I need to open my mind

I did something yesterday that I never thought I would be able to do—I sent Veronica on a trip and I didn’t volunteer to tag along. If you have a disabled child, then you understand what an incredible milestone this is in my life as a mother.

Before Veronica was born, I was told that she wouldn’t live. After she was born, I was told she would never walk. After she walked, I quit thinking that doctors knew everything.

Back in January, Veronica’s Girl Scout leaders talked about taking the girls on a trip for two nights. I was hesitant. I didn’t want other people dressing my child—I didn’t want her to be a burden on someone else.

I told Veronica that she couldn’t go out of town with her troop unless she learned to dress herself and put on her leg braces and shoes on her own. At the time, it seemed almost impossible. But I had seen children who were a lot more disabled than Veronica who could dress themselves so I knew there had to be a way that she could figure it out.

After months of screaming and crying (from both of us) and trying different dressing tools, Veronica finally figured out how to dress herself completely. For those of you with “normal” children you will never fully understand this. For the first time in 11 years, I am not responsible for putting on Veronica’s shoes. This frees up about 10 minutes per day for me…that’s over an hour per week—or about 60 hours per year.

I used to have to put on her socks and then spend several minutes adjusting them so that they felt “right.” Then I had to put on her braces and adjust the straps until they felt “comfortable.” Then I had to squeeze her tennis shoes over the leg braces and tie them. Sometime the tennis shoes would trigger a pain in her toes and I would be forced to pull everything off and start over again until she felt "okay."

There were times when she would get so frustrated with her feet hurting that she would kick her legs in anger—those feet would hit me. Sometimes I got kicked in the face. Other times I would dodge the kicks and grab her legs and tell her to calm down. It was always a fight. It was never a sweet mother/daughter experience. It set the tone for our morning and I couldn't wait for the bus to pull up outside and take her to school. 

For those of you who don’t have a disabled child, this sounds like madness. It sounds like I am raising a pampered princess. It sounds like she demanded that I do what she told me to do.

Well, you’re right. As a parent of a disabled child, I do the typical thing and make excuses for my child. The excuses are true, but they don’t warrant being kicked in the face on a daily basis. It’s hard to stand your ground and force your disabled child to endure pain in order to become a more self-sufficient young adult. It seems logical, but the steps to get there are not.

It was so easy when Veronica was a baby and I could just stay at home with her all day and give her all of my attention. She was happy being a baby that just needed to eat, sleep, and play.

But now she’s a young lady who’s blossoming into a pre-teen. She’s worried about someone seeing the patch of hair she missed shaving on her legs so it should be obvious that she doesn’t want anyone to see her leg braces.

When we picked out her dress for the wedding she said, “Can you get me a long dress? I don’t want anyone to see my legs.” It broke my heart, but I knew this day would come. And I can’t blame her for the way she feels. I used to want to skip school to hide a zit. I can’t even imagine dealing with leg braces.

Veronica is such a beautiful young lady. I realized this past week that boys her age look past her disability and see her beauty. She has a crush on a boy in her class—he’s one of the popular boys of course. My first thought was, “he’s not gonna want anyone to know he likes her because she is disabled.”

I was wrong. I went to a party for her class and I saw this boy. I saw the way he looked at her. I knew he was smitten. He went out of his way to make Veronica laugh and notice him. I realized that I was the one with the problem.

Maybe things have changed since I was a kid.  Maybe people are more accepting? I hope so.

I guess I have spent the past few years bracing myself for the let downs. I kept waiting for people to treat Veronica badly. I kept waiting for her to come home crying because someone made fun of her at school. None of those things have happened. I don’t know why.

All I know is that is that I seem to be the only person who is bothered by Veronica’s disability. I keep thinking that I am just being realistic, but now I am beginning to wonder. Perhaps I’m the one holding her back. Perhaps I’m the one who needs to just accept it and move on.

It's good to finally be me

Robby and I decided to write our own vows for the wedding—which is quickly approaching. I finally sat down and wrote mine today.

I started writing the vows a few weeks ago, and I was surprised that I had such a hard time writing them. I mean, I’m a writer. I thought I would just sit down and the words would just pour out of me. But everything I wrote sounded forced or cliché. I felt like I was writing a greeting card, not my vows. I have to make a confession--I Googled "wedding vow samples" for inspiration one night, but I was too ashamed to read the results.

But today the words just seemed to slide right off of my pen and onto the paper. I didn’t need to re-write or scratch out words—everything that I wanted to say just came out.

One of the best things about being in a healthy relationship is the fact that you get to be yourself. I have found that the more I act like myself, then the more Robby seems to love me. Perhaps it is because the more I act like myself, the more I seem to love myself.

I always thought that loving someone else and sharing my life with him would be the hard part. But I’ve realized that loving myself is the hard part. I don’t want to change Robby—I love him just the way he is. But I find myself trying to change little parts of me in an effort to make me seem more lovable. You know, like trying to pretend I’m always happy or that I don’t make mistakes or that my house is always clean.

I also used to think that the secret to a good marriage was changing myself in order to get along with my spouse better—you know that old saying, “you have to give a little to get a little.”  Well, that’s a bunch of crap, because I gave a lot and I got very little in return.

It’s not about compromise—it’s about love. And if you don’t love yourself and accept yourself for you who are, then you have nothing left of value to compromise because you have already compromised on everything that should be important to you—you have compromised your happiness and your personality.  You bring nothing to the table.

Well, this time around, I realize I bring a lot to the table. I am happy with myself. I love myself for who I am. I don’t need to worry about how I phrase my marriage vows—I just need to be true to myself, because Robby is in love with me—the real me. Not the fake me that used to pretend to be happy and pretend to be this perfect wife who kept a perfect home and had perfect children. He’s in love with the person who says what she believes and who loves him just as much as he loves her. He’s in love with the real me and he’s okay with that. He loves me despite my many flaws, and I am more than okay with that.

It's about time Mr. President

Something really extraordinary happened today. PresidentObama announced his support for gay marriage in our country. I knew he would eventually do this, but I just figured he would play it safe and wait until he was re-elected.

I’ve written about my politics before, but I will restate it again. I am registered Independent and I have registered as Independent since I first registered to vote. I despise the bi-partisan system we have set up in this country and I really thought we would have a strong 3^rd party system by now. I thought people would get fed up with Democrats and Republicans fighting instead of fixing. But I was wrong.

I thought McCain would form a strong Independent party capable of raising large sums of money after he lost to Bush, but I was wrong. He stayed Republican and he lost.

I thought this whole Tea Party thing would shake things up. But they just got off track and supported the wrong people.

Then there was this whole Occupy Wall Street movement…no offense but it kind of petered out and lost steam. I thought we were angry about this economy? I guess we’re not that angry after all.

So, when I began looking at the 2012 election, I decided to set my sights on the one thing that I wanted to see accomplished in the next 4 years. That one thing has been to see gay marriage legalized. Since Republicans will never go for it, then I had to turn my attention to Obama.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t vote for him last time. I wasn’t sure I trusted him. I was worried about the economy and I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do enough to keep us from crumbling.

I really hadn’t made up my mind until I went into the voting booth. I had like McCain ever since I read a book in college written by a man who was a POW in Vietnam for 7 years. His story was incredible. He wrote about McCain and what he did for the men in the camp.

McCain was the son of a high-ranking admiral. The Viet Cong wanted to trade McCain for some of their guys, but McCain refused the trade. He went out of his way to make the Viet Cong torture him because he knew they couldn’t kill him—he was too important. I was stunned by that story.

Unfortunately he later came home and left his wife who had stayed behind and supported him and his children. She was disfigured from an auto accident she suffered while he was imprisoned. He left her for a much younger woman and never really paid much attention to his children.

This dichotomy of personalities really bothered me when I thought about voting for him. He was a hero who turned out to do one of the worst things a man can do—leave his wife and children. But ultimately, I felt that the economy would be in better hands with him, so he got my vote. But in the end, I was very okay with Obama winning. I got chills on election night when he walked on stage and gave his speech—I was glad my children were able to remember the election of the first black president. It was an exciting time to be an American.

For the past 4 years, I’ve just been sitting back watching Obama. I don’t feel like he’s done anything amazing but I know he hasn’t done anything disastrous. Our country has evolved pretty much the way I thought it would.

But I decided about a year ago, that I would definitely vote for Obama this time around. I feel like these next 4 years are going to be game changers for this country. I know he is the only person who will help this country move toward legal gay marriage and I also think he was some big plans in his back pocket that he has been holding onto since he got elected. I’m excited to see what he does for this country.

I have raised my children to be open-minded and not judgmental.  They know several gay couples and they love them dearly. They don’t think that there is something wrong with these people—they see them for who they are. They are people in love just like everyone else. They are no less than anyone else and they should have the same rights.

Veronica came home from school several months ago and told me about a lesson they had at school during black history month where they learned about how it used to be illegal for blacks to marry whites. She couldn’t believe that was true. “Why did that happen, Mommy?” she asked. “Sophia’s mom is white and her dad is black and they love each other. How is that wrong?”

I told her that it wasn’t wrong—it was just people who didn’t know any better.”

She said, “Kind of like how some people say it’s wrong to be gay and it’s not legal to get married if you’re gay?”

“Yep,” I said. “It’s exactly like that. Hopefully one day someone will change that.”

She looked at me and said, “I think Barack Obama will change that. He should know what it feels like to be discriminated against. And did you know that his mom was white and his dad was black?”

I just smiled and say, “Yes, I did know that.”

“I wish they would change the laws so that Aunt Mary could move to Georgia and be closer to us, but she can’t after she gets married,” she said. “I just don’t understand why people have to hate. What if they said that people who wear leg braces couldn’t’ get married then I would never get to marry someone and have children.”

And I thought to myself, “There probably are people who feel like you shouldn’t get married and have kids because you are disabled.”

But I told her, “Veronica, all we can do is wait for people to come around and change their minds. I think it will happen one day. I hope it happens soon. We are too smart to not realize how much this division hurts our country.”

You don’t have to agree with me. I understand. Beliefs and faith are hard to change. You can’t just believe that being gay is sinful your whole life and turn it off like a switch—I get that. I used to believe a lot of stuff about life until I hit rock bottom and realized that I was a judgmental fool who was no better than anybody else.

So, for those of you who are against our president right now for what he said today, I have a prayer for you. I pray that something happens to you to make you change your mind about gay marriage. I hope you see a marriage like my last one and realize that heterosexuals are already doing a great job at giving marriage a bad name. I hope you meet a child somewhere that you are awed by and find out he was raised by gay parents. I hope your child has the most amazing year at school and you find out her teacher is gay and you feel bad knowing he can never adopt children because your state won’t allow it.  I pray you quit being so judgmental and take time to answer the question, “what is it about gay marriage that really bothers you?” And if you claim your religion, then I pray for you to find a different one.

Too much surgery

I wrote this blog while I was in the waiting room at the hospital this morning.

Veronica is having surgery to repair her right eardrum this morning. I’m sitting in the waiting area by myself trying to sneak half of a ham on rye. I’m not supposed to eat in the waiting area, but I’m scared they will need to find me and I won’t be here. But I also know I need to eat a little something so I can take care of Veronica for the rest of the day.

I never eat before my children have surgery. I feel like if they can’t eat or drink anything, then I shouldn’t either. I do make an exception for a cup of coffee since I know that I will get a killer migraine if I forgo caffeine preventing me from taking care of my children post-op.

It's nice to see her happy

It should be no surprise that Veronica has serious anxiety about having surgery—even a small procedure like the one she is having now. I’ve lost count of the number of surgeries she has had. If I had to guess, I would say about 12 or 13? And the old saying “practice makes perfect” doesn’t seem to apply to surgery—they get harder and harder for her every time.

We arrived at the hospital this morning and did the usual check in and they showed us to our room. The nurse came in to check Veronica’s vitals and go over paperwork and medical history. While I was telling the nurse that Veronica was not on heart medication and that she didn’t have a history of high blood pressure, I noticed my little girl had her head in her hands and she was crying.

“Veronica, what’s the matter?” I asked. She looked up at me and said, “You’re gonna kill me!” The nurse looked at me strangely. “What are you talking about?” I began to panic. I thought Veronica said, “They are gonna kill me.” I thought she was freaking out about the surgery. I thought, “Oh boy, they’re going to have to call psych down here for a consult.”

She took a deep breath and said, “You’re gonna kill me. I put drops in my ears so that I wouldn’t have to have surgery this morning.” Then she covered her face again and started crying.

The nurse didn’t understand what Veronica said. But I did. I could feel my face getting red. I was furious. “Veronica, stop talking and don’t say another word.”

The nurse began to look worried, “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Yes, it’s fine,” I said. “She just has really bad anxiety about having surgery.” The nurse said he understood, but I could tell by the look on his face that he was concerned Veronica was going to make his morning rough.

“Do you think we could get her something for the anxiety?” I asked. He left the room and said he would see what he could find.

I was so mad at Veronica that I didn’t know what to say. I was scared that I would say the wrong thing. Actually, I knew I would say the wrong thing. She was scared and about to have surgery, but what she had done was so unbelievable that I couldn’t let it slide as “typical kid stuff.”

Veronica

“What were you thinking?” I asked.

She wiped away her tears. “I don’t know. I just thought if my eardrum was wet then they would have to do the surgery a few days from now instead of this morning.”

“Well, luckily the drops you used won’t affect your eardrum,” I said. “And you have no idea how much having surgery affects us all. I’ve spent several days filling out paperwork, prepaying surgery fees, and arranging my schedule. Not to mention that Robby has put everything on hold this week to help me take care of you. Do you ever think of anyone else besides yourself?” I could feel the anger boiling up. “I just can’t believe you would pull this shit on me! What were you thinking?”

And there it was—the question with the obvious answer—what were you thinking? And the answer is “I don’t know.” And for me, it’s an acceptable answer.

I can’t imagine what is going on inside her head. I don’t know what it is like for her. I know what it is like for me—I’m desperately trying to help her and she is freaking out and trying to sabotage the surgery. She did something similar before her last surgery in August when she broke her knee.

One the way to the hospital for her knee surgery, she started screaming at the top of her lungs while she was sitting in the back of the van. We were about 5 minutes away, and she hatched the plan to make herself so upset she would give herself a scratchy throat and fever so that they would have to cancel the surgery.

I thought I was going to lose my shit hardcore in the parking lot of the hospital. I was by myself and dragging this little girl out of my van and trying to force her into her wheelchair. She was hitting me and screaming, “Don’t do this to me! Please, Mommy, take me home! I don’t want surgery! If you do this to me, then I will hate you forever!”

I’m ashamed to say that it took everything inside me to not slap her in the face in an attempt to settle her down. I broke down and said, “Veronica, I will give you anything you want if you will please stop screaming and just let them do this surgery. If you don’t have it then you will never be able to walk again.”

She immediately stopped crying and said, “I’ll take 100 bucks.” I felt completely manipulated. “I’m not giving you 100 bucks,” I said. “Then I’m not doing the surgery,” she stated. “What about a video game?” I asked. I couldn’t believe these words were coming out of my mouth. I had never thought I would bribe my children. “I want the SIMs game,” she said. “Fine, I’ll call your aunt and have her get it and you can have it when we get home.”

The bribery worked for a bit and she stopped screaming long enough for the nurse to check us in and take her vitals. She did manage to give herself a fever, but it wasn’t high enough to cancel the surgery.

So, here I am again. Trying to figure out what to do about those damn eardrops. My first response was to be mad. Once I got over being mad, I began to question myself. “I should have realized she was anxious about the surgery and listened to her better when she started getting upset last night about the surgery,” I thought to myself. I just told her that it was a simple surgery and that everything would be just fine. She even told me that she was fine with the surgery.

This is the procedure she had done...
repair hole in eardrum (let's hope it worked)

My main focus right now is making sure she recovers without infection and that this surgery works. We had this exact same surgery a few years ago and it didn’t work. I don’t want a repeat of that. I also can’t even force myself to be mad at her right now. I understand that she is scared. And no matter what, she is my little girl and it is my job to protect her from bad things. On some level, I feel like I have failed her.

But does that mean I just ignore the bigger picture here? It’s not the eardrops—it’s the manipulation. Sure she’s just a scared child who made a dumb decision, but is there more that I don’t see here? I overlooked so many obvious problems in my marriage and I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to always be that person that people say, “How did you not know there was something seriously wrong?”

When do you stop beating yourself up and making excuses for a child’s behavior? When do you accept that there is a more serious problem lurking in the shadows? What do you do if you are overreacting? What if it is already too late?

Just go with it

I started my second internship last week. Truth be told, I had a love/hate relationship with my last internship. It was a great opportunity to be a part of the Savannah Book Festival as their social media intern and it was amazing experience to put on my resume, but it was a lonely and frustrating assignment.

I spent my 100 hours of the internship at home on my computer on Facebook and Twitter communicating with people who could basically care less that I existed. While I did make a few connections with some of the authors, for the most part, I was just a cyber-stalker working for free. Eventually the job would end and only a few people would ever recognize my face if they saw me walking down the sidewalk on Broughton Street.

But this new internship has already changed something inside me—and in a good way. I was able to land an editorial/writing position at Savannah Magazine. My first day was very surreal. Savannah Magazine was my first glimpse into Savannah when I moved here 8 years ago. So to be sitting at my own desk in their office and writing stories that will appear on their pages is dreamlike to say the least.

What’s ironic is that this internship was last on my list—a former intern had told me I wouldn't get a chance to write very much for the magazine and I thought I wanted a public relations internship. But after months of sending out failed requests to work for people for free, I began to realize that I better change my attitude about a journalism internship. For whatever reason, I was meant to take this offer.

My background is in journalism. My last year as an undergrad was spent in the basement of our student center in the newsroom. I would have lived there if they would have let me. I loved going out and finding stories and talking to people. I knew I had to do it for the rest of my life.

But when I married my ex-husband the week after I graduated, I didn’t get my chance to be a reporter again for almost 2 years. The Army makes it tough for a spouse to hold a job—no one wants to hire you because they know you will move and it’s hard to become passionate about a job that you know you will have to leave. I was a substitute teacher for those 2 years—not much a story there.

We moved to Fairbanks, Alaska and I was able to get on as a copy editor and then move on to reporter. That was the last time I worked in journalism and I left with a very bitter taste in my mouth. I swore I my days as girl reporter were over.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that I realized why I became so frustrated with working in the world of journalism. First of all, it’s easy to get burned out when you are surrounded by stories of people dying, people committing crimes, and children being abuse. But most importantly, most of the people I worked with in Fairbanks treated me like garbage.

I was the newbie and I was about 10 to 15 years younger than most of them. It took me over a year before they accepted me into their circle. But about 6 months later, the Army came calling and I had to pack my bags and say goodbye.

Sometimes I feel like I forced myself to believe that I hated being a reporter because I knew deep down that I could never make a career at it with the Army moving me around everywhere. My ex never really liked for me to work and he didn’t seem the least bit interested in my choice of career. It was easy to turn my back on that life.

This past week at the magazine has awakened something inside me that has been hibernating for the past 11 years. Savannah Magazine is housed in a large building that also holds The Savannah Morning News and several television news stations. It’s the hub of news for Savannah (although my friends at South magazine would disagree) and you can feel it the minute you walk through the double glass doors.

Everyone at the magazine has been more than welcoming to me. I already feel like I’m part of their established group. I actually feel like they are nice to me because I fit in and not that they feel sorry for me because I’m a 37-year-old grad student.  There is this instant feeling of mutual respect that I am humbled by.

I also realized something about myself this past week. I am meant to be a reporter. For some reason, it is natural to me. While my style is still too newsy for the magazine world, I can already feel a natural progression into this job. I like the fact that magazine writing is not news heavy like newspaper writing—I think constantly reading hard news stories was a big part of my total burnout. And I know it’s something I could do for the rest of my life because it the first job I’ve had in a long time where I don’t find myself wishing I were at home with my children. I’m glad I got this second chance.

Promises kept

Once again I find myself doing something that I swore I would never do—I’m getting married again. And to top it off, I decided last week that we should have a wedding rather than elope like we had originally planned. What’s even crazier is that I’m not even panicking yet.

I guess I have come to some sort of peace about getting married again which makes the wedding feel so right. It’s obvious that the kids need to see Robby and I tie the knot. But I’m surprised by how happy this wedding is making everyone else. I guess they see our love and they just want to see us happy after the hell we both have been through. It’s the kind of love fest that makes single people want to claw your eyes out.

So with the wedding on Memorial Day weekend, it looks like we will be married before we move in together which on some levels solves another dilemma I had—I swore I would never live with someone I wasn’t married to.  But to be honest, that doesn’t really matter to me anymore either.

It’s not that my values have changed. I still want to set a good example for my children. I just don’t sweat the small things that I used to think were so important. Basically, I guess I just don’t care what people think about me anymore--at least that is what I try to tell myself..

I know I’m a good person. I know that I am a good mother. I no longer secretly hope that everyone else agrees with me--at least that is what I try to tell myself and my therapist.

This isn’t a change that happened overnight. I didn’t even realize it had happened until I realized that I was making plans and not worrying too much about what people would think.

I’ve always been a people pleaser. My mom will be the first to admit that the dynamic of our family instilled the idea in my head that it was my job to make everyone happy. “You just always wanted to make everyone laugh,” she told me. “We put too much pressure on you to be the cheerleader for the family. It was wrong, and I’m sorry. You deserve to be happy.”

Perhaps that’s true. I do know that this need to make everyone happy was made worse by my marriage. Despite our split, I really did love my first husband and I really wanted to make him happy.

The problem was that nothing ever made him happy. Nothing was ever good enough. The harder I tried, the harder it got. And like my parents, his mood would change in a second. I never knew when he would get angry or frustrated or depressed. I never knew when I would be forced to be the cheerleader and try to make things good again.

I’m not cured though. I find myself falling back into these old habits almost daily. I’m getting better. I don’t feel as guilty as I used to when the children are disappointed or if Robby is bummed about something that happened at work. I don’t feel that it’s my job to make everyone happy--well, sometimes I feel this way.

I do know that if I don’t continually work on this need to make everyone happy, then I will lose myself again. Everyone will be happy except for me and I don’t want to end up in that place again. Robby and the children deserve a happy Kim and I want to give them that.

I caught myself falling into those old habits when Robby and I started planning the wedding ceremony. Venues in downtown Savannah were more expensive than we planned for. I immediately felt the need to back down on my expectations. The wedding cake we priced at Publix was more than we really wanted to spend, and I began to think of other alternatives to keep the peace on price--to make Robby smile.

For those who know Robby, they probably find this funny. He’s the least overbearing person on the planet and if I asked for something, he would do everything in his power to get it for me.

So, I had to remind myself when I felt that twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach about prices, that it was okay for things to be a little difficult. It’s okay to see the disappointment on Robby’s face when he finds out it will cost $300 for the cake I want. It’s not my job to make everything painless. It’s my job to make sure I am happy. No one else can do that for me and nothing around me seems to work right when I’m always trying to please everyone else. And even though it’s still a daily struggle to focus on my happiness and even though I still feel guilty when I get my way, I realize that it’s going to be okay.

I swore to myself several years ago that I would never allow myself to be unhappy again. This is one promise I really need to keep.

Happy Birthday Amy!

Today is my sister’s 40^th birthday. It’s hard for me to tell if she is depressed by the milestone or not. She has mentioned her disgust with the age change a few times, but she doesn’t seem fazed by 40. I guess it takes a few days for the shock to settle in.

I know I have a hard time believing my sister is 40. It just seems too old for her. We still do a lot of the same things we used to do when we were teens—giggle, talk about sexy guys we see at the grocery store, stay up all night playing cards, drink too much, and hangout all day at the beach with the kids. But I just can’t seem to get a handle on one question, “Where has the time gone?”

Amy on vacation

With each passing year, the reality of aging sets in. Amy’s daughter started her freshman year in college in the fall. Amy and her husband are glad to finally have that honeymoon time they didn’t get to get in the beginning, but I can tell the empty nest bothers her sometimes.

I’m not sure what I will do when that day comes for me. I’ve been such a hands-on mom for so long that the idea of having an empty nest seems exciting and painful at the same time. So much time has already passed with my children that it’s hard for me to know “where has the time gone.”

While I’m glad to be rid of diapers, bottles, and sleepless nights, the idea of being rid of karate practice, horse riding lessons, Girl Scouts, and art camp makes me a little sad. The idea of being 40 makes my stomach hurt a little bit. But the knowledge that my sister and I will never be those two giggling girls sitting in the back of my parents van enduring another drawn-out vacation makes me want to cry.

At the beach with Amy

 I’m not ready for us to get old. I’m not ready for my children to get older. I don’t want to come home to a house that isn’t full of giggling children and toys thrown on the floor. I’m not ready to plan my day without taking into consideration if we have doctors’ appointments or PTA night at the school.

I’m proud of my sister for aging gracefully. She raised her daughter on her own on a teacher’s salary and did an amazing job. She found a way to balance motherhood with her career and still make time to create a healthy relationship that turned into a once-in –a-lifetime kind of romance with her husband. She didn’t let herself get bogged down with regrets or missed chances—she has lived each day to its fullest and she probably always will.

I hope that when the hands of time click down to the day my children leave home and begin their new lives that I will be grounded enough in my own world to continue to grow and flourish in this new life I have built for myself. I hope I grow up to be like my sister, because if she can make 40 look great, she’s gonna make 50 look unstoppable.

I love you, Amy.