For seriously? December 30, 2009

I met a fellow human grower in Walmart yesterday. She’s due about 7 weeks before me but she and I are different. I found out I was pregnant three days before I missed my period. She found out she was pregnant three weeks ago at 27 weeks.

Now, I know this will probably sound judgemental but I promise I’m not trying to be. I know people are pregnant and don’t know it but IT BLOWS MY MIND to the point of disbielf…even though it apparently happens. I realize there is a whole show called “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” because this happens and because it blows everyone’s minds, they knew they could make a show of it. I don’t get cable and I haven’t in seriously like 8 or 9 years. However, this hasn’t stopped me from watching 5 minute clips of each episode of this show on Hulu. For some reason you can’t see the whole thing. The fascination I have at this phenomenon as a pregnant woman keeps me clicking those tidbits over and over.

STILL, I can’t believe it ever happens. If you are of average size, how can you not tell your stomach is round. Not just round but hard. Many say they thought they were getting fat but did they think they were getting hard fat? Hard fat that moves around?  One of the first things people say when they touch my stomach is something about how hard it is.  Yeah…it is hard…because there’s a baby in there.  There’s no way I could think that a pregnant stomach is just a little weight gain. 

I asked the girl at Walmart, “Didn’t you feel your baby move?” She said yes but that she had never been pregnant before and thought it was just gas. That’s easier to believe if you haven’t been pregnant and don’t know what it’s like to feel a baby kick. I can see mistaking it for gas bubbles in the beginning by but 27 weeks we are talking somersalting, hard kicking, hard punching, jumping gas bubbles. If I thought my gas would make my stomach punch forward on one side of my stomach to the point that my shirt pops up and down, that’s some gas that wouldn’t make me think, “Oh I must’ve had some killer beans.” I would be in ER asking why my shirt crawls, my belly changes shapes, and lunges forward on a daily basis.

And what about your boobs? Okay so you thought you had some killer gas and that you are getting fatter around the middle. What about your boobs changing the way they do? The colors changing the way they do. It’s different than just gaining weight and so your boobs expanded a smidge.

More than anything, I feel bad for these women.  I can’t imagine finding out that SURPRISE, you are going to have a baby in 12 weeks!  Hope you are ready!  Nevermind the women that don’t know until the baby blobs onto the floor. 

Does this blow any other fellow moms or moms to be minds?  It’s one thing to not know when you are 3-4 months but 7?  Going into labor on the toilet thinking you have cramps and you didn’t know until the baby came out?  REALLY?

the nest December 27, 2009

Have you ever seen a mother cat preparing to have her kittens? I remember watching the Parrott’s farm cat (aka cat mom to the greatest cats in the world: Skittles & Bonkers) get ready weeks before her kittens arrived. She had already scouted out the place which was the back horse stall of the barn that was empty except for hay and hay bales. Hidden behind tall stacks of hay, she had started making these little hay bowls. I think she would kind of paw the hay around and then lay in it over and over until it made a little bowl shape dent. She made several of them trying to get it right. It’s almost like Goldy Locks syndrome: This one is too big, this one too small, but this one is just right. With any mother animal, cat or not, they are determined to make ready a home for their babies and if you tamper with it or try to rearrange their homes, they will fix them back or move it elsewhere. Whether a foxes den, birds nest, or the perfect hidden nook for delivering kittens, a mother is adamant on where her family will be. She picks a safe place, a comfortable place, and once all arrangements are made, she feels at ease and is ready for her babies to come. In the human kingdom, this phenomenon is known as nesting. Most women nest to a degree. I just read that nesting is most typical around a month or so prior to baby’s arrival.  For some of us though, those of us who will remain nameless, you find yourself organizing closets and deep cleaning your home several months in advance.  Some will express this need to prepare by zapping items for a baby registry while for people like me, I mean nameless people, it becomes an instinctual urge and to make proverbial hay bowls all over the place 16 weeks before the baby comes. 

Other than the major things that a mother would provide for her child, I find myself through this nest making phase being certain that there are things I strongly desire to make ready and set in motion for my baby.  

A comfortable bed, a beautiful room that she can play in, traditions at Christmas time.  Truthfully, I find myself wanting to recreate the things I admired about my childhood which were all a mark of a mother bird who tended to her nest well.  

I asked for a Lowe’s gift card for Christmas this year, not just because of my exemplary carpentry work, but because I really wanted to put a shelf in the laundry room to be more organized for the increased amount of clothes I’ll be doing.  Because of my urge to make ready my home, I was as excited about this shelf as I was the designer diaper bag I opened that made me cry uncontrollably in front of my husband’s family.  It’s almost like I feel that if I can have all shelves stacked and stocked, toys in place, base boards wiped, carpets cleaned, driveway sealed, etc. etc. etc.  THEN I will come to the climatic moment where I sit back in the glider, look at my stomach and say to her, “Okay.  It is time.”  Then she can proceed with the birthing events. 

It’s silly in a way, I know.  I’m nesting hard.  Like a cat making hay beds before she’s even pregnant silly when you look at the degree to which I feel like I’m doing this.  This maternal drive I have coupled with the fact that I’m an obsessive planner keeps me satisfied task at time, piece by piece.  The silliest part of all of this is that I know you can’t really be totally prepared and even if the house wasn’t “ready”, would it even matter?  God is gonna sock it to me and give me this baby 4 weeks early to prove a point.  In my mind I’ll be screaming, “Not before the childbirthing classes, Lord!”  Women have been squatting in fields for a 1000 years dropping babies into the wheat fields and I’m cleaning out kitchen cabinets and signing up for birth classes like these things MUST be done.  I do, however, feel that I could use a childbirth class.  There’s nothing quite as discouraging as going to the potty and not being able to even push out a number 2 successfully.  Has a way of making a girl nervous about producing offspring in an effective manner.

BUT, if this little lady will give me enough time, I’m sure I’ll make effective bathroom technique part of my nesting activities.

Me oh my, Becca’s gone crazy.

Thoughts for the Day December 20, 2009

Why do maternity jeans come with a big huge navy panel that shows brilliantly through any light-colored shirt.  Good job pant makers.

You know on those cheesy Kay Jewelers commercials where the guys whip out a ring box?  I bet the girls are really p’oed when he opens it and it’s just an ugly heart shaped necklace.  There’s nothing a girl waiting to be engaged wants more than a tacky heart necklace.

It’s amazing how fast you lose your English skills when you quit having classes and writing papers.  I’m even forgetting which words are compound and which are two seperate words.  I’m sure you haven’t noticed though with the excellency in my proofreading of my blogs.

I bet handicap people forget how wonderful it is to have the first parking space in the lot.  I bet even more they’ve forgotten how annoying it is to zoom up to a spot only to find a short car there.

Why do public restrooms have stainless steel doors and walls that show every hand print, splatter, and bathroom mishap on them?  Seems like they’d want plastic colored doors so at least we could all pretend that there aren’t questionable smears on the walls and doors.

I wonder how many people who read my blogs forever think of me when they see stuff like smeared stainless steel bathroom doors?

You know, I buy these cleaners that say “all natural” but I’m pretty sure there’s some deceitful wording going on there because the ingredients aren’t like lemons and tree bark so…..

If your cat climbs your Christmas tree, it’s better to just let them lay on the branches like a jungle cat.  If you pull them off, they just grip the trunk with their claws and you should just me about the rest.

When my hands swell with pregnancy, I’m going to buy a big fake diamond ring just for fun.  I’ve never looked so forward to sausage fingers in my life.

If your husband snores at night, just pinch their nose real hard.  Let me know how that goes for you because I’ve been thinking about doing that a lot lately.

Does anyone have a big black hair that grows out of your chin?  Me neither.

For some reason, every time someone gets my name wrong it’s always Rachael.  I guess it’s because they sound a lot alike like Sarah and Shasha.

When I see those little beta fish locked in their little tiny bowl chambers, I feel real bad for them.  I know they are fighting fish but mush they be imprisoned for their violence.  Sometimes when I walk by their little jars I pick them up and gently slosh their water from side to side so they feel like they are swimming gallantly through buckets of water.  You should see the smiles on their faces.

When you go to feed the ducks, there is always that one duck you are determined to get a bread ball to and you can’t leave until it’s done. 

Every year I adopt a needy family for home delivery and it’s really hard to find a truly needy family.  There’s nothing like going into their house with the gifts you bought and they’re all watching a flat screen and playing a Wii.  Merry Christmas to all!

When you are pregnant with a girl, everyone likes to tell you, “She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl!”  Can’t we just pretend that they’ll like us best while we are carrying them around?  Okay…Lance and Eden can be friends but don’t push it.

Why is it wrong to go into someone else’s yard at night and puncture their 19 foot Christmas inflatable?  Can’t I stand up against tragedy?

It’s amazing that children can believe so strongly in Santa Claus: a man who flies and downs apprx. 3 million cookies in one night.  I mean kids will even be in the third grade and stand up for Santa Claus’s name in the library in front of the whole class and say, “How do you think you  get all the presents your parent’s can’t afford?”  It seemed like such a good defense at the time and I’m sure that comment made my parents feel proud.  Then one day you’re standing in the basement and you find out the truth and all in one moment Santa, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy die in an imaginary massacre.  I never knew my parents could afford so many presents for some many kids.  On that note, I still want my dang power wheel.

Hammoth (Hamster Mammoth, obviously) December 17, 2009

I went to the doctor today for my 22 week check-up and apparently, I gained 7 pounds this month! Move over Bessie. I had only been gaining 3 pounds a month and then all of the sudden BAM! 7 pounder! I weigh 119 which blows my mind to smitherines. The biggest I’ve ever been in my life is 106 so I’m actually kind of enjoying this personal record shattering I’m doing. It’s similar to the time when I set the standing long jump record in elementary school.  It has touches of that sensation.  Anyways, I don’t know where all this poundage is going but it better not be making a fantastically huge beast of a baby. I would appreciate a small, tender slight of little girl that will be kind to my vaginal canal.  And also I would appreciate a peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks if anyone is out there.

In light of this new weight gain I have two words to share with you: hamster cheeks. I woke up this morning grabbed my cheeks (facial cheeks) and said those words to myself out loud. I’m not sure everyone would notice but now that I’ve publicly announced it, I’m sure you will all be evaluating the girth of my facial cavities. I’m not saying I’m packing a full bag of sunflower seeds in each cheek but I am gathering small kernels in my pockets slowly. It’s only a matter of time until I look like ET….small skinny body, inflamed belly, and…hamster cheeks.

During today’s appointment I asked my doc some delivery questions. Other than barfing during delivery, the imagery and fear I have in my mind is just the picture of my skin ripping open. I asked her if how I am “externally” today is exactly how I’ll be externally that day. I know you dilate on the inside but what about the exit ramp! How could God not remember the exit ramp?! She told me that I may be slightly wider but for the most part, just the same. Whew, for a minute there I thought I was going to be comforted. Glad I can keep with the skin ripping image. However, she did explain lady parts as a miraculous accordion. I will keep that in mind as I birth a bowling ball…beautiful folds…opens like an accordion.  In other news during today’s appointment, I seriously contemplated rubbing ky jelly on my hairy wooly mammoth stomach before the doctor came in because not only was it festive, it was static filled.  I decided I couldn’t take the risk.  You know, of it dread locking together….

I’m so excited, accordion or not, that I could just bust this baby right out and squeeze her to death right now.  Wait a minute, that reminds me of the time I got excited about my brother’s goldfish and did the very same thing.  That’s not the feeling I’m trying to convey.  That experience ended in shame and I’m trying to display feelings of affection and exuberance.  If I keep gaining weight she might accidently just push on through, make a run for it, drop it like it’s hot.

At my next 4 week appointment I will have started my third trimester!  My nursery is getting painted tomorrow minus the mural thing and my baby furniture is arriving this weekend.  Basically, there’s a party over here, party over there, wave your hands in the air shake your diary-air.  (That’s right dairy dash air.  I don’t know how to spell it.)

This week has been satchels full of celebrations and joy…just in time for the holidays.

90’s kid December 15, 2009

Below is a re-post from iceicebabies.com…the coolest site name in the universe.  I copied and pasted and edited slightly a few phrases.   

You know were a 90’s kid if….

You know all the words to The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air theme song.

 Goosebumps and Are You Afraid Of The Dark scared you.

You had a short-lived slap bracelet phase 

 

You know the Macarena 

Your winter coat used to be a Starter jacket 

 

You thought you could climb the Agrocrag faster than any of the kids on GUTS 

 

Your shoes had flashing lights 

 

TGIF was your favorite TV lineup 

 

Oregon Trail Day was your favorite day in class 

 

Bill Nye taught you something 

 

You’d have a cassette tape in the radio so you could record your favorite song when it came on 

 

You wanted to find Carmen Sandiego AND Waldo
 

 

Surge was your idea of an energy drink 

 

Warheads and Tongue Splashers were a key contributor to your cavities 

 

You predicted your future with one of these: 

 

You told someone The Blair Witch Project was real 

 

You knew every detail about each Saved By The Bell character 

 

Your goal was to be on American Gladiators if becoming a professional athlete didn’t work out
 

 

You had a stance on whether you liked Ice Ice Baby or U Can’t Touch This better 

 

You thought gas was expensive when it was over $1 

 

You (or someone you know) wore Jelly Shoes, the Crocs of the 90s 

 

 

You collected (and maybe played) Pogs

You remember people fighting over Beanie Babies

You owned and loved your trapper keeper.

Below is from http://destiny4ever.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!F0C72869FFD7070A!771.entry and edited by me a twinge.

You watched the Pound Puppies.

Girls wore biker shorts under their skirts and felt stylishly sexy.

You yearned to be a member of the B aby-sitters club and tried to start a club of your own.

You owned those lil’ Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls.

You know that “WOAH ” comes from Joey on Blossom.

Two words: Hammer Pants

 If you ever watched “Fraggle Rock”

You had plastic streamers on your handle bars

You can sing the entire theme song to “DuckTales ” (Woo ooh!)

It was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.

You wore a ponytail on the side of your head.

You saw the original “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ” on the big screen…and still know the turtles names.

You made your mom buy one of those clip s that would hold your shirt in a knot on the side.

You played the game “MASH ” (Mansion, Apartment,
Shack,House)

You remember reading “Tales of a fourth grade nothing ” and all the Ramona books.

You can remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off and his cheeks shifted.

You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.

You took lunch boxes to school… and traded Garbage Pail Kids in the schoolyard.

You remember Hypercolor t-shirts.

You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged handmade friendship bracelets.

 After you saw Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure you kept saying “I know you are, but what am I?”

You remember “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”

 You remember going to the skating rink before there were inline skates.

You ever got seriously injured on a Slip and Slide.

You have ever played with a Skip-It.

You had or attended a birthday party at McDonalds.

You’ve gone through this nodding your head in agreement.

You remember “Popples”.  

You wore socks scrunched down

You remember boom boxes.

You remember watching both “Gremlins ” movies.

You know what it meant to say “Care Bear Stare!!”

You remember watching “Rainbow Bright” and “My Little Pony Tales”

You know who Doogie Houser is

You remember Alf, the lil furry brown alien from Melmac.

You remember New Kids on the Block when they were cool… and don’t even flinch when people refer to them as “NKOTB”.

You wore overalls with only one strap on your shoulder or wore overalls in general.

The Man in the Picture December 11, 2009

I didn’t always want to marry Lance. Let’s be more specific….I remember crying in my room after he had been relentlessly pursuing me for years because I felt that there was no way this guy would let me get off with not marrying him. Literally I would cry and say, “Why God?” Why such a dramatic response? I was madly in love with someone else while Lance was madly in love with me. Marrying him meant losing my current love which was of no particular interest to me at that time.  But still, I was torn. 

Because I was a weird adolescent, I would imagine my life in pictures.  When I wasn’t sure if my boyfriend would keep me around, I would daydream about my Prom or Homecoming pictures and imagine who I would find myself with on that day.  I hoped it was my boyfriend and the future held that answer so when I made it to that next mark with that picture with him and I in hand, I felt pleased.  If even for that moment.  I was safe. 

As the years passed, I started to picture my wedding pictures.  Who would that man be?  I was divided because I was in love with man that didn’t keep me safe.  Picturing him in a tux next to me in my white dress made me feel the ease of knowing we’d be together but the fear of knowing that he didn’t love me in a forever sort of way.  There was an uneasiness in that imagery because weddings are permanent and I didn’t know if he’d ever want to be. 

Then there was Lance.  I knew he’d be beside me in those pictures and I knew he’d be beside me in other pictures 50 years from that moment.  But again, as good as a man as I knew he was, as lucky as a wife I’d be, my heart still sat on the other side of the love story flopping back and forth between being in love and being able to love someone back like they deserved. 

When my daydreams went beyond pictures, I remember being haunted by the thought in my  mind where I would be sitting in a restaurant married to another man and I’d see Lance walk in with his wife, leading her into the room with his hand on the small of her back.  We’d politely say hello and ask how the other was doing and he’d leave and I suppose my mind would race of all the what could have beens.  I use to tell my friends that possible scenario and tell them that I was certain that whoever did marry him would be a lucky woman because I was positive he’d be a great husband.  I could be so sure because he seemed to protect me and make me feel safe when I wasn’t even his.  That haunted me in the moments that the choice to be that lucky woman was still mine.

In time, as with all things, life changed.  I saw where I was wanted and where I wasn’t wanted.  I saw where I was enough and where I fell short in the eyes of another man.  I began to want more and to share love with another man rather than give and give in fear of where that giving would leave a vulnerable heart.  Maybe I always sort of knew I would come to this point at the end of the road and who would be standing there.  I’m glad he was.  I’m glad I had the time to change and the time to give and receive love.  I wanted to now.  I wanted to love him.  And I did.

Last night, we were standing at our bathroom sink.  We were laughing and being sort of affectionate with each other which I guess is like flirting for married people.  He said, “You know, I think our marriage is getting better and better and I think our first years are going to be the hardest years we had.”  I said, “Well dang I sure hope so!”  Once you get married you begin to see that princes on white horses are fairytales no matter how princely they pursued you originally.  And, not to be left out, I’m sure I haven’t exactly been the princess he was trying to rescue in the tower.  Unless of course that princess was screaming from the window, “Get your stupid horse out of my flowers he’s crappin’ on the daisies!”  It definitely hasn’t been what we thought.  I’d give the first 4.75 years a big double thumbs up for slugging through this thing for enough months at a time that it equals years.  But again, with time, all things change if you are committed enough to see it through the seasons as they come and go.

Honestly, I believe he’s right though.  Life and our relationship has been sweeter.  Not because we’re having a baby but because it simply is.  He brought me flowers and brownies to celebrate our halfway done mark of pregnancy.  He brought me flowers 5 weeks before that for no reason at all.  He’s helped me clean, brought me dinner, ran errands for me, cuddled with me, etc., etc.  I know he loves me.  And I love him.

About 2 am this morning he rolled over either half awake or totally subconscious but still.  I could tell he was trying to raise the bottom of my t-shirt up so I tugged it out from being pinned between the mattress just enough for him to slip his hand over my belly and rub it side to side.  He left his hand there for a minute and then slipped it down to my fingers to hold my hand.  It’s one of those moments where you’re sure you did the right thing.  The rest of the night I tossed and turned wallowing my curvy belly around trying to get to sleep surrounded in a room with pictures frames and big portraits on the wall.  I thought of everything, smiled to myself and thought, “I’m glad he’s the one in the pictures.”

Half Baked December 8, 2009

5 months, tiny shirt, LOVE having this tummy!

Oh how we've changed in 11 weeks. Aud-left 26 weeks, Katie-middle 25 years, Me-right 20 weeks. Ho Ho HOOOO Meeeerrrryyy Babies!

20 wk. ultrasound. That's her little open mouth and nose peeking out of the dark. She showed me her tongue which was cute. I also think it's cute that she's laying her head on me....I'm her mom though. I would think that. Mom? That sounds really, really weird.

tiny little feet and toes. to me it looks likes hands to the left and two little feet to the right but who am i to judge an ultrasound technician.

I know you can't tell much about a face from a 1D ultrasound but it's lookin' like my nose from here and chin. Welcome to the Catlett chin baby.

This ultrasound was 6 weeks ago. Compare it to the pic above and see how much her profile/face has developed. She's a speedy gal. She looks like a Who from Whoville in this pic.

Pickles and Paint December 7, 2009

When we were children, we are all sort of creative.  Creative either due to actual talent or boredom but imaginative either way. Personally, I always fancied myself an inventive child.  When I was growing up my dad managed a branch of a large commercial food supplying chain and we somehow ended up with huge pickle buckets at our house.  We never actually had the pickles in them, they were just huge 50 gallon plastic pickle buckets.  They were always in the garage, for storage I suppose.  I’m not sure how this originally happened but at some point, I ended up turning them into a ghetto drum set.  I flipped them all on their tops and turned another one upside down for my seat.  I found some sort of long broken wooden handle and I would just sit out there in the garage alone and play those buckets for hours.  Not like a cute little 3 year-old playing the bucket drums, no-no.  This was serious “I think I’m talented” 7 year-old bucket playing.  I can only really remember playing two beats:

Boom Chink Boom Chink Boom Chink Chink Boom Chink

The chinking was of course me hitting the concrete floor with my broom handle stick.

Then was another tune that was a little cutting edge.

Boom Boom Boom Boom Chink Chink Chink Chink Boom Boom Boom Boom Chink Chink Chink

That one was a little different.  I imagine that’s why that song never really took off.

When I wasn’t laying the smack down on pickle containers, I can remember taking an oversized Toys R Us bag and stuffing it with cotton balls.  I sectioned it off into ears, a head, and body and painted the face, turning it into an Easter Bunny complete with cotton tail.  I probably remember this one because even as a child, you can tell if you parents are really impressed with your art or if it’s just another scribble page for the fridge.  I recall that my mom kept it and showed proudly to a lot of people.  Namely my brothers and sisters.  I actually think we still have it.

Somewhere between plastic bags and buckets I found the muse of my artistic hands.  The medium to which all other mediums are compared:  puff paint.  Being the business lady that I am, I started making and selling puff paint decorated folders with Disney characters on them to my classmates for a dollar a piece.  Being the lazy person I am, I believe I shut down my operation after three sells.  I did make one classic piece though: a shirt for my father.

My dad lived in Louisville after my parent’s divorce and Father’s Day was approaching and I needed the perfect gift.  So, I took a white Fruit of the Loom shirt and thus began the fashion of all fashions.  Being the good dad that my father is, he’s worn it every Father’s Day since then.  Somehow every year I forget that he’s going to wear it so when he walks in the room with it on, I’m always caught off guard and get choked up.

This year was no different.  Only this time, I walk into our church sanctuary and over a blue and white pin striped dress shirt was a ratty white puff paint shirt that time and storage had tinted a yellowish color.  There he was just walking around and talking to people with it on over his dress clothes.  And, of course, it made my heart beat fast because I felt like I wanted to choke up but I was trying not to.

At the beginning of the service my dad got up to pray, shirt and all.  He said, “I’m going to try to get through this.”  I knew I was a goner.  He stood before our little church and said with tears welling in his eyes, “The greatest joy in my life has been being a father…..” And so he continued.  And so I cried.  Unfortunately, ugly face cry.  I watched as my dad spoke passionately about being a father, my father.  Cara, Craig, and Christina’s father.  He raised his hand up and spoke with authority about how there is a Father who loves greater than him.  A Father who allowed him to be born on the country floor of his broken down country childhood home, delivered by an aunt.  A Father who sustained that life and saved his soul 19 years later.  Watching his hands rise with his dress shirt peering behind his “dad” t-shirt I made as a child and seeing him talk about loving his children but loving more the Father who loves all the little children, including him, was the single memory snapshot I’ll keep in my mind of exactly who my father was. 

My best friend was there to see that prayer that day.  I’m so glad that someone got to see what I admire in action.  I’m as proud as I was the day I spent hours in the basement making puff paint hearts.

Eventually the service began and ended and some people came up to me and told me how they had cried watching my dad up there on stage.  One girl I was talking to said, I already cried earlier when he explained the shirt to me and told me that this year he was going to pass it on to Lance.  I covered my heart with my hand and gasped and my eyes began to water.  He had never told me that before.  This Father’s Day will be the first year that I haven’t seen my dad wear that shirt in  18 years.  This year I will see a new father holding our baby girl with a tattered old t-shirt peeking behind pink swaddled blankets.  I don’t expect that shirt to mean to him what it means to me but the fact that he’s willing to wear it, let’s me know that there’s another a little girl that will someday be looking at her father in the very same way.  They say that, “Behind every good man is a good woman.”  I also believe behind every good woman was a father that was good to them first.    I have the puff paints to prove it.

December 1, 2009

Three more in the triology of old blogs for you to feast your eyes upon. I’m working on some newer things so get excited.

Perverted Reindeer and Other Unforgetables  (one of my personal favorites) http://wp.me/pjhsl-1V

Williams Ave.  http://wp.me/pjhsl-n

How I Learned I’m Not Made For The City  (one of the first blogs I ever wrote when I was on myspace)  http://wp.me/pjhsl-1E