is too. I was hesitant to tell anyone I was pregnant, I didn't want to jinx myself. After a few terrifying months of me waiting it out, worrying and trying but failing to not get too attached to the baby I was carrying, we finally told people.

Then it came time to find out the gender. David thought it was a boy. I was hoping for a girl. The ultrasound tech announced the gender, but left the room to get the doctor. They were mildly concerned at the presence of what they called soft markers for possible birth defects. They said it was probably nothing. Don't get too worried. Just wait for the results of your blood test.

Once you implant the possibility of something in my head its not going anywhere. Its like a seed, its just gonna grow. Everyday I waited my imagination just ran wild with possibilities. I wondered if something was wrong with her. I couldn't even look at the ultrasound pictures without crying. When the results came back that she was healthy I was more relieved than I'd ever been in my life.

I savored every minute of being pregnant with Ava after that. I welcomed the heartburn and feet in my ribcage. I loved my belly. I was just grateful to have her.

When she was born I was so happy and in love again. A new baby to love and kiss. You really forget how small they start out because they grow so quickly. I decided the first time I held Ava that I wanted a third. No hurry, I'm just not done having babies quite yet. If I hadn't lost one baby I wouldn't have Ava. She is the prize for my patience.

With two kids comes more work. More laundry. Increased need for multi-tasking skills. More laundry. Did I mention that already. One extra hand to hold at the store. Two kids in my grocery cart, asking for popsicles. And more worries.

The worries I had when they were tiny have evolved. I still watch their chests rise and fall when they sleep, but the constant fear of SIDS that followed me home from the hospital has faded. Now I just want them to be happy and safe, but I can't protect them forever. Someday they'll go off on their own and I can't catch them when they fall. Can't run to your mommy your whole life.

As scary as childhood is, with skinned knees, kindergarten and the occasional fever, the eventual impending teenage years leave me mortified. I know they're a long ways out, but the way time passes when you're a parent they may as well be tomorrow. Teenagers are like wild animals. They can be trained to perform tricks, but they're never completely tamed. They can turn on you when you least expect it.

The what-ifs of the teenage years terrify me. What if there's a car accident? What if that boy breaks her heart? What if he doesn't? What if she gets bullied? What if she gets pregnant? What if she hates me? What if she wants to go to college far away? What will I do when she grows up and moves away? What if she hangs out with the wrong people? What if she smokes? What if she does drugs or drinks? What if she doesn't listen to anything I've taught her?

Those things are all a possibility. They could happen. They might. They might not. What is entirely possible and probable is that I will make parenting mistakes. I will run short on patience. I might be grouchy sometimes. I don't always feel like having a tea party. I'm getting kind of sick of watching Toy Story 3. I might grumble under my breath about my mother-in-law in front of them. I don't always brush their teeth before bed. Sometimes we have cookies for breakfast, oatmeal of course. I might let Ava fall off the couch because she refuses to sit and wants to run around on it instead. I'm just hoping for beautiful, smart, funny, happy, successful, well-adjusted adults in the end. Is that too much to ask for? That's what my parents ended up with, right?

I'm equal parts scared and hopeful for the future, but I'm more of a live in the moment kind of girl most of the time, so I think I'll be okay. The hardest parts aren't necessarily behind me. There's a long road, it might be winding and it might have a few curves, but hopefully there won't be anything I can't handle. Unless I have a boy next. Then I'm screwed.

Don't Kid Yourself

When I first got pregnant with Alana I didn't know how much my life would change. I thought it would be mostly the same, just with a baby. I thought I could stay cool. I was so naive.

Once you become a parent everything in your life is different.

Enjoy going to the movies? Get ready to see every animated movie ever. The last movie I saw was Jackass 3D. I do realize that's not a kids movie. But before that we saw at least five kids movies in a row. Shrek 4, Toy Story 3, The Squeakquel, How to Train Your Dragon, Despicable Me. No live action movies for us.

Enjoy privacy? Sorry. A little person, then maybe even two, will be chaperoning your trips to the bathroom from now on. At home and in public. Sometimes, just for kicks, they'll try to open the stall door before you pull up your pants. Hilarious when it happens to someone else, not amusing when it happens to me. Potty breaks aren't the only time they'll join you either. Everytime I take a bath Ava joins me. My relaxing bath is full of floating fish and crab bath toys.

Think you'll still be cool? Seriously, no matter how cool you dress or act you slowly lose cool points each year you're a parent. You will know all the songs to all the cartoons, so that you find yourself singing them when your kids aren't even awake. You will play hide-and-seek with a four year old who's not that great at hiding, then fall down in your hiding place. That may have happened to me today. You will cut stuff out of construction paper. You will blow on food in public to cool it down. Still unsure whether that even really works. You will have Cheeto handprints on your pants, when you don't even eat Cheetos.

Even if you think you can maintain a shred of your coolness, you're wrong. Its easy to be cool to your toddler or pre-schooler. They think you're awesome no matter what. But when that kid gets older, they will roll their eyes at stuff you say. They will wonder What is she wearing? They will criticize your cooking/hair/music/clothes/driving/grammar/taste in everything. They will be embarassed by you. Its really a losing battle. May as well get out the mom jeans and start wearing sweaters decorated for the season. You know, the ones with Christmas trees and Santa Claus on them.

You will even start to question whether or not you were actually cool to begin with. You look at old pictures and think What is with my hair? That shirt is so ugly. You will rethink your actions. Maybe cutting stuff out of construction paper is cool. Going to see every cartoon at the theater is fun. But I enjoy shopping at Toys-R-Us. Macaroni and cheese isn't that bad. (I actually hate macaroni and cheese). Spongebob isn't that annoying, I could sit through another episode. Going to Disneyland every year for vacation is fun!

As you slowly lose your coolness you don't even realize it. Its a gradual transition. Moms with young kids and babies usually still look stylish. They put some effort into their appearance. Dress with current trends. But in some cases style doesn't evolve over the years. By the time your kids are in high school you're so out of touch with what's in style you're ready to be nominated for What Not to Wear. You still wear the same clothes you did ten years ago, with no concern for the fact that they are majorly outdated. Shoulder pads are cool, right?

By the time you've been a mom for awhile everything is so different you won't even remember what is was like before you had little people ruling your home with an iron fist. You will no longer even be concerned with coolness. Its a foreign concept to you. Till oneday your teenager comes out of their room and you think What are you wearing? And what's with your hair? And that music you listen to? Horrible.

I'm a Bad Friend

Sometimes I find myself wondering why I don't have tons of friends. Its not that I don't have any friends. I have lots of friends that I never see. Its just that I'm kind of a bad friend.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a horrible-stab-you-in-the-back borrow-your-clothes-and-never-return-them talk-crap-about-you just-be-a-horrible-person-in-general kind of friend. Its just that I make absolutely no effort to stay in touch with people. I don't write. I don't call. I don't send flowers. 

I am, in general, a lazy friend. I never call people and say Hey whats up lets go somewhere! I just don't. That would require effort. So when I'm sitting at home doing my homework by myself wondering why I never go anywhere with anyone besides David or my kids, there's my answer.

In school I was always a one-friend kind of girl. Seriously people. One friend. Kindergarten. One friend. Camille Somethingoranother. First grade. Jennifer Whatsherface. Second grade. My cousin Rhonda. Third grade. Stephanie Icantremember. Fourth grade. Still Stephanie Icantremember. Fifth grade. Joelle Someoneicouldntpickoutofalineup. You get the picture.

Then I moved to St. David in seventh grade. Once again, no friends. The only person who talked to me for weeks was my stepsister Melissa.  Before school, I sat with Melissa. At lunch, I sat with Melissa. After school, I got on the bus with Melissa. That was pretty much it. Then she made a friend. I was left alone.

Eighth grade rolled around and I was still relatively friendless. Finally there was a new student, who wasn't so new but had been homeschooled so everyone else knew her. Yay for me! I had a friend! Yay for Krystal Whoslastnameicanrememberbutwontdisclose!

Around high school my one-friendedness translated to something different. I would have a boyfriend and only hang out with him. I'd ditch everyone else to spend every moment with just one person. Then when that was over, cause lets face it high school relationships are mostly temporary, I'd have no one to talk to. Then I'd have to crawl back to any friends I still had left.

Its not that I didn't want to have a big group of friends, but in high school I was still a little shy and not really that sure of myself. The idea of talking to someone I didn't know that well was foreign to me. It wasn't gonna happen. Not in a million years.

Once I grew up a little bit and entered the real world of working, I made some friends. They were partly friends of convenience, because I saw them everyday. When I saw them everyday I could then make plans to do stuff outside of work. No additional effort required. I made good friends just from my crappy job at Wendy's. I can thank the high turnover rate for that, since there were always new people coming in.

Now I stay at home full time. I'm in friend limbo. I have friends, but I don't ever call them. I do chat on Facebook, but that doesn't really count as real adult conversation if I have to stop to wipe someone's butt. I don't really meet anyone new. Where would I meet them? My living room? I'm just lazy. And kind of a bad friend.

Under-appreciated

Sometimes I can be a bit of a complainer. I know, its hard to believe. Me, of all people. I'm constantly whining these days about being unappreciated.

No one else ever does the dishes. Why do I always have to do this? I just sat down and now you say you want a pickle! You know, your clothes don't just magically appear in the dresser, clean and folded. There is no such thing as a laundry fairy, someone has to take time out of their day to match your socks. Can't anyone else ever wash the car? I just vacuumed!

My list of complaints is long and household chore based. Its the plight of a stay-at-home mom. I do all the chores, no one says thanks. David has occasionally used the weak excuse of I go to work. What does he think I do here all day? I don't watch TV, all my time is spent working. And when I had a full-time job, guess who did all the housework? If you guessed me, you win! Your price is a virtual pat on the back.

Even with all of my complaining, I'm still gonna do the cooking and cleaning. Its what I do. Someone has to clean the house and cook the meals. I don't do convenience food and we rarely eat out. My house needs to be cleaned because well, its gross otherwise.

I find myself complaining about being under-appreciated. But when I step back and think about it, do I appreciate everything that everyone does for me?

Last night I was the middle of a mommy-sandwich. It was quite warm and snuggly. As I layed there sandwiched between my two dark-haired ladies, I started to wonder if I really appreciate them.

Do I appreciate the kisses and hugs? Do I appreciate that right now Ava wants me to read to her, but someday she will be able to read for herself, so I should treasure the way she is right now. Do I appreciate Alana saying I love you Mommy! at least twenty times a day? Do I appreciate their big brown eyes and ridiculously long eyelashes, looking at me all day long? I'm not sure I do.

Someday they'll grow up and go to school, and I'll be left alone to really accomplish things, like I claim to want to do now. With all the time I have to accomplish things, I will be missing out on other stuff I take for granted right now. Kisses and hugs, reading books and watching cartoons, Ava wanting me to hold her all day long, hearing Alana's sweet little voice say Mommy, you want to play with me? Actually Alana, I think I do.

For now I guess I'll try to be less concerned with how much I'm appreciated, and try to appreciate everyone else a little more. Then when they're older, they can do the housework. Problem solved.

The Last Birthday Card I'll Ever Get

This past week my Little Grandma passed away. 

Even though she's gone I still continue to receive correspondence from her.

She had just turned 80 in February. You're only as young as you feel inside though. When she turned 80 my family had a big birthday party for her, just like they did when she turned 70 and 75.

I didn't get to go. I had planned on it, but it was the night before we were going to Disneyland and Alana threw up. Once your kid pukes, you usually cancel all plans immediately following, so as not to be vomited on in public.

I had guilt at the time for not going to her party. If the roles were reversed she would've come to any party for me. But with time that guilt faded. A little. Till yesterday.

While going through my grandma's stuff my mom found a card that she had for me. My birthday is only a few days after her's, so she had gotten me a birthday card. She couldn't drive herself around anymore and she had an oxygen tank that went with her everywhere, yet she had taken the time to pick out a card for me and take it with her to her birthday party because she thought she would see me there. Then I didn't show up.

Now I have this card that she picked out for me and bought and signed, and she didn't even get to give it to me in person. The card is pink and talks about how granddaughters are a blessing and she signed it Love, Little Grandma. In her time tested cursive handwriting. That is the last card I will ever get from her. No more birthdays, no more Christmas cards. Nothing. And she didn't even get to give it to me.

Now I am in the running for worst granddaughter ever. Its a close race, but I think I'm at the top of the lineup. Because I didn't go to my grandma's birthday party, to get a card that she picked out for me especially because she remembered my birthday.

I'll take my award now please. Unless I have to show up for some ceremony or something. Cause I probably won't be able to make it. Sorry Little Grandma.