Seven!

Happy 7th Birthday, Zachary!

I've always liked the number seven. I like that it's a number that can't be divided by anything.

Yeah.

Today my baby boy turned seven. And, like always, he faced this day with the same energy and determination as he does all 364 other ones each year. I love that about him.

I broke away from Grady and met him in the school cafeteria today for a hot date over some hot lunch. And really, all I mostly did was sit and listen to the conversation of first grade boys which, if you haven't heard it, consists of like three or four subjects. In between discussions of Minecraft, Pokemon and football, Zachary would periodically lean over and wrap his arms around me and hug me super hard. Then he'd pucker his lips and let me plant one on him right there in front of his friends.Without even flinching.

Swoon.

Now that? That is so Zachary. The furthest thing from his mind was what those other boys would say about him canoodling with his mother over pineapple cubes and sweet potatoes. He's the same kid who as a kindergartner -- in response to being chided about his lavender shirt being a "girl shirt" -- cocked his head sideways, narrowed his eyes and said this:

"What? I'm a boy. And this is my shirt. So how can it be a girl shirt? That's a dumb thing to say."

And that? That was the end of that. Surely was.

Some other kid said that Pokemon cards are for little kids not big kids like people in first grade. That was today while we had lunch. And Zachary shrugged and said, "I still like Pokemon cards. I like the show, too. And I'm in first grade so that's kind of dumb to say." And the kid said, "But it's a baby show." And Zachary said, "Not to me. I like Pokemon. And I just play with what I like to play with." Then he changed the subject.

So, yeah, that was the end of that, too.

I've not met too many people as confident as he. And not in that conceited way either. He's just one of those kids that knew who he was from the start and never needed anyone to remind him. Or maybe we remind him without knowing? I don't know.

Either way, his swagger is on a thousand-trillion.

But. Despite that uber-confidence, he is always happy to look up to his big brother. He wants to be with him and hear his thoughts. And he works hard at being his friend. And he is his friend. His very best one, actually.

I love that about him, too.

He's a tough guy--no question. Zachary can mean mug with the best of them. But so far he's never too tough to seek a post-game snuggle from his mother.

No matter who is looking.

You know? He's just a leader and not a follower. And I watch him and learn from him every single day. I really do. I am in constant awe of his self image.

Yeah.

Happy birthday, my strong baby boy. On this, your seventh birthday, I resolve to do all in my power to keep you whole and, just like the number seven, divisible by nothing but the number one.

Yeah.

***
Happy Wednesday.

Every year on Zachary's birthday I revisit this post--the birth story of Zachary's arrival in 2006. Enjoy it if you haven't before. And hey--revisit it if you don't feel like folding laundry yet. :)

The Army Ten-Miler: A run for your life.

Feel it comin' in the air
And the screams from everywhere
I'm addicted to the thrill
It's a dangerous love affair

Can't be scared when it goes down
Got a problem, tell me now
Only thing that's on my mind
Is who's gonna run this town tonight?

~ from Jay Z feat. Rihanna "Run This Town"

____________________________________________

A letter to Deanna:


Dear Sissy,

Remember that day that we were sitting at my kitchen table and I told you that I wanted to be a runner? And then I started laughing and you said, "Why are you laughing? You can totally be a runner, Kimberly!"

Do you remember that?

Well, I do.

I do because on that same day I told you that I hoped to one day run the Peachtree Roadrace and also how it was sort of on my pie-in-the-sky bucket list to someday run The Army Ten-Miler. And I laughed hard at myself again for even daring to utter those words "ten-miler" because we both knew that while I have always exercised, running always seemed to elude me.

"Crystal H. runs a bunch. Let me reach out to her to see what she says." That's what you said to me and then, of course, like you always do, you made sure that we got in contact with one another. And by "we" I mean "she" (who is just as much of a follow-througher as you) texted and emailed me promptly with all sorts of permutations of running groups and gatherings.

Sure did.

I can't say that really did the trick but I am thankful to you for that. And Crystal, too, for trying back then. Yeah. So even though I publicly professed my desire to be a runner girl, I guess I never had anything to nudge me hard enough to get over the hump of . . . well. . . running. 

Mmm hmmm.

Well. When you left? Man. It was literally the darkest time of my life. But what's crazy is--because you were always so full of light--even at the times where things felt pitch black, I could always see your light shining in the midst. And the crazy thing is that instead of shining out of you in the living, it started shining out of all kinds of other people. Including me.

Yep.

So guess what, Sissy? You'd be so, so proud of what I'm going to tell you. That's what did it. Remembering you saying to me that I could and wanting to focus my energy and pain into something meaningful. So yes. I actually started running. Like, for real, Sissy. Can you even believe it? I know, I know. You're going to say, "I knew you could do it, Pookie!" But see I didn't. I really didn't know for sure that I could. But knowing that you always believed I could do anything I put my mind to doing motivated me. It did.

So I ran the Peachtree Road Race. Sure did! On the 4th of July with Frieda. Yes, I know it's hard to get in that race. And no, I didn't have my act together enough to get a number, but our favorite brother Will let me have his. Woot! So, yep, I ran that race with a big ol' sign that said "WILLIAM" across my waist. Which was actually sort of cool, right?

And guess what else? Crystal and I ran a race on your birthday weekend. Lisa was there and so was Sonya from our chapter. And Sonya and Crystal were all Delta-tastic in their Delta gear which you totally would have loved. Totally. That AKA girl Lisa, of course, came in head-to-toe pink--including a little skirt.  

Mmm hmmm.

We still love her though. Pink get up and all. Hee hee!

But what I really want to tell you about is what I did yesterday morning. . . . .

Yes, Sissy. I made a plan to do the 2013 Army Ten-Miler. Just like you told me I could.

Man. I can't even tell you how amazed I am that I actually went through with it.

So how was it? Well. In a word: Awesome. 

Guess who met me in D.C. to run the race, too?

C.J.'s mommy Davina!  Please tell him that his mommy was getting after it. She sure was.

We both stayed with Shannon and Michelle on the eve of the race--and you know since Shannon has run the ATM a zillion times, he had to start coaching us on all the things we needed to do for race day. He whipped up some kind of electrolyte concoction that Davina and I affectionately referred to as "go-go juice" that we sipped like cocktails all evening long. He made us have another bottle of it that morning, too.

Coach Shannon dropped us off at the corrals and since we had our go-go juice on board, we were ready to rock and roll.

It was kind of cold that morning, but since both of us had our favorite angels on our minds, our warm hearts kept us going. And guess what? Even though Davina came all AKA pink-and-greened up, you'd be proud to know that I was all Delta-tastic since you were my inspiration for making this dream a reality.

People kept saying, "Go Delta girls!" to us and Davina would promptly throw up her little dainty AKA pinky and squeal that squeaky little sound that those girls in that pink-and-green sorority make.

*eye roll*

Hee hee. Juuuust kidding, Davina.

But seriously, though, Davina definitely repped for the AKA girls and, Dee, I want you to know I held it down for us Delta girls. I sure did. Davina is actually Lt. Colonel Davina and her hubby Ced is Lt. Colonel Ced -- so you know they are automatically bad ass runners in that ol' military house of theirs. Yeah, so I couldn't even really hit her with any jokes about being too prissy to run because she's NO JOKE.

(Although now that I'm looking at these photos I'm noticing that she ran with pearl earrings on. Really Lt. Colonel Davina? Hee hee.)

And I think you may remember, but I'm not sure--you know that Davina and our Lisa pledged AKA together at Hampton in 1990? Isn't it crazy how God orchestrates peoples' lives? Who'd have ever thought that my best friend's linesister would marry one of my husband's best friends. . . .and then become like a sister to me in so many ways?

I love those girls. Wrong sorority choice and all. Maybe I can make an exception for the ones who pledged the Gamma Theta chapter at Hampton. Uuuuh. . .okay.

Tee hee hee.

Well the race. It was so great. I felt challenged but definitely good. Just as you suggested, Crystal came through and TOTALLY helped me get ready. She has been my major guru with all sorts of tips and encouragement and such. The go-go juice plus the preparation was a mighty combo. And my Delta-tastic shirt was a super hit. (Purchased after a tip from Crystal, too--go figure.) Dee, people on the streets and behind me kept shouting out:

"GO DEANNA'S SISTER! GO DEANNA'S SISTER!"

The Delta girls I saw on the streets saw that shirt and started oo-ooping SUPER loud Delta calls my way and pumping their fists in the air cheering. Which really hyped me up. Mostly because I knew it would have really hyped YOU up.

And man, on like mile seven this one woman pointed in my face while running next to me and said in this SUPER BOOMING drill sergeant voice:

"RUN STRONG, DEANNA'S SISTER! RUN STRONG FOR DEANNA! COME ON! YOU GOT THIS, BABY! YOU GOT THIS, DEANNA'S SISTER!"

 And when she said that, I immediately started crying but I kept on running and she just gave me two big thumbs up that somehow felt exactly like a big hug. And man, I didn't know that lady from anybody but damn, did I appreciate that. Damn, I did.

I saved her voice to my mental iPod to play back to myself later. I did.

And then this other woman ran up behind me and said, "You went to Tuskegee! You're Deanna's Sister! You're Deanna Draper's sister!!!" And you know what? She didn't even know you personally, but she knew OF you and your legacy from some mutual friends. And she hugged my neck real quick and said she was a proud Tuskegee alum just like us. And that part was cool, too.

Super cool.

I even ran into her at the finish line and we took this picture as proof that Tuskegee was in the house! Running strong. And yet another opportunity for photographic proof of me being Delta-tastic in my shirt.

Ha.

Guess what? I finished with a personal record. Or a "P.R." as all the runny babbits call it. Ha. Look at me using all the lingo of the runny babbit people. Ha ha ha. That's 'cause I'm a runner now.

Mmmm hmmm.

So the P.R., you ask? My shmancy Garmin watch (bought second hand from one of our sorority sisters that Crystal hooked me up with) said I did 10.27 miles in 1:43 minutes. But my official time on the Army Ten-Miler website reported me at like 1:48 minutes. Either way, it's roughly a 10 and 1/2 minute mile average which, for me, is AW-SHUMMMMMM!

So yeah, they gave us these really cool medal-coin-thingies. And just now while writing this to you, I realized that it's in the shape of the Pentagon. Which is kind of rad, right?

So really the Army Ten-Miler weekend was all around rad. It was. Being with Davina. Talking about you and C.J. Reminiscing. Me and Davina crashing a party the night before with Shannon and Michelle. Laughing out loud. Drinking Shannon's go-go juice concoction instead of adult beverages. Seeing Colin and Paige (Shannon and Michelle's kids.) Meeting Davina's sister Toya. Catching up. Cracking Delta/AKA jokes nonstop. Man. All of it. All of it was so, so awesome.

And.

 

The BHE as an Army officer

It might sound corny, but let me just say that running along side America's heroes was surreal. It was. And yes, I meant to say "America's heroes" because it was made very, very clear to me yesterday that this is exactly who our military families are. I read peoples' shirts and saw up close and personal the countless human sacrifices that families just like ours make to protect us. And the strength, sis. It was unreal. And eye-opening for sure. One man had a shirt on with his son's picture. Underneath it said something like:

"Because you can't be here. I run for your life."

And then it had the day he lost his life in combat. Because people -- real effing people -- a whole, whole lot of them, actually, have either lost their lives or gotten seriously injured during these wars. And just like I'm loving you and missing you, there are people feeling the same way about their loved ones or the pre-injury lives they used to have, you know?

Damn.

There were scores of "wounded warriors" out there running strong. Heads up and shoulders back feeding me their DUST, do you hear me?  Wow, Sis. It inspired me in ways I can hardly explain.

Yeah.

On the way out of the race, Davina and I were walking the two mile convoluted trek back to where Michelle was planning to pick us up. So we're just walking and talking and all of a sudden Davina looks like she just saw a ghost. She gasped. "Oh. My. Goodness." She froze in her tracks. She saw an old friend--a soldier from her husband Cedric's batallion during his last deployment to Afghanistan. A youngish brother who could be any of our friends, husbands or brothers. He was being pushed in a wheelchair by a soldier friend as his wife walked beside him holding his prosthetic running blades.

Yep.

All of the color washed out of Davina's face. This was someone who'd fought right beside Ced. Dang. And seeing him now amputated affected her deeply, I could tell. And the resolve in his face. . .it was just. . . man. All I could say about that moment was this:

Damn. Shit just got real.

Man, it did. Davina wasn't the only one affected. I was, too. I couldn't help but think that this man literally lost his legs protecting me and my family. I swear I wanted to run and hug him and every single man or woman who has ever put themselves in harm's way for people they don't even know.

I refrained from saying something awkward like, "Thank you for . . .uhh. . your service." Instead I just shook his hand hard and told him how nice it was to meet him. Because it was nice and I meant that. I shook his lovely wife's hand, too, and told her the same. And when she switched one of those prostheses out of her arm to the other just to reach for my hand, shit got real all over again. I did my best to act regular about that chance encounter but it was hard because honestly I didn't feel regular. I felt conflicted. . . and. . . I don't know. . .just indebted, man.

For real.

You know what, Deanna? Now I know. This race was about way more than me and my personal goal or my pie-in-the-sky bucket list. Way more. It was a celebration of human life. And human sacrifice. And love. And safety. And security. Which is really apropos since I associate all of those things with you, too.

Harry Skyping with Shannon during his YEAR AWAY FROM HIS FAMILY in Baghdad.

Yeah.

On a lighter note--how cute is this? When I got home, Isaiah and Zachary ran and gave me HUGE hugs. Isaiah said, "Mommy, I'm soooo proud of you!" Then he asked to see my medal. And Zachary saw it and immediately asked me if I won. And you know what I told him?

"Yes. Mommy DID win." Because I did.

And that made him and Isaiah just hug me even tighter. Which felt even better than getting that medal.

So yes, Sissy. I did it. I ran strong with you on my mind the whole time -- and I plan to keep on doing just that. And I promise to always dedicate mile three--and the final mile--to you. You bet I will.

Thanks for flying beside me yesterday and always. Guess now I need to revise my Vision Board and dream bigger, right?

Alright, Sis. I promise to write you again after the next race milestone--whatever it may be. (Counting on you to join me for that one, too.)

I love and miss you terribly every single day. We all do.

Hug Grandma and C.J. for us, okay? And hug yourself while you're at it.

In Delta and sisterly love always,

Sissy

P.S. I'm now plotting to get JoLai to run with me in 2014. I've already scouted out the cool races in cool places we'll go to . . . . can you say wine country? Hee hee.

***
Now playing on my mental iPod. . .this video clip of Amber Riley from GLEE covering The Pretender's "I'll Stand By You" -- the song that unexpectedly broke me down in Kroger that day. JoLai saw this and immediately sent it my way since this song makes me think of you. This version broke me ALL THE WAY down all over again. . .but mostly it made me think of you in the most loving, perfect way. And seeing this beautiful, full-figured brown girl singing it with all of her heart to me touches me all the more. Thanks for sending this to me, JoLai.



And this was playing on my mental iPod during the race. . . . . . we RAN that town, baby!

Exponential awesomeness.

Yes. That's Zachary running it in for that long touchdown. And no, that's actually the other coach holding up the goalposts not the BHE. And, of course, I totally agree with you that it would have made this already awesome photo exponentially more awesome if that was Harry calling that TD like that.

But still. It was a touchdown. A long one, too! The Tigers won. They sure did. And one Tiger mama who shall remain nameless may or may not have run full speed for all sixty yards along the side line during the touchdown captured above.

I said may or may not have. Ah hem.

And there were witnesses. V.I.P. witnesses, y'all!

And before you even ask--YES. This day filled with all of the men and manchildren that I love the most? YES--it was as awesome a day as it looks.

Wait, I take that back. No it wasn't. It was even more exponentially awesome than it looks.

Life is good, man.

***
Happy Friday.

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle #16: Dedication for Motivation.

I have this colleague who is a marathon runner. Well, technically, I have several colleagues who are distance runners, but this one in particular did something that I always remembered when he ran the New York marathon a few years back. He'd just lost his mother and, though he'd run many long distance races before, his mind was in a different place for that race. New York was home for his family. This race would be more meaningful.

So what did he do? He took out a piece of paper and created a list. A list of special people who'd had a great impact on him in his life and then dedicated one of those twenty six miles to each of them. He kept that list on his person--and even memorized a lot of it---and you know what? It really motivated him.

Especially the "mama miles."

I'm not interested in running a full marathon. No ma'am, no sir, I am not. But this weekend will be a pivotal one for me. It's the Army Ten Miler and amongst the 35,000 runners out there, one of them will be me.

Yes, me.

Harry has run that race lots of times as a former Army guy. When I went to cheer him on in the past, I loved the energy of the race and always secretly aspired to be out there one day. I remember telling Deanna at my kitchen table that I wanted to do that race at some point in my life. And, of course, she said, "Then do it!" And then, in true Deanna form, she started sending me emails with contact information for friends of hers that had gotten into distance running. One of those friends was Crystal H. who I've leaned upon many times since I got more serious about this goal.

Yes, indeed.

So I thought of my colleague and that practice of dedicating miles to those who've inspired him. I imagined him exhausted on that fifteenth mile and pushing on with the image of one of his sons in his head. And of course I could see him powering through the toughest parts of the race-- those "mama miles"--with her love and encouragement getting under his feet like jets.

He adored his mother and was very, very sad when she passed on. I could see that pain that day when he told me about that New York marathon and knew that this practice of dedicating parts of the race to her would be therapeutic. I made a point of remembering the time of year that he lost his mom. And every year during that time I ask him something about her. I do. He always looks so moved when I do and you know? You can still see the hurt seared deep down into him. I now know that some parts of that kind of pain just doesn't go away.

It doesn't.

So me? I'm going to sit down and dedicate my ten miles. I am. I already know that miles three and five will be for Deanna for sure because three was her favorite number and the fifth mile of any run is always hard for me. And maybe I will dedicate mile ten to Deanna, Will and JoLai together. Either way, I'm going to write it down and memorize it. I'm going to visualize each person cheering for me on the sidelines for that whole mile. And then I'm going to give it my all.

My all, man.

I missed my sister terribly this week. It's like I saw her in every little thing and all of that kept making me want to talk to her. The other day I felt the fall bite in the air. While looking for a jacket, I touched one of the scarves she'd crocheted for me that I saw hanging in the closet. I thought about how, if she were here, she would have made me at least two more including one for Zachary's football team. Then I just dropped my head and wept. Hard. And this time it was mostly because there are so many days that I still can't believe she's gone and this was one of them. I still can't believe she's gone.

Sigh.

But I tell you. I get it. I get it when people find some meaningful activity to do after losing someone important. And, for me, something about that activity being one that betters my heart and makes me feel strong is a comfort. It really is. Knowing that I told her that this was something I wanted to do and that I have put in work to actually do it feels like I'm honoring her. And Deanna was all about celebrating and honoring people. She was intentional about these kinds of things and taught me a lot about being that way, too.

I don't know exactly which mile will go to whom. But I am excited about the idea. And, okay, technically my colleague got that mile dedication idea from an article he read about the Republican dude Mike Huckabee who'd done that when running a marathon. Though I have nothing against Mike Huckabee and am sure he's a nice man, I think I'd rather just let my colleague have props for my decision to put faces with miles instead Mr. Huckabee.

Anyways.

So the huddle today is about adding some meaning behind what you do. Set goals with you in mind but also see if it might help to dedicate some part of the goal to a special person. Or special people. No question: This goal of running a long distance race has been 100% dedicated to my sister Deanna. And her inspiration has made me stronger and more diligent. I will see her face smiling and hear her voice cheering. I will.

And then? I'll win.

That I know for sure.


***
Happy Thursday-almost-Friday. Wish me luck! Wooah!!

My linesister Glencia was also inspired by Deanna when she did a triathlon on my sissy's birthday. She finished strong and I love knowing that Deanna helped her.

The original grill.

At least my excuse was being in second grade.

***

Happy Wednesday. And Nancy, you know I love a good challenge. Come on, sista!

Oh me, oh my.

I was talking to a friend recently who has been going through some tough times. These tough times put some hard decisions before her and she was talking to me about what she should do. I was mostly listening because this friend is wise. I know she's wise because I've been on the other end of her advice.

"What would you tell a friend?" I asked.

"What?" she replied.

"A friend. If this were me or a good friend, what would be your advice?"

And when I said that I knew I'd struck a cord. She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. I could tell those wheels were turning. A few days later I received a text from her telling me what she'd decided to do. And she told me that she advised herself as she would a friend. Which really, really helped.

That got me thinking. Isn't it funny how liberal we are with our good advice and kind words to our friends yet stingy with them when it comes to ourselves? Like, so many times I find myself sitting with a girlfriend sipping wine and hashing through some sort of issue. Sometimes I'm the hasher and other times I'm the hashee. Either way, someone at some point speaks a good word that convicts the other. And after that we pour one more glass of wine and clink glasses in honor of having great and wise friends in your corner.

Yeah.

So today I was sitting on the couch chatting with Harry. I was fretting as I often do about the kids and school and social interactions and anything else I could think of to fret about. So I'd stored up all of my monkeys to put onto the BHE's back so that I wouldn't have to worry alone.

"I need you to calm down, babe." That's what my man said to me matter-of-factly. "Everything can't always be so heavy. We have great kids."

"We do. But this note from school said this. And I don't want anyone misunderstanding my son. We are raising black men."

"You don't think I know that we're raising black men? I do. But worrying only makes you crazy."

I sighed. "I do feel crazy sometimes."

"Babe. You are right about a lot of this stuff. But some of the stuff you get all worked up over are little day-to-day things. With some stuff you have to let kids just work that shit out. You can't go overanalyzing every single thing your kids say every single day. Some shit you just have to let them live through and figure out."

And yes he uses the expletives. What can I say? He's an ex-military dude.

Anyways. My point is that I spend a crap-ton of time hoping and praying that I'm getting parenting right. I constantly pray that my kids will remember and embrace every good thing I've done and have amnesia for the not-so-good things. I ask God to show me what to do and ask for forgiveness when I say and do things that I don't think are so good.

Yeah.

So today, despite my admonishment from the BHE, I found myself in a fretful do-loop again. This time it was in response to yet another shenanigan of some sort that one of my sons was involved in while at school. And. I will say that in no way did anyone make a huge deal out of it but me being me, I did. I started applying it to my son's future as an adult and started already preparing to lecture him about the perils of poor choices. Then I tossed the monkey over to Harry (again) who listened but then reminded me (again) that everything that happens is not some wretched foreshadowing of a tainted future.

Okay, okay--those are my words. But you get the picture.

Anywho. There was a point in all of this. My point is that I know for sure that I often give my friends good and thoughtful advice. And I even thought about me suggesting to my friend that she provide counsel to HERSELF as she would a friend and had to say, "Hmmmm. That's a damn good suggestion."

Yeah, man. So tonight I decided that I'd take my own advice. I'd be a friend to me and talk to me like a girlfriend. And see, the good thing about girlfriends is that they know all the background so they can pull it out and apply it where necessary. As opposed to, like, Dr. Phil or somebody.

Not that I have a problem with Dr. Phil. I'm just saying, that's all.

So yeah. Today I sat down with me and talked me off of the ledge. As only a sisterfriend can. And you know what? I think I'm going to do this more often. 'Cause me? I'm a damn good sisterfriend.

Yeah, I am.

*****
Me talking to Me today:

I'm kind of freaking out. I know I shouldn't be but I am. 

Now what?

Isaiah was horsing around in school today. And I need him not to be doing that. I mean. . . .he's at a new school and I just. . . yeah. I don't want anyone misunderstanding him, you know?

What do you mean by that?

I mean. . . like. . . misunderstand him and think he's a not a good kid. He's such a good kid, you know? And then I don't want him not realizing that there is a time to work and a time to play. He's going to have to understand that someday or it's going to be hard for him as a man.

He's eight, Kimberly. Eight.

So what? You're suggesting I just blow it off? I mean, that's not the answer either. 

No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that there should be a consequence for his actions. But him horsing around today doesn't mean you need to brand him with a scarlet letter. Damn.

But these things add up. Some of the stuff both of those boys do I find myself saying, "Dude. Seriously?" And I just really don't want my boys growing up making a bunch of dumb ass choices because they don't know when to be serious.

Uhhh, okay.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means relax. You love them. Harry loves them. And they have a ridiculously huge village helping you and Harry out. They will be fine. Even people who make dumb ass choices in elementary school grow up to be upstanding adults.

Not always. 

Yeah but what could be more dumb ass than swallowing a tack? *(explanation below, just keep reading)

Oh see. Now you're playing dirty.

But you have to admit--that was exponentially dumb-asser than what you're worried about today, wasn't it? Like. . . what were you thinking?

I was. . . .

You were. . . .horsing around. In elementary school. Precisely. Uhhh. . . DOCTOR Manning. See? You turned out okay.

I forgot about the tack-swallowing incident. That was pretty dumb. 

Uhhh. . .yeah. Imagine how psyched your mom was to get THAT call from school. "Hey! Your dumb ass daughter just swallowed a thumb tack!"

I know, right?

Right. And let's not forget the day you cut the girl's hair on the school bus in sixth grade. How dumb ass was that?

Awww man. That was so, so dumb. And I was just trying to be funny, too. That girl had a crap-ton of hair. I only pretend snipped a teeny weeny bit of it as a joke but accidentally really cut it. But it was funny, though.

Yeah. And I'm sure your mom was like "Ha ha, hell" when she had to come up to Frank D. Parent School to talk to the damn principal about it, too.

Yikes.

Yikes is right. You owe your mama an apology for being such a dumb ass.

Hey!

My point is that you turned out okay. Some things are going to be dumb ass. They just are. It has to be that way. You remember. There were consequences for all of those things but you are living proof that with love you can still turn out okay.

Yeah. I guess you're right.

Calm down.

Okay.

They're awesome kids.

I know.

You're an awesome and imperfect mom.

So imperfect.

But nobody loves them like you and Harry. Nobody.

That's true.

Relax.

I'll try.

Just keep on loving them. And loving Harry. And especially loving yourself. It will be okay.

Will it?

Yeah, dumb ass. You swallowed a tack, remember? And cut somebody's hair to be funny, remember?

Hey. And Deanna dyed her hair in the water fountain with Kool-Aid. How dumb ass was THAT?

Super dumb ass. See? You dumb asses turned out fine.

We did didn't we?

So chill.

Okay. I'm chillaxing.

Sigh.

What?

You're soooo lame with your lame slang.

So lame, I know.

But I love you, girl.

I love you, more. 

Then act like it sometimes.

Sigh.

***

Us randomly dressed up in cub scout gear one day with our cousins.

*Background information for clarity

Dumb ass thing number 1:

In second grade, I was working on a bulletin board with my class. Instead of doing what I was supposed to be doing on the project that morning, I decided I'd make people laugh by putting a thumbtack in between my teeth. Why, you ask? Well CLEARLY a thumbtack held just so between the teeth bears an uncanny resemblance to a silver tooth. OBVI. Yeah. So I walked around with a dead pan face and just when they least expected it. . . TING! I'd unleash my grill and bring down the house. Or in this case, the table.

Turns out that laughing out loud with your head back whilst holding a thumbtack in your mouth is not the best idea.

Whoops.

"Hey! I can't wait to rush up to my child's school to take her to an emergency department in case she perforates her bowel from swallowing a sharp metal object!"

Yeah. Said no mom EVER.

That was a dumb ass thing to do. (Ask my mom how she confirmed that the thumbtack was out of my system and then let her tell you how AWESOME an experience that was. Or not.)

Easter Sunday in our clothes sewn by our mama.

Dumb ass thing number 2:

Sixth grade, packed bus. This girl who was named after a season--her name was like Autumn or Winter or Summer or something--had the world's STANKEST attitude and always sat on the second row near the driver. She also had the world's thickest straightest hair. On this day I thought HOW FUNNY would it be if I sat on the third row behind her and used my school scissors to PRETEND CUT like two or three strands? I said PRETEND CUT. Well. How was I to know that PRETEND CUTTING can sometimes accidentally become REAL CUTTING if you hit a bump on the highway?

"Hey! I can't wait to meet with the principal and some freckle-faced kid's mama who is demanding to let her child cut MY child's hair to teach her a lesson for the DUMB ASS thing she did on a school bus the day before!!!"

Yeah. Said no mom EVER and especially not mine.

I will spare you Deanna and the Kool Aid hair dying incident. Yes, I will. Just know that it was a dumb ass thing to do.


Okay. So my point? Um. I sort of forgot it. But yeah. Just be a friend to yourself. Talk to you as you would a good friend. And remind yourself of all of the DUMB ASS things you've done in your life so that you'll feel reassured that your children will turn out just fine. And if you need a smile just imagine this:

TING!

That's all I got.


***
Happy Tuesday.

P.S. JoLai didn't do a single dumb ass thing. But we made up for her lack of dumb ass choices.