This isn’t something I ever write about. It’s not really anything I talk about, because it still feels somewhat ‘tragic’ to me.
Today is the due date I had for what would have been my second child.
Kara was very young and this ‘new baby’ wasn’t expected. When I suspected that I was pregnant again, I freaked out. Like it was just 5 minutes ago, I remember driving to Shingletown to visit my parents. On my way up there I said, “Please God, if I’m pregnant again…take it from me, because I can’t do it myself.” I prayed and stressed out about it for the 3 hour drive.
I had a test taken and low and behold, I was pregnant. We told our parents that ‘yes, we are doing it again.’ It took some mental adjusting to the fact that I was going to be pregnant again and go through labor again…and be a mother again.
Through this process, I began to get excited. I knew it was a girl. GUT FEELING it was a girl. Kara was going to have a little sister she could torment.
Dan and I threw around some names, but nothing really stuck. He liked “Becky” and I liked “Amanda”.
Around 20 weeks into the pregnancy, we went up to visit my parents again. I was hardly even showing because I was still holding on to the weight that Kara had caused. My mom joked about me vacuuming the floor for her. I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began cleaning under everything I could find. Somewhere in the middle I felt sort of sick and sat down.
When I went to the bathroom, I had some light bleeding.
When we returned back to Sacramento, I got an early appointment with my OBGYN. Dan didn’t go, because Mister. Ever Optimistic said I was fine.
My wonderful doctor did an exam and sent me to the ultrasound room to ‘double check’. The woman who ran the equipment was also my Lamaze coach. We chatted away as she roamed around my belly. Then she stopped. She did the measurements. She rubbed some more. She then looked at me and told me that my baby had no heartbeat and it looks like she had stopped growing at 16 weeks.
I informed her that I was 20 weeks.
She gently told me that I needed to get into an emergency DNC (which to this day, I have no idea what it really means or involves) and that they would get me in tomorrow morning.
I called Dan from the small office. Sobbing. I was so angry that he wasn’t there, and so sad at the same time. After hanging up the phone a very tall woman with short blond hair sat down and was explaining to me why I needed to get in tomorrow morning and how I was to drink nothing after midnight…and so many other facts. All I could focus on was the angel she had pinned to her name tag.
Driving home, getting home and the rest of the night is a blank to me. The most horrifying thought was racing through my head. “I have a dead baby inside of me. MY dead baby.”
The next morning they asked me to put on this gown that resembled the gown I wore when I had Kara. They put in an IV and I sat on very uncomfortable chairs while waiting for ‘my turn’. Kara and Dan were there. She was crawling all over him and interested in the thing in my arm.
When it was my time to go in the nurse led me down this hallway to the double doors. She had forgotten something at the main desk and just told me to go meet my doctor in the room.
As the doors were automatically opened, what I saw, I wasn’t ready for. The room was enormous. It was completely white and sterile, unlike the delivery room I had. There were 3 people across the room and they all surgical gear on. I walked across the room barefoot, feeling the ice cold tiles. I started to feel a little shaky and then my wonderful doctor who I had spent so much time with having Kara, was standing there with a mask, cap and full surgical garb. He looked up at me and his sweet eyes met mine. I believe that was the moment that my body slid to the floor and I began to sob.
This wasn’t right.
He was going to be bringing my new baby into this world like he just had done with Kara, not taking it away.
He quickly walked over to me and carried me to the table and the last thing I remember hearing was him saying, “Hurry”.
I blamed myself for a very long time. I had willed this child to die. My mother blamed herself saying that If she didn’t make me vacuum, I wouldn’t have lost the baby. I had to reassure her that the baby died long before that.
So many people said, “Everything happens for a reason.”, but it wasn’t what I wanted, nor needed to hear.
My friend Ruka spent as much time with me as she could and the days she couldn’t be there, she would send her mother over to the apartment to take care of Kara.
I don’t normally recognize this date. It’s just another day on the calendar, but I was cleaning out some old boxes a few months ago and ran across the poem that my friend, Ruka had written me after the loss along with a dried petal from the roses that Dan bought me after the surgery.
The month and day stuck. November is my mom’s birthday month. I was 20 weeks pregnant when I found out I wasn’t 20 weeks pregnant. November 20th.
After Alyx was born, the hospital closed down and everything was in transit to the new hospital they had just completed. The nurse left my chart on the table next to me because they hadn’t installed the file folders that hang on the outside of the door yet. Being nosey, I peeked through all my charts and the miscarriage information was in there.
It was a little girl.
She needed a name. So I call her Amanda.
I am lucky enough to hear, “Your kids are so good.”
Of course, my come back is, “That’s because I beat them on Sunday. It takes care of anything they might have done during the week and gives them a nice reminder of what they have to look forward to next Sunday.”
We know this isn’t true. We know I really beat them on Tuesday. No, no, no…just kidding. sort of.
I was thinking about being a mom last night as I stood in the shower, fully clothed washing my daughter’s hair.
Am I the kind of mom that gets up every morning to make lunch for my kids? No.
Do I monitor everything they watch on TV? Hardly.
Are we the family sitting around the table talking? More like arguing.
Out of a sense of survival, my kids get up every morning and get themselves ready for school and if they don’t like what the school is making for lunch.
Alyx and I watch a lot of CNN, Headline News and Dateline. She’s VERY informed and loves it. Shea likes watching Hannah Montana and as much as I think the show is stupid, it’s better than That’s So Raven. SO watch on girlie-girl!
Kara likes watching all types of movies. Her father and I have actually put our foot down on “Good Luck, Chuck” because he has seen it and he said, “Wayyyy too much sex.”
Now dinner around our house is sort of bizarre, we grab our plates and inhale our food. Done. Let’s finish what we were doing before dinner interrupted us.
So again, I am standing in the shower with all my clothes on, washing away, wondering what my children think of me when they grow up? …ah, THIS is what they will remember.
They will remember they feared me when the thought of doing something wrong. They will laugh remembering the time I chased a bubble around the kitchen, squealing with excitement “Bubble!”…then slipping on the floor and crashing into the open dishwasher door.
They will remember the times that we did sit around the table to eat dinner together, it was something pretty darn special and they never took a second of it for granted.
Like me, they will know that mom’s room is the hang out — it’s the place were people go for counseling, quiet time, tivo and cuddles.
They will know before I was their friend, I was their mother.
Still being in my ‘funky disco’ groove from the concert, I was blaring “She’s A Bad Mama Jama“ on the way over to drop the girls off at Dan’s for Karate. Shea and Alyx both know the song and they are grooving right along with me, singing just as loud as I am.
I’m reminded of the laugh that my sister got when I confessed to her that I never really knew what the singer was saying in this certain part of the song.
SIDENOTE: To fully be able to appreciate this part of the story you will have to know this song. If you’ve never heard this song, the humor will be lost on you…so just go read another blog or download the song.
Her body measurements are perfect in every dimension
She’s got a figure that’s sho’ ‘nuff gettin’ attention
She’s poetry in motion, a beautiful sight to see
I get so excited viewin’ her anatomy
My messed up lyric:
I get so excited with you, her, Adam and me.
So I decided because *I* had messed up the lyrics so bad for so long, I can only imagine how bad the kids are destroying them. I have them listen to that part of the song and then turned off the cd player. “What do you think he said right there, the part right after ‘beautiful sight to see’?”
Alyx looks at me all weird and makes me giggle with what she thought.
Shea pipes up from the back seat and it was pretty funny.
I share what I thought the lyrics were saying and of course, it was WAY worse than what they came up with so they get a bigger laugh at my expense.
After I turn the song back on, Shea asks, “What’s he saying RIGHT THERE?”
I say, ” She’s a bad mama jama”
Shea then lets out a big sigh and says, “Oh, Alyx was right.”
Knowing this is going to be good, I turn down the stereo just loud enough for her to sing what she thought the guy was saying.
As it came back around she sang, loudly, in key, “She’s got Batman Pajamas!”
I know I joke about peeing myself…but this time, full bladder loss. I really wish they could stay this age forever.
I was interviewed last night about this blog.
It was the standard question of what blogging means to me, how I come up with topics…your general, not very probing questions.
After I sent off the answers I began to think again about this ‘blog’ I have. What it really means.
This isn’t the root of my writing, it’s an offspring of something I started many, many years before the word ‘blog’, before templates and free hosting. It started in my bedroom when I was in 5th grade with a pen and a Anne Frank knockoff diary.
In a diary covered with a teddy bear and pink hearts I began to pour my heart out to no-one and the whole world at the time. I wrote down the fears of the upcoming year, my bmx race I had won 3rd place in, my growing crush on all things that even looked like a boy and the angst over my 8th grade graduation dance where Bryce Mahon broke my heart, but not dancing with me even once. My broken heart could be felt with every single word you read.
My diaries were filled with the pain and happiness of my life. In every book marked a new milestone in my life. My first diary of meeting the man I would marry was a paisley brown. The birth of my first child is a book with a beautiful woman on the front wearing a pink gown staring in a mirror. The life I lived in this home as a married woman was a cloth covered book with a red high heal shoe. When I ended my marriage the cork cover held all my deepest, darkest secrets. The hurricane of the rebuilding of my life is between two leather covers.
This here, this should reflect the place I am in my life. I am still trying to capture that woman. The template I had before was what I want. I want a clean me. I want a flower filled world. I want everything to look neat.
My life is not neat. It’s much like this template. I am in the sand trying to capture the exact thing I have eluded for so long. ME.
I know I have said it many times before, but the reality is I want to write and write and write about what the hell is swirling in my head. I have lost my footing on how to figure out where I am and how I have progressed these last few years.
I want to look back a year from now and twirl around and sing, “Ta-Da! Look at how far I have come!!”
The next phase of Random and Odd is going back to raw. I don’t want to piss anyone off. I don’t want to hurt any feelings, I don’t want to scare anyone. I am a strong, beautiful woman who will be more than OK. If the words you read are too much, please come back another day and read. You might catch me on a whirlwind of happiness. The truth right now needs to be told and some days it might just get too much ‘real’.
I said something years ago that got my ass in trouble. “Follow my bliss”. There is a new me, a new bliss that is going to be fought for and for now on, Random and Odd will reflect that battle. I need to heal. It’s time.
And on that note to quote one hell a band;
Why in the world
Would anybody put chains on me?
I’ve paid my dues to make it
Everybody wants me to be
What they want me to be
I’m not happy when I try to fake it!
Tabitha and Shaun headed to the hospital at 2am.
I grabbed Marina out of school at 11:00 am.
We got to the hospital (downtown, if I might add…you know the place with all the streets with numbers and letter and ONE WAY signs!!??) Around noon and at 12:35pm Ariana Faith Griffin was born. 7lbs 9oz and 18 inches long. 10 fingers, 10 toes and looking all kinds of adorable.
Shaun is going to be adding the pictures tomorrow of all the shots he took all morning and all night. Right now he’s brain dead.
The picture above was taken by Tabitha. I’ve bought a lot of things in my life that I regret; a Kirby, a Volvo, and one of those mechanisms that hold the soda in the fridge and roll down a new one. In December I bought Tabitha a digital camera. It has turned out to be on the better gifts I have ever given anyone. She uses it daily and is always grateful for it. Today she not only captured some very awesome pictures, but precious videos.
Tabitha has the footprint from Ariana on her arm from when she got her foot printed. At random moments she would throw up her forearm and say proudly, “I’m a grandma!”
Seeing her walk out of the delivery room fighting back tears made me have to fight back tears for her. She kept saying, “I am so proud of her.” She truly is a fantastic mother…and now a grandma.
This makes Shaun a step-grandpa. We decided that we are going to make Ariana call him “Pappy”, just to make him feel very old.
I am a step-step grandma. I opted for the cooler name of “G-ma” Somehow, I know Tabitha will switch it up and make Ariana call me G-ma Koo-Koo. She’s mean like that ;)
Jennifer did fantastic. In every picture, her wonderful husband, Greg looks so madly in love with his wife and her strength. He nearly made me cry with the attention he was pouring over both of them.
He leaves back to Korea in a week or so. Please pray for his strength and safety as he battles in this war.
Thank you all ahead of time for the congrats…and thank you SO much for all my mixed CDs. They made driving in downtown hell so much easier. I will post more about that later though.
SPF: Something “Pink and Little”. (minds out of the gutter)
P.S. I am a G-ma!! HOLY CRAP!
Last night was a bad night for me. I have had all types of anxiety and panic attacks in various stages and degrees.
Most of the time, you wouldn’t know I am in the middle of the attack unless I told you. I’ve gotten pretty good at getting through them without looking at the person next to me and screaming at the top of my lungs that the world is going to end and in case of a water landing we better rip the seats out of the car and hope they float.
Shaun knows that every time we get into the car that it’s going to be a game of Russian Roulette. I might be totally fine or I might be like a cat trying to claw my way out through the headliner.
What is strange is there are some people where I get into the car and I am totally fine and have never had a problem with. It’s like my anxiety/panic disorder is selective to whom it will rear its ugly head to.
Last night I took my pills and climbed into bed. I turned on the TV and checked my email really quick. It usually takes me an hour or two to finally let myself fall asleep. At 2 am I thought, “Hmm, this is strange. I haven’t had ANY caffeine. I took my pills, the lights are off, no computer…what the hell?”
Then at 3 I thought for sure that my body would fall into an exhausted heap if I laid flat on my back and set my timer for 15 minutes. I have no “Forensic Files” to watch and I had changed my viewing from crime to old 70’s shows. How boring is “Three’s Company” when you need something to fall asleep to?
At 4 am I started my journey to the kitchen to see if a glass of milk would help. That’s when I had the most horrible of horrible panic attacks.
I had to talk myself through it because my whole body began to sweat and my fingers and toes started to tingle. I felt around in the cupboards in the dark (because Tabitha and the baby were asleep) and I couldn’t find anything except Jeremiah’s baby crackers.
I managed to find some Saltine crackers. In order to get the crackers down, water from the fridge and make it back to the bedroom I had to talk myself through it.
“Do not black out. you are fine. If you can just get the saltine crackers out of the cupboard everything will be fine. You got the crackers. see, everything is fine. no go to the fridge and get the water. Good girl. now walk back to the bedroom. once you get there everything will be perfect.”
I collapsed on my bed and stared at the corner of my closet door for 5 minutes trying to get rid of the tunnel vision and the tingling arms and legs.
That was the second worst attack I have ever had.
At 5 am when Shaun’s alarm went off I slid down under the covers and pretended to be asleep, because if he saw that I was still awake he would be worried about me.
At 5:30 I actually felt myself let go and fall asleep.
When I woke up this morning I felt everything was a giant dream and the ghost of the person I was before the attacks began to hit me was the person that was guiding me through last night. I vividly remember hearing right before I went to sleep, in my own voice, “It’s okay to go to sleep, everything is okay.”
Since I’m not dead and I don’t have a ghost of myself, I’m guessing it’s time to see a doctor…again.
Wait, back that train up. Happy Easter Everyone!! Hope you have a good one.
Even those that don’t believe in chocolate bunnies *waving to Joel*(shhhh, he’s a doorknocker) and all the chocolate goodness that comes with HOLIDAYS, I hope that today brings you nice spurts of chocolate and family togetherness.
Sidenote: I was tempted to run by Joel’s house and ding dong ditch his house leaving behind a chocolate bunny with a post it note that said: KNOCK KNOCK.
Okay, ’nuff of the Easterness.
I had like 4 kabillion dreams last night; one where I shot a pelican (do they fly?) out of the sky with your .357, I saved a dog that was hit by a car, Kara was hit by a car (but that might have just got blended together with the dog), Shaun and I had to shoot a wedding where the cake was rolled up crepe paper, and the BEST.ONE.OF.ALL….Ceasar Milan was your BOYFRIEND!!!
Yes, I had a dream where we were all standing around talking and I was cracking a joke about how Kathy had redid my whole bedding in Pepe La’ Pew and renamed Mooshu- Fe Fe. This is where it gets good, I turned to look at YOUR BOYFRIEND and it was THE DOG WHISPERER! I said, “Ceasar, that’s not good for the dog right? to rename her after she has had the same name for like 7 years?” and THERE YOU WERE! Standing right next to him in the crook of his arm, all cuddled in. He said something and then kissed the top of your head all lovingly.
Aww, Mom…it was the best dream EVER.
I mean, outside of the fact that we all lived in this movie theater and my Pepe La’ Pew bed was right by the projector screen.
“At this point in my life, i’ve done so many things wrong I don’t know if I can do right.”
You know that saying, “I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy?” That is how I feel about myself. I wouldn’t wish what I have on anyone.
On the outside, FROM the outside…I have nothing to complain about.
Inside, where I like to keep it nice and dark…that’s the place i’m talking about.
When I was Kara’s age I was afraid EVERY SINGLE DAY. I was afraid that I would walk into a classroom and that would be the day the teacher had me stand up and answer a question I had NO clue how to answer. That would be the day that everyone would find out that I was a complete idiot. That would be the day I got laughed at.
My daughter, Kara is living with that same damn fear and I hate myself for it. I HATE that I knew it MIGHT happen, I hate myself for the fact that I saw it happening, I hate myself that I can’t take that fear away no matter what I do.
Alyx hasn’t done a cartwheel since she broke her arm. She fears it. I don’t blame her. I will never force her to do one. I on the other hand have to push Kara into a place she doesn’t feel safe. A place that hurts worse than broken arm and there are no casts to make it better.
I cry. I cry just like my mom did when she knew I was failing. I thought she was crying because she mad at me, disappointed in me…ashamed of me.
She wasn’t though. I know that now…with these tears that stream down my face I realize those were tears of pain. My mom knew that fear. She had passed her fears to her child…and if there is one thing in this world a mother wishes she can take from her child it’s fear and pain. My mom wanted to be able to explain to me WHY she cried, but I couldn’t hear her. Her fears were from a million years ago, mine were right here…I could feel them and taste them.
With my head in my hands I cry for my little girl. Yes, she will turn out beautiful and wonderful…but she will walk in fear for many years. She will turn to people that can get her down the road with the least amount of work. She will become dependant on someone to make her feel safe. Then one day she will wake up in the middle of night in fear again because she has to get out of the place she is…and SHE CAN’T!
She’s going to ask herself, “How did I get here? How did I become so dependant on one person that I am buried so deep that there is no way out?” She will try to find the path to get out…but it will lead back to, “I have no education…and this is the best it’s going to get…I better stay.” and she will.
Then she will wake up again a few years down the road with a couple of kids and realize that she should have tried to battle the mountain all those years ago, but she didn’t because she didn’t think there was a way to do it.
and she will cry, like I cry right now because she’ll know what ‘trapped’ feels like.
I hurt SO many people because I couldn’t hold myself up. I wanted to take the easy route.
It was easier to fall down the stairs then to actually put the effort into climbing them. It was easier to trust someone else with my life than to actually take some responsibility for it myself.
There are many things in my life I want to forget. The pain I caused my ex-husband when I walked out on him is one of them. I think the pain I caused him when I came stumbling into his life should be first though. Did he honestly think he was getting someone who had it all together or someone that was running away from life?
I trusted that he would keep me safe and make my life a little less painful. He trusted me that I would love him forever if he provided those things. I broke my end of the bargain though.
I wanted out because at some point it didn’t matter that I wasn’t smart enough to go out and get a job and support my children. I had to save my own life. THIRTY STUPID YEARS LATER!
Kara, please. Believe me like I didn’t believe Grandma…I’ve been where you are sweetheart and these tears aren’t because i’m ashamed of you. They are because I love you so very much and I don’t want you to hurt like I did. I don’t want you to be scared like I was for so many years…years that went past 7th grade through high school. Those fears follow me TODAY.
I wouldn’t wish feeling scared on ANYONE…especially you honey. If I could take it all away I would. If I knew how to do it then, I would have.
I remember Grandma telling me through tears, “WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP YOU?” she cried like I am crying now…and I asked you the same question.
There may not be a perfect solution to fixing this…or a quick fix…but Kara we have to end this cycle HERE. Trust me, you do not want to ever see your daughter crying like you did today. It’s painful in ways that I can’t describe.
You trust me and I don’t want to let you down.
Mountains baby, we have many to climb.
It’s really, really late and I am falling in and out of sleep when I hear the ‘thump, thump’ of Kara’s stereo. She’s fallen asleep to the hip hop station and I have to go turn it off or I will have JLo stuck in my head for the next two days.
I maneuver around pillows, towels and Polly Pocket toys until I find the stereo. I turn it off and see both of my girls cuddled up together in Kara’s bed. I think “Oh how cute” and I try to find my way back to my bedroom without tripping over the Polly Mall.
I climbed back into bed and it dawns on me. My 8 year old is in bed with the 11 year old. This means one of two things: Alyx had a bad dream or Kara had a bad dream and told Alyx to get in bed with her. The likely of the two is that Alyx had the bad dream and felt it would be safer to get into bed with her older sister.
I got back out of bed and picked up Alyx and I brought her to my room. This was ‘our’ room for 3 years before Shaun moved in. Kara and Shea both liked their beds and on occasions would come get in bed with me, but Alyx always slept with me. She had her side of the bed. There was never a question that when I would come to bed, she would be there with just the top of her head poking out of the covers. It’s just how it was and no one questioned it.
It took a couple of months of slowly getting Alyx use to sleeping in her own bed, but for the most part she did really good. I missed her and I knew she missed ‘her side of the bed’ too.
Tonight as I slipped her into my side of the bed and cuddled up close to her I had forgotten how good it felt to hold her and feel her instantly cuddle into my chest. I remember why it was so easy to be single for all those years.
Then it hit me like a fucking train at full speed and with a knot in my throat I thanked God. I thanked him because I couldn’t think of anyone else at that emotional moment.
I thanked Him because I know there is a mother out there, laying awake at 1 in the morning wishing they still had their 8 year old daughter in bed with her…maybe for just one more night.
I’m not naive enough to think that something bad will never happen to me or my girls. I know it can.
I pulled Alyx closer and thought about the parents that lay in bed at night while their children are in a hospital fighting for their lives. Who get up every morning and instead of making breakfast, finding lost shoes and bitching about where their 11 year old daughter hid her eyeliner, have to get up and go spend the day at the hospital and watch their child lose their hair & get poked with needles.
Some will spend the day wondering where their child is and with who. I know where my little girls are. They are laying in bed next to me kicking the covers off of their feet, turning over and over and rubbing my arm while they sleep.
I can’t stop kissing Alyx’s head and rubbing her face. I want God to know that I am not taking anything for granted and to please keep them safe, because I recognize how lucky I am to have them here.
I then start thinking about Dan, my ex-husband. He loves his girls so much. I say ‘thanks’ to him too. He’s not laying here with his baby girl, holding her little hand and thinking about how lucky he is. He’s at his apartment, alone. He didn’t want to give up this either. He certainly didn’t ask to be a ‘part time dad’.
I silently thank him again for not leaving state with my girls. I’m not naive enough to think it couldn’t have happened. It happens. Every single day.
And in my safe little world I think, “Well at least the other parent knows that the child will be safe because at least it was the other parent that took the child.” …and then I feel Alyx roll over and let out a big sigh and I think, ‘but the parent that doesn’t have the child…doesn’t have this.’ and I kiss her head for the fourteenth time in 5 minutes.
She’s waking up because I can’t stop pulling her closer. She slowly pops up her head and sees Shaun laying there and puts her head back down…and then puts her arm around him and goes back to sleep. My heart explodes. I thank my mom. I thank her for teaching me good judgment. I know in the past I’ve dated a couple of complete idiots, but for the most part I have been VERY smart about the men I let into my life. I made the best choice I could have ever made by letting Shaun in. He feels her hand around him and in his sleep he pats her little hand and lets out a sigh.
I know I complain. I know I get frustrated. I also know that things could be so much worse and sometimes I just need to be reminded of how wonderful my life is. I am grateful that it happens in moments like this and not after the fact.
Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday Baby, oh i love you so.
Blow out your candles, make your wish come true.
For I will be wishing that you love me too.
Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. Isn’t she beautiful? She’s always been that way. She’s the second half of the two funniest women I have ever known. If you know anything about me, you know that my mom and sister are my two favorite people in the world.
I’m going up to visit her tomorrow. I love it when I get there, it’s the best feeling in the whole world when I pull up in front of the house and see that faint light on. I get out the car and stretch the legs and try to get my butt to unclench from the three hour drive. I walk through the door and here comes Sophie The fur person who may or may not have that cone thing around her head to give you the attention you have been wating for. I’m pretty sure anyone who knows someone with a dog that was raised as a human knows what kind of attention I am talking about. The kind where the dog thinks you REALLY missed her too and gives you the wet nose on the knee caps, the whipping tail to the back of the legs, and if you’re lucky you get a plastic cone markings on your shins. It’s a lovely greeting. You have to say, “hiiiiii Sopppphiiiiieeeeee.” in the sweet voice too because if you say, “No Sophie” after she shoves her snout up your butt-crack mom will say: “Ohhh she misses her sister, she’s just sayin’ hi.”
After the dog greeting, the removal of dog snout from my ass and the dropping of my bags, I get to hug mom and she always smells good…like mom. And she has this smile that she gets when she sees me. That is the best look ever. Her voice gets all, -I haven’t seen you and I miss you and we are going to have fun- sounding. My mom is the best person to visit because she makes you feel all warm and fuzzy when she sees you.
Tomorrow is her birthday. I’m going to see her…and Sophie the ass sniffing dog.