It’s Pea’s birthday! She officially turned 3 years old at 17:17. It has been a rough 3 years.

Comin’ straight off of a 2 week road trip to Florida, instead of writing about how glorious the past 3 years with Pea has been, I’d like to share a bunch of . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Sh*t My Pea Says (The Birthday Edition)]]>

It’s Pea’s birthday! She officially turned 3 years old at 17:17. It has been a rough 3 years.

Comin’ straight off of a 2 week road trip to Florida, instead of writing about how glorious the past 3 years with Pea has been, I’d like to share a bunch of Cadence-isms with you. Spending 2 1/2 days in the car to FL and 2 days back to CO… we’ve heard a lot of them.

• Me: “I’m gonna call Jesus and tell him to take away 2 of your birthdays because you’re acting like a baby.”
  Her: “NO ACT LIKE A BABY! NO CALL JESUS!“
• Daddy, do you take off your underwear when you go pee?
• Mommy, are we big girls or little girls?
• Daddy, Junior- are you boys or girls?
• Me: “Sit down, please”
  Her: “I’m too busy Mommy”
  Me: “What?! Who says that?”
  Her: “Me”
• Mommy, we don’t say bad words. We say kind words.
• Mommy! COVER YOUR MOUTH!
• Her: “Mommy, I can’t see your car.”
  Me: “What do you mean? My car is right here.”
  Her: “No, your car is very dirty.”
  Me: “I know, we drove in the snow.”
  Her: “WELL, you need a new car.”
• Mommy- are you happy or sad?
• Mommy, can we go to Florida?
• Her: Mommy, can we please buy that?
  Me: Sure, do you have money?
  Her: Yes.
  Me: Oh really? Where is it?
  Her: There is money in your wallet.
• We don’t say what. We say yes.
• We listen to our Mommy and Daddy.
• Mommy, where do horses live? Who’s that man? What are those horses doing in that truck? Where the man taking them?
• That baby is not being a good listener to her Mommy and Daddy.
• Her: What’s a restaurant? (Us: A place where you go to eat.)
  Her: What’s a eat? (Us: It’s what you do when you’re hungry.)
  Her: What’s a hungry? (Us: It’s when you need to get some food in your belly.)
  Her: What’s a belly… (Us: ……)Three years… and so many more to go.

  Can’t wait.

  Happy Birthday, Pea. We love you.

  

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I’m not even sure where to begin this letter really.

Can I start off by saying that you are fuckin’ amazing?

Because you are.

And just in case no one ever tells you that, I’m telling you.

Many people don’t really appreciate you as much as they should.

I hope that . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Open Letter to One of My Best Friends on Her Birthday]]> So.

I’m not even sure where to begin this letter really.

Can I start off by saying that you are fuckin’ amazing?

Because you are.

And just in case no one ever tells you that, I’m telling you.

Many people don’t really appreciate you as much as they should.

I hope that I’m not one of those people.

Because I love you.

Love.

Like… if there were such a thing as soul mates, you may actually be mine.

We weren’t even supposed to be friends, really. And if it weren’t for me not having anywhere to live senior year of college and absolutely scrambling for roommates, I’m not sure if I even would have met you.

Thanks for taking me in by the way. I will love you forever for that because I don’t know where I would’ve lived senior year and that would’ve sucked. I’ve told you this before, but when I told people who I’d be living with senior year I got a myriad of responses that pretty much mirrored the following:

“She’s cool.

She’s cool.

Oh her? …..
(Speaking of you)

Yeah….

She’s… different.

You two may not get along.”

And I thought: Awesome! This is gonna be a fuckin’ great Senior Year!

But oh how wrong they were about you. (I find that many people aren’t good judges of character at times anyway, myself included)

You. Get me.

Like really get me. Who else can I call when my depression is kicking my ass and I just need to cry without hearing “it will get better” or some bizarre deadly silence which reeks of pity.

You.

You do not tell me stupid shit in an effort to try and make me feel better (because you know that with depression sometimes, there is no feeling better) and in fact sometimes you tell me that the day just may be a shitty one and I can have a do over tomorrow.  And you listen to me cry and we share stories about how being depressed totally sucks. We talk about what meds I’m on (if I’m on any) and you share your experiences with anti-depressants with me and we concede that depression totally sucks and maybe being off meds can be better than being on meds (or not…).

You taught me about dance parties. And not the “oh my God that dude is so cute, let me pull out my best dance moves so he doesn’t think I’m a total loser and maybe he’ll even try to come dance with me” kind of dancing but the “there really is no method to this madness and I am just moving my body to the beat and hopefully I don’t make myself dizzy from being so insanely crazy” kind of dancing.

Those dance parties?

Can really turn a day around for me. I think… Should I admit this? I think I may have lost some of my actual rhythm because I have so many dance parties. When I remove the seriousness from dancing, my troubles just all seem to seep out of my toes.

Speaking of music. You know how much I thoroughly enjoy playing music disturbingly loud? Like I may need a hearing aid before I turn 40 loud? I love that you love that too. I love that when getting in your car, I always knew there would be three things- singing, loud music and windows down.

This may totally be TMI, but you are so amazing for accepting me as I am. Sometimes, I have flatulence issues and instead of making me feel embarrassed about it- you simply opened your 3 drawer storage in your room and offered me anti-gas pills. Seriously? You had me at hello.

You really know how to step up. Wherever, whenever.

Remember that time that about 8 zillion things needed to be done for my wedding/bachelorette party/reception how you stepped in? Especially right before the reception when shit hit the fan and tempers were flaring amongst relatives for no damn good reason? Yeah. You were Queen of crisis management. Thanks for that.

Remember that time that I was unemployed for damn near 2 years? How you just wanted to make sure that I, personally had what I needed- just for me? Not for bills, not for the baby, just for me?

You didn’t have to do that.

At all.

And that? To this day. Means so much to me and I carry what you sent me around in my wallet as a reminder of how amazing you are. I can repay you monetarily, but you will never truly understand what that meant to me.

Period.

You give great advice. The tough advice. The smart advice. The “that’s what I needed to hear at this moment” advice. The “I already knew the answer to that question, but I needed to hear it from someone else” advice. I’m not even sure if I give good advice ever. I hope I do, otherwise I’m just talkin’ outta my ass.

I think that every friend serves a purpose in my life. I have a friend that’s great for this and a friend that’s great for that and another friend great for that. I keep my true friend circle small and close and I’m so glad that you’re in it. You’re like family girl.

This letter is just a “Happy Birthday, I’m so glad you were born” letter.

Enjoy your day.

You deserve it.

And don’t take anyone’s shit today- you know, because it’s your birthday.

Just tell ‘em Fuck you, I’m Awesome… oh, and it’s my birthday.

And if you ever need a left arm, or a kidney, or plasma- whatever. Call me.

You know why? Because I am truly convinced that you would do the same for me.

I love you!

- Dawana

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I try not to, but I do feel like it’s a part of human nature to complain.

As easy as it is to say “There are children in Africa dying” or “There are people who don’t have a home” I think you need to vent your . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Count Your Blessings]]> I complain a lot. I do.

I try not to, but I do feel like it’s a part of human nature to complain.

As easy as it is to say “There are children in Africa dying” or “There are people who don’t have a home” I think you need to vent your frustrations too or you become one angry person. I think… I’m no expert.

I also think you may become one depressed person if you focus all of your energy on other people’s problems and don’t worry about your own. The troubles of the world are so great.

I think finding a good balance between bitching and complaining about my own problems and still being aware of what is going on in the world and how blessed I am is the right thing to do.

In light of that, yeah, I just had a miscarriage and that makes miscarriage number 2.

And yeah, I’m super annoyed/pissed/angry that we are having such a hard damn time having another baby.

Super pissed.

But this week, we got an email at work that one of our secretaries/Registrar had lost her grandson who was less than 1 year old. Then today I read Kim’s blog about this woman, Hope who went into early labor with twins at 21 weeks and after a battle to save the living baby (the first baby was born stillborn), the baby- named Zaria- passed away.

Yes, it sucks to have a miscarriage.

I bet, though, with all of my heart that it sucks even more to lose a child that you birthed, held in your arms, and prayed to God that s/he would survive.

Yup, that sucks even more.

In fact, it’s not fair.

Here is what Hope had to say about baby Zaria (I’ve picked out a few pieces for you):

“From the early ‘honeymoon’ week Zaria introduced us to what a strong little fighter she was. She faced chronic lung disease, grade 3 brain bleeds, and heart surgery within the first few weeks of her stay. Every time she met these obstacles we were all surprised because she didn’t want to show us any signs of her distress.

As she healed from each trauma we breathed a collective sigh of relief. We spent hours and hours at her bedside peering into a plastic womb and getting to know our littlest daughter. When possible we held her head and feet as she spread out her toes and caressed our fingertips as we sought to soothe her and her us….

After holding such strong hope for our girl through all the ‘you must give up care’-s for her from the doctors, we could not allow our minds to fathom that she had more of the disease. The surgeon finally realized that it was futile to convince us as we saw the glimmer of hope in her words of “most likely will not live”. ‘Most likely’ can’t convince two loving parents who want with all their hearts for their daughter to survive the NICU and come home with them. The doctor realized she would have to show us proof.

After an exploratory bedside surgery and a photograph of the perforated gut and decaying tissue, we finally began to swallow our hope for saving our daughter….

On Sunday morning, August 28, we realized we should let go (I couldn’t use the term ‘withdraw care’ because what mother can really withdraw care of their child?)…

I held her warm body to my bare chest and soothed her fears. She lay in Luke’s lap at sunrise by the window; and as her heart faintly beat she lightened our loads as she flew away home. We studied her beautiful face (looking much like her brother’s), stroked her reddish brown hair and held her little fingers.“

A mother’s love for her child is one that cannot be quantified, but the anguish that a mother feels when that child is lost?

Inconceivable.

The family was out of town when Hope when into pre-term labor and took a huge financial hit back home in North Carolina as they had to board their animals and break their lease to stay with their baby girl, away from home, in another hospital. There is a fund for her and really, if you can give, please do- whatever is within your means.

For some reason I can’t link directly to the Paypal donation link, but you can send donations via PayPal to: love2zaria@gmail.com OR follow the link below (that says “click here”) and click through her site to donate.

There’s a giveaway too of a variety of items. If you’re interested, click here to see what’s up for grabs.

Anyway, kiss your babies (that you have with you) and for sure always remember to take the time and count your blessings.

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I mean it really is…

It’s like once you get one you can’t stop… Unless of course the pain was so unbearable or you regret it or someone forced you to get it (I’ve heard that before)…

Who needs a stencil? He draws freehand!

. . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: It’s An Obsession]]>

I mean it really is…

It’s like once you get one you can’t stop… Unless of course the pain was so unbearable or you regret it or someone forced you to get it (I’ve heard that before)…

Who needs a stencil? He draws freehand!

I mean, I don’t just get ‘em to get ‘em (anymore… think, arm tattoo circa 1998).

I put a lot of thought into them, so they have meaning to me.

The orchid.

A complicated flower to understand (like me) as it has many symbolic meanings depending on where in the world you are.

Did you know? There are over 22,000 varieties of orchids that grow on the planet Earth?

Did you know? Orchids are the most delicate and exotic flowers in the world?

Did you know? Orchids can grow anywhere, under any condition. This quality makes it a symbol of love.

Things orchids can represent include:

• love
• rare & delicate beauty
• luxury
• affection
• beauty
• thoughtfulness
• strength
• maturity
• charm
• fertility/many children
• elegance

I was gonna get a butterfly, then a mother’s knot, then my friend Erin tried to talk me into a dragonfly (they scare me!) and then I settled on the orchid.

1-09, Pea’s birth month & year

4-11, Angel baby‘s birth month & year

And just like I’m in love with my child, I am in love with this tattoo.

————————————–

And to take the edge off? I sang. Through the whole thing (since the radio was on in the shop). Oh, and I tweeted. And yes, it hurt more than any of my other tattoos. But no tears and no screaming (cause I’m a soldier).

And? This is tattoo #5.

*Photos of orchids borrowed from:

Buzzle.com

Teleflora.com &

Dreamstime.com

(Respectively)

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Please, hold your applause.

Six years together, four years married.

I thought to lighten the mood around here, it’d be fun to share my engagement story. Cause if you’re married at some point you, too said yes to that age-old . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Yes]]> Yesterday my husband and I celebrated our 4 year wedding anniversary.

Please, hold your applause.

Six years together, four years married.

I thought to lighten the mood around here, it’d be fun to share my engagement story. Cause if you’re married at some point you, too said yes to that age-old question: Will You Marry Me?

Oh, but ours friends, is not as fun and romantic and classic as others.

My husband and I dated for…(let me count) 4 months before we got engaged.

Before you gasp. I spoke with a family friend (who also happened to be my physician) and she knew her husband for TWO WEEKS before they got engaged and they’ve been married for over 30 years. Her advice for me?

Sometimes, ya just know.

So I went with it.

Anyway. I hate surprises. HATE, HATE. My husband knows this. So we spoke logically about loving each other and wanting to get married. So what did we do? We marched our happy butts to the jewelry store on New Year’s Day and bought an engagement ring. There, in the middle of the jewelry store at the mall my husband asked me to marry him.

Romantic, huh?

Have I mentioned I’m not into romance and stuff like that either? At least not an overflow of it, just a little bit.

Well, I’ve mentioned before that my husband and I love hard and fight hard. It’s been like that all six years we have been together. (Though I must admit we are slowly learning how to decrease the fighting hard part and taking time to cool off and talk to each other rationally.)

Sometime in the early summer of the same year we got engaged, we broke up. There was a big, explosive fight, the ring was returned and we were both pissed. He went off on a volunteer trip for about a week and I took that time to breathe. Clearly, we got back together, but I refused to take the ring back or hear a proposal until I knew he was serious about us.

On the 4th of July, he picked me up and took me down to this private beach at one of the local colleges down in Saint Pete (Florida). No one was around, the sun had gone down and there was a hammock just there- randomly- that we got in and watched the stars. We talked and talked and talked and boom!

Will you marry me?

Who? What? When?
(I told you I hate surprises)

And voila! Here we are.

How many women get 2 proposals?

Me.

So. Your turn. How were you proposed to? Spill the beans.

Come on…don’t copy- get your own material. Nobody likes a cheater! Original & Hand Written Plagiarism Will Be Detected. This site is being monitored by CopyGator. Mmkay? Thanks.

The Bryan Adams song…

“When you love a woman You tell her, that she’s really wanted When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one ‘Cuz she needs somebody To tell her that it’s gonna last forever So tell me have you ever really Really, . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Tell Me Have You Ever Really… Really, Really Ever Loved… A Man]]> You know that song…

The Bryan Adams song…

“When you love a woman
You tell her, that she’s really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one
‘Cuz she needs somebody
To tell her that it’s gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
Really, really ever loved a woman?”

Pfff as if that’s true.

Let’s talk about how we love our men.

This post really stemmed from a conversation I had with my friend Shay about “love” that bitch of a word, love.

That heart-wrenching, he makes me so mad I want to punch him right in his throat, but yet I keep coming back because there is just something…. something about this. man. that keeps me here.

That ooohh you are so lucky that I love you because you may fuck around and have me ending up on a Snapped marathon on oxygen kind of love.

I mean, what is it about our men? You look at him and you just melt up inside. You laugh at his silliness, you melt when you watch him with your children, because- isn’t he the best dad? You laugh at how hard he tried to get that gift right on that special day, but… alas, he messed it up anyway, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

And you may get pissed off. You  maybe even slept on the couch or went to your mom’s/sister’s/cousin’s/best friend’s house that one night and spent the night just to cool off- or maybe you sent him on his way to cool off ’cause you knew you were about five steps away from knockin’ his ass out.

And you know that no matter how mad you get at him, it will pass. The dark moments, really don’t seem so dark once you have passed through it.

But you love him. His awkwardness, his cute little mole, the way he obsesses over his car/motorcycle/tv/xbox- whatever it is… and God forbid the kids mess it up- an automatic mantrum happens over something that is not that important.

But think about you- in all of your glory. Who else would put up with your stubborn ass for 5/10/15 years? Nobody. Other men probably would’ve stepped out on you with another chick or even left. But not him. He loves you. You can see it in his eyes. Feel it in his touch. In his gestures. Even when he’s mad and you’re mad and you’re fighting, you know that love is there.

You know that he is holdin’ you down and you are doing the same for him. You know if someone tried to fuck with you or vice versa, you would be there for one another.

Love is a weird thing. I’ve never wanted to be in love. Never wanted to be married, yet here I am. In love. And it is a bitch. And I do wanna punch her sometimes. And I’ll never understand it. But, I wouldn’t have it any. other. way.

Cue Bryan Adams song…………..

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stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down] 2: having extraneous everything removed including contents; “the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare] 3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Stripped]]>

stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new
car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down]
2: having extraneous everything removed including contents;
“the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare]
3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera had an album called “Stripped,” possibly my favorite album of hers where she bares her soul, per se, revealing the most  intimate parts of herself.

They say that true artists can tap into the depths of their pain to make the most amazing pieces- turning that pain into creativity.

I don’t know if that’s the case here. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a writer- still do- but I also find being able to release my pain in writing makes it all better and then (really?) no one can see my tears (cause big girls don’t cry, right?).

This is me. Stripped.

My new doctor here had prescribed Lexapro for me (anti-depressant #3) and gave me so many samples I didn’t know what to do with myself. Then? They ran out and I had to get a scrip. Well for the love of everything holy, Lexapro is $99 after my insurance pays their cut.

Uhh yeah, no thanks.

And then? I really didn’t wanna spend $25 going back to see the doctor to start from square one. So, I am without anti-depressants and left to really deal with myself. And it has not been pretty…

Literally.

I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror aaaaand then I’m done. I can’t look too long. I want to lose like 10, 15 pounds. Not for anyone else but myself, but I’m too lazy to motivate myself to workout. I hate my hair in this in-between stage. I’m glad I cut my dreads. I bet my grandpa would have been proud. I raised $1,000+ for cancer research, but now? I’m stuck with thick, unmanageable hair. I don’t feel like I have clothes that fit my body and this phase it’s going through…

Point is, there is no part of me that feels “beautiful” at this moment in my life, so having to stare at myself in the mirror means having to deal with my issues- it’s like staring at damaged goods.

Yeah I said it.

Damaged goods.

That’s how I feel.

Four years of therapy and that’s how I feel y’all.

My dad always told me how beautiful I was, but he’s my dad, that’s his job, right? Even when my husband makes a comment, I shudder at the thought. I often joke with him that he already married me, so the mask is off. Watcha see is watcha get friend, I’m not on the prowl anymore. That means dark circles under the eyes, saggy boobs, fat belly and sweatpants with holes in the crotch that I refuse to part ways with.

I don’t take compliments well. I never actually realized that til more recently when I sat in my AP’s office and she rattled off compliment after compliment and what did I do? I cried.

Yup.

Score. One point for the loser over here.

Why? I don’t know. But as I begged her to stop giving me compliments I had to leave the room.

It’s so much easier to hate yourself and doubt your abilities than to actually walk around with the confidence of a goddess.

Oh and this confidence? That I apparently exude?

It’s all a facade.

I decided that today.

I decided that I am super funny and social and likable (or at least I think I’m likable) and can work a room like nobody’s business because, well that’s so much better than walking around like Sad Sally all the time trying to tell your sap story and making people feel sorry for you.

And? If everyone thinks you’re confident, then they’ll think you’re not one to fuck with. That you’re a tough cookie. That you’re a force to be reckoned with…

oh, and that you’re lots of fun to be around.

It’s only when I leave work or I leave that party or I leave that get-together that I really have to face myself.

But you know what? I need that.

It’s like a high that I don’t like to come down from. I like feeling cool or that I’m lots of fun or that I’m the life of the party.

And my husband?

Oh Lord.

You know how they say opposites attract? Well what happens when two people who are so much alike attract?

Minus the depression thing- we are both argumentative, we are both stubborn, we are both always right, we both like to be in control, we both love hard and…

We. Fight. I mean we fight. We fight hard.

But he deals with my highs and my lows like no one else could ever. I really think about all of the mood swings he’s had to deal with…

He married damaged goods.

I hope he knows that.

I find myself perplexed about the root of this pain. I guess we didn’t get to that part in therapy.

We talked about my “I’m from a big, loud aggressive family and I’m not like everyone else” syndrome.

We talked about my daddy issues (cause really, every girl has them).

We talked about my mommy issues.

We talked about my “I feel like a horrible mom, I can’t stand the sound of my daughter’s crying and it is truly incessant and makes me wanna hang myself” issues

We even talked about that experience… the one that really defined my sexuality… yeah that stuff.

So what’s my problem?

I wonder if it’s because even though both my husband and I are working, we are still finding so much of our money going towards bills (oh and daycare, bloody $130 per week daycare- ARGH!)

I wonder if it’s because the reason we are in this shotty financial situation is because we took a leap and moved to California then it just so happened that I couldn’t find a job there and we found ourselves being buried in a hole of debt.

I wonder if it’s because I’m still struggling with the day-to-day of being a Mommy… or more importantly of being The Pea’s Mommy. That this child hardly sleeps some nights, is having bizarre night terrors and cries and cries and cries for no apparent reason or just when she doesn’t get what she wants. And this? This ridiculous, non-stop crying? Drives me FRIGGIN insane. When she does not stop crying and whining, I can feel my blood boiling. And so, of course, these negative feelings that I have towards my daughter’s behavior makes me feel like a horrible mom.

I wonder if it’s because I have this insane need to perform. And perform well. And anything less than friggin amazing is not acceptable. So if at work I get feedback, I only hear the negative parts and I internalize it and get sick.

Literally.

Physically.

Sick.

I had an observation today and so my internalization started Tuesday night when I couldn’t sleep and fell asleep at about 2 am. Then all day on Tuesday I was on the verge of tears, my stomach was in knots, I was disgustingly nervous and thought I could puke. I mean why? It’s painful.

Oh, I wonder if it’s because I miss having friends whose houses I could go over (hi Jill!) and drink beer on their couch. I miss having friends that my kiddo can play with so they can do kid stuff and we can do grown-up stuff.

I wonder if it’s because the source of my being (probably in this exact order) goes:

• Mommy
  (which includes chef, disciplinarian, teacher, doctor, boo-boo kisser, and other duties as defined)
• Wife
• Teacher
  (which also includes disciplinarian, doctor, therapist, sometimes even their Momma… and other duties as defined)
• Daughter
• Extended Family Crisis-Manager
  (Notice I said extended family)
• Blogger
• Product Review Website Owner
• Freelance Writer
• …
• …
• …
• …

and somewhere… way down the list. I think there may be room for me to pencil myself in. (Me time? What’s that?)

So, let’s re-cap: I am a basket case, disguised as a confident, strong woman.

I hide behind a mask (and my glasses- my glasses are my security blanket. I hate seeing myself without them. NO thank you to Lasik or contacts, I’ll pass).

I push myself too hard.

And I have expectations for myself that are probably unattainable.

That’s me. Stripped.

You’re welcome.

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Just like the Trix bunny rabbit is not real, I am really started to think that we have all been brainwashed by Saint Valentine. I mean, archaeologists have unearthed proof that St. Valentine did exist. BUT Catholic.org gives two beliefs surrounding who he truly was and his origins. . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Silly Rabbit]]> Trix are for kids.

Just like the Trix bunny rabbit is not real, I am really started to think that we have all been brainwashed by Saint Valentine. I mean, archaeologists have unearthed proof that St. Valentine did exist. BUT Catholic.org gives two beliefs surrounding who he truly was and his origins. (That’s comforting)

I am like the Grinch who Stole Valentine’s Day.

This is seriously a made up Hallmark/American Greetings card holiday and yet one more excuse for human beings to spend unnecessary amounts of money.

To me, true love is love that does not need a day to show it’s face.

TRUE LOVE buys you a Pepsi because you had a bad day.
TRUE LOVE promises you a car wash and sits in line for 45 minutes to get it done.
TRUE LOVE still smiles and tells you they love you even though you’ve had your third, completely unwarranted breakdown this week thanks to your Post-Partum Depression.
TRUE LOVE knows you’re a horrible driver, that’s why blew a tire when you hopped a curb in your “new to you” just-bought-it last week car and still doesn’t complain when they have to buy you a “new” $80 tire.
TRUE LOVE knows that you probably spend way too much time on the computer, but has stopped arguing with you about it because they know that writing is your passion.
TRUE LOVE goes back to King Soopers for the third time today to get you tortilla chips, cause you forgot and doesn’t complain and doesn’t take you up on the offer to go in his place.

Dude, I don’t need red roses or balloons on my desk. I don’t need a poorly lit restaurant that I can hardly read the menu in because of my astigmatism and far/near-sightedness. I don’t need a box with chocolate full of dumb ass fillings on the inside because my true love knows that I’m super picky when it comes to chocolate and I only like my chocolate with peanuts, almonds or peanut butter in it… preferably in the form of a Snicker Bar, Hershey Kiss with almonds or Reese’s Peanut Butter cups.

All I need is someone that loves me unconditionally, regardless of my flaws. Someone who, when I say I’m not in the mood- doesn’t give me shit. Someone that I can wake up in the middle of the night because I had a bad dream or I can’t sleep.

Fuck a Saint Valentine and his ridiculous holiday. I’ll take my husband every day- hands down.

***I know Valentine’s Day was on Monday, but, our internet was out, so… deal with it!  ***

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When I was a kid I was a bit of a hypochondriac (well ok so I still am). Whenever I heard of a new illness or ailment of course I thought I had it!  I remember lying in bed praying asking God to please let me live long enough to fall . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Our Story by Jenn]]>

When I was a kid I was a bit of a hypochondriac (well ok so I still am). Whenever I heard of a new illness or ailment of course I thought I had it!  I remember lying in bed praying asking God to please let me live long enough to fall in love.  I wanted to know what they were talking about in all those love songs I would play over and over again on cassette tapes lol.  Time passed and I dated a few people in high school but I know I was never truly in love, so I kept praying every night that God would send me someone who understood me (I am a pretty complicated girl!)  When I was a senior in College I went to a party and there was a freshman football player working the keg (I know glamorous right!) I went over to fill my cup and we started talking.  He was so easy to talk to and he had the cutest smile I had ever seen!  I spent the whole night standing by the keg talking to him.  He came over my place and we watched a movie and talked until we fell asleep. The next day we stayed in bed all morning just talking. I remember he skipped all of his classes that day.  From those first moments things were just different with him.  It had never been so easy to be with someone.  I remember when he would hug me with his big football player arms a felt so tiny and safe. He had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world in crowd full of people. You know how people say they just know, well I just knew he was the one, and that we would grow old and gray together with a houseful of kids and grandkids. I got a job teaching near the college while Aaron finished school.  He proposed to me the summer before his senior year.  We were married the fall after he graduated. God had answered my prayers, I had found true love.

Now onto the babies!  I remember thanking God for letting me find love.  It was the most amazing thing I had experienced in my young life.  We both wanted kids and lots of them.  I always said at least three and Aaron was convinced five was a good number.  The exact number didn’t matter, we thought life would just happen and that detail would play itself out.  I remember not really trying but not using anything to stop a baby from coming either.  I began to worry because 6 months had passed and nothing had happened.  We then began to “try” to have a baby.  Another 6 months went by and still nothing.  I remember sitting in church praying that God would give me a baby.  I remember thinking you let me find my soul mate, now please let us have a baby together.  Another four months passed, it had been over a year now. I was late so I got a test.  I had taken at least a dozen in the past year and they were always negative to I thought nothing of it.  I remember sitting in the bathroom looking at the stick as it read PREGNANT!!!  I was full of joyous emotions, laughing and crying all at the same time.  I pulled myself together and ran down stairs to tell Aaron.  He was like a little boy filled with excitement and hugged me so tight.

Our first baby was a beautiful little boy.  We named him Henry.  We could not have been more proud of our little man.  It was so hard to get pregnant with Henry that we figured with breastfeeding we really didn’t need to use protection.  Well we were wrong!  When Henry was just five months old I was pregnant again.  We were nervous having them so close in age but were overjoyed that we were able to have yet another baby.  Little Sophie came fourteen months to the day of Henry’s birth.  We were a happy little family we had a boy and now a girl! Aaron had a good job that allowed me to stay home with the kids and I was loving my time with them.

Sophie was eight months old when Aaron lost his job due to downsizing. It took him a little over a year to find a comparable job. It was a very scary time, it was a very trying time, and it was one of the best times because Aaron got to spend a year at home with his kids at such a precious stage in their lives.  He got to experience a lot of firsts.  Had the stress of money and fear of not making it day to day not been present it would have been pure joy.  We definitely had some of the happiest moments during that year, but the stress especially on Aaron played a toll.  They say money does not buy happiness, and I believe this, but I also think the lack of it can make you pretty stressed and unhappy.  I started Bowinhairos during this time to bring in extra money. During those first few months that I opened my Etsy shop I would check my site every half hour to see if I had sold anything. Every sale counted, it was diaper money! It turned out to be something I was extremely passionate about.  I think it was an endeavor I was meant to take on.  It’s funny how God works that way.

Aaron now has a good job at a local college. It is a very low stress job in comparison to the one he lost.  He comes home happier than before.  Like I said, funny how God works that way. He has good benefits and things are slowly getting back to normal. Henry is now three and Sophie is two.  I am a little sad that if we have another baby there will be a few years span between them. Looking at Henry and Sophie today, I don’t know what they would do without each other.  They are truly each others best friend.  They wake up in the morning and call out the other ones name to start their day of toddler adventures. I know that Sophie was meant to be born exactly when she was.  We would have never tried to have a baby while Aaron was unemployed and Henry would be lost in this world without her. Again, it’s funny how God works that way. Although our life is not playing out exactly how we imagined it, we do not forget for a moment that we are blessed.  We are blessed to have found each other in the world.  Aaron is, and will always be my best everything.  We are blessed to have these two amazing healthy little people that we created.  I look at them every day in complete amazement.  Our family’s journey has just begun.  Now the only question is who is yet to join us.  We now are ready to start trying for number three.  If it happens we know that it was meant to be.  If not we also know that everything happens for a reason.  Sometimes it’s okay if things don’t go exactly as planned.  Sometimes the long road leads to the best destination.

About Jenn:

Jenn is one of five children who loves the idea of a large family. She is a former elementary school teacher who now stays at home with her two children ages two and three.  She loves creating different and unique hair accessories for her Etsy shop.  She and her husband  love spending time outdoors with their kids.  They love campfires, grilling and just enjoying the fresh air.  She believes in living in the now and enjoying today because life has a funny way of passing us by while we are busy making plans for the future! You can follow Jenn on Twitter by clicking here.

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“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”

Clarence Budington Kelland

Dear Daddy,

Sorry I didn’t buy you a card this year. As we re-evaluate our spending habits, I have opted to reduce the amount of cards I . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Open Letter To My Dad on Father’s Day]]>

“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”

Clarence Budington Kelland

Dear Daddy,

Sorry I didn’t buy you a card this year. As we re-evaluate our spending habits, I have opted to reduce the amount of cards I buy. I find that people like handwritten notes better and I can easily express how I feel. And anyway, what do people do with cards after the holiday/special day has passed? I always feel bad throwing away old cards, but I have found that I have become sort of a card-hoarder. So last year, I went through all of my cards- there was an entire box- and kept the ones that meant the most. The ones that I could due to part with, I sent to an organization that was using recycled cards for something. So, consider this your father’s day card.

Our relationship has always been… interesting- wouldn’t you say?

There are definitely moments from my childhood that weren’t so fantastic and that I probably resented you for at the time. There’s no need to rehash old stuff, though. Regardless of what I thought or felt at the moment, I am sure that those experiences only helped to mold me into the woman that I am today.

I wanted to take this time to thank you. Our family has never been good about expressing our feelings in a positive manner. We are more yellers, shouters, point-the-finger(ers) lol. Which is the first thing I wanted to thank you for.

You taught me how to feel. I was always the “sensitive one” in the family, always crying, “just like my father”… and while I admit, I never understood your sensitive side, in retrospect, it is important to be in touch with one’s feelings. Over time, I have learned how to have more control over my emotions- when to allow myself to be vulnerable and when to stay guarded. I guess you can say that I have become a mixture of you and Mommy. And I am okay with that. One needs to be tough, but to a certain extent. I think being in touch with my feelings and emotions allows me to express in an honest manner how I am feeling- something that many people cannot do. The toughness in me allows me to be vulnerable enough to put that out there and not really care about what the person has to say in return. As long as I am honest with myself and others, that’s all that matters.

You taught me the importance of managing my money. Some may laugh at this, thinking that you have lived… beyond your means at certain points in your life. While I understand your rationale for wanting some of the things that you want, behind that, in my opinion is someone who is very aware of how much money he does and does not have. You taught me how to balance a checkbook and that would be an important skill as I left the nest and went out on my own. I will admit, that I don’t balance a checkbook anymore… one needs money in their checking account to do that. When I start working again, I can take that up again. Your money management tutorials has allowed me to be responsible for our household income right now- I pay the bills and I know what is and is not feasible for us financially.

You know, you always wanted to hold my hand when we crossed the street or something like that when I was younger and I hated that. I’ve never really liked to be touched- hand holding and hugging… not so much my thing. But having those moments with you- as much as they made me want to cringe at the time- they have taught me what is important regarding my daughter. I need to give her hugs, hold her hand and tell her that I love her every chance I get.

We were (and still aren’t) the ‘I Love You’ family. You were the only one who said it and I couldn’t understand why. But now, as a Mom I get it. I can look back and remember my father telling me that he loved me. I want Cadence to be able to look back and remember the same. It is a feeling that I cannot describe to you for me to be able to tell my daughter that I love her. If anyone in our family besides you told me that they loved me, I would be sure to cringe and feel uncomfortable. I don’t want it to be like that in my (new) family. I want us to be open and honest about those feelings we have for one another. There are so many people out there who don’t have parents or don’t have someone to tell them that they love them. So.. I get it. Thank you for that, Daddy.

Something that stands out in my mind is when you would go to BJ’s after work and buy a super-sized box of Always pads- just that. I don’t know how many men would walk into a wholesale club and buy a ginormous box of maxi pads, but you did that for me. That showed me right away what kind of man I needed. One who wasn’t afraid to do those little things. Yesterday, we had lunch on base and Cadence was being a handful, so while I tried to calm her down my awesome husband stood there in line with lots of male soldiers in uniform around us and held my very large white Coach bag with purple writing all over it. That’s what real men do- you taught me that.

Of course, there were things you inadvertently taught me like: how not to speak to people. You taught me that I knew I was going to marry a man that knew how to cook and iron his own stuff. You taught me that I was not going to be anyone’s maid. I am an independent woman and needed someone who would respect me as such. I appreciate you for these things.

You always told me that I needed to marry someone who was going to treat me like a Queen. That let me know what to look for in a spouse.

You have made many mistakes in your life. I don’t judge you for these, because though the road may have been long, I believe that you have learned from them. And those lessons are ones that you have tried to instill in both me and Junior to learn from. I am proud of you for having turned your life around and not looking back.

And though you pushed me in ways that I definitely did not appreciate at the time, you taught me the importance of education and striving to do/be the best that I could. You are one of the smartest people that I know and I take pride in knowing that I can call you for a word definition or to edit a paper for me.

Thank you for always supporting me, regardless of whether you agreed with the choices I made or not. Thank you for giving me that good balance of parent-”friend.” I always knew that I could come to you to talk, but I also knew that there would be consequences for any poor decisions that I chose to make.

We aren’t best friends, we have our fights- some last longer than others, but at the end of the day I know that you will always be there for me- regardless of how mad we may be with one another at the moment.

Most importantly, I am happy to have a dad. I’ve said this before, but one thing that I find repulsive is “men” who plant the seed (if you will) and walk away. You are not a man and there is nothing more irresponsible and disgusting to me than someone who doesn’t want to own up to their child and give them the opportunity to have both parents in their lives. So thank you for being there.

As it is always said, “Any man can be a father, but it takes a special person to be a dad.” (Proverb).

So, Happy Dad’s Day.

Love,
DEW

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