As sure as the sun shines....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold itallics.

Sunshine isn’t really tangible, or is it?

How could I not wish forever for something that I knew with every ounce of my being that I needed?

Like water and food.

But mostly like love.

And because I wished for it, longed for it actually, didn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate what I already had.

A bookend, a soul mate, a dot for my i.

One who understands me like no other.

Sunshine isn’t tangible, or is it?

Depends….

The early November sunshine cast golden rays through the window and landed softly on an answered prayer,

my newborn baby girl.

Convo-interruptus....

Googie gave me a ride into work yesterday.

On the way I chattered and made observations and was, in general, my usual annoying self.

I don't think myself annoying (do we ever?)....

But I must be.

There is a little joke about people with ADD...describing how in the middle of a serious conversation they will suddenly become distracted and yell goofy stuff like "Ohhhh look there goes a chicken"...(bringing notice to some exciting visual treat)

anyway....

I understand I do this... something or someone grabs my attention and my mind is off and running, chasing this new and interesting thing...could be a bird, a plane, even Superman.

At this time of year it's usually a tree,

or a bunch of trees,

that grab my attention.

Just as I was about to proclaim a roadside vision as theeee most beautiful I'd ever seen my kid started talking.

"Mother, I told one of my co-workers all about you and trees" Googie said, pulling me back from the brink of my tree-gasm.

"I told her that you probably shouldn't be driving this time of year".

"I told her you're so busy looking at pretty colored trees that you can't pay good attention to the road.".

As we drove and to get her off the subject of my tree lust I began telling a story about the author of a blog I visit.

The author has quite a mouth on her and in order to tell the story with total authenticity I had to swear.

So a string of filthy words came tumbling out.

Totally obnoxious in their filthiness.

One by one the bad words slipped from my mouth.

Streaming from my lips, pouring out with reckless abandon and just as I was building to the climax of the story Googie (suddenly and without warning) POPPED!!!!

"MOTHERRRRRRRR!!! she yelled " Eeeeeeee-NOUGH!!!

ALL RIGHT!!!!

I GET IT"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!......

"GEEEEEEZE, YOU GOTTA STOP, I--- get--- IT"

HOLY CRAP!!!  I thought... "This kid is one freakin sassy m-effin smart ass" and I started to tell her so

...but then I saw some really pretty trees.

Oh my goodness you should soooo see Michigan in Autumn.

Stunning, I tell you....

simply stunning.

Just Google "Michigan in Autumn" (the above copyrighted photos were stolen right from there) and you'll see what I mean.

Happy Wednesday

xoxo

Point/Counterpoint

Yesterday Googie, Trouble and I decided to take a car ride half way around the free world. We were in search of some shoes for her size 4/5 miniature feet.

DSW the world's largest shoe warehouse here we come.

She found one pair.

And they were over priced.

Oh, well...we had our backs against the wall, flip flops have no place with a skirt in Googie's new work place.

Back in the car and ready for our big ride home Googie and I started talking "dinner".

"I'm hungry for spaghetti" she said.

"Okay, spaghetti it is" I said.

"I'd like to make a special request" Googie said "can you please PLEASE cut the onions real BIG so they are easier to pick out?"

"I'll put them in the blender" I offered "and you'll never even know they are there."

"NO, NO!!... if you put them in the blender then I'd be eating tons of them" she yelled.

"But you'd never know" I rationalized.

"They'd be all mushed up beyond recognition...you'd never even know they were there" I explained.

"They'd be spread ALL over the spaghetti and I wouldn't be able to get them off" Googie countered.

"I don't like onions MOTHER,

I don't like them, and I don't want to eat them!!!

 Iiiiiiiiiiii... doooooooon't.... LIKE .....ONIONS...what don't you get about that?"

Googie was beginning to get a bit hot under the collar.

The debate raged on...and on.

Googie can be a stubborn little thing.

Especially when I am not getting her point of view.

"MOTHER, can't you just CUT the onions in BIG PIECES? Googie asked.

PIECES LARGE ENOUGH FOR ME TO EASILY PLUCK OUT?

Maybe I like the flavor, but I don't like them in my mouth!" Googie ranted on.

"I guess I could just put in some onion powder instead" I offered weakly "but it wouldn't taste the same."

"Maybe I can just peel an onion and toss it in in one big ball?"

"That would be easy enough for you to pluck out (monkey girl)!!!"

"BUT it wouldn't taste the same, just so you know. The sauce would not be the same!"

"If I put it in the blender, it would be squashed into oblivion and you'd never know it was there" I offer again.

"The blender will turn it into onion water" I continue.

"M-O-T-H-E-R!!!!! Can you please just cut the onions into big pieces and not make onion mush for the sauce? Can you do that, can you make the onions big mother?"

"Big so that they are easily pulled from your sauce?"

"Pulled out so those who don't like eating them don't have to eat them..."

"And no mother, I don't want them turned into onion mush so that I am eating a whole bunch of onions!"

"I don't like onions mother. I don't like them. And even if you mush them up there will be white onion stuff all over the sauce and I will be eating it."

"Can you make the onions big mom, can you do that?"

"Googie, cutting the onions big is like asking me to smear lipstick all around my lips...it just doesn't feel right."

Trouble uncurled himself from the fetal position he'd assumed when our "little discussion" rolled into its 25th minute, he perked up, trying to understand my analogy.

"WHAT!!! Googie screamed " what are you talking about?

 How are lipstick and onions at all connected?"

"Eric...do you hear her?" she hollered to Trouble.

"This is what I have to put up with!"

Our verbal tennis match went on and on until we pulled onto our street.

"Wow, I feel invigorated" Googie said as we drove toward our home.

"Me too" I laughed.

Trouble looked feverish.

I made the spaghetti and quartered a large onion.

The onion looked horrible that big.

It looked like floating flower petals.

"How is the sauce Googie?"  I asked later at dinner.

"WHY? You mushed one up didn't you? You mashed one up and you tried to trick me ?"

"I respect you too too much to do something like that!" I replied.

(Our blender is broken)

Two sides to every story....

I spent last night in the ER with my grown up baby girl. She started on a regiment to help cure the bacterial overgrowth they have determined is in her belly making her sick.

Yesterday was her first day on the pills and after each dose she felt like crap.

She is taking 18 pills in all per day.

Too much medicine for a little 4ft 11inch,  90 pound spitfire.

Last night she took her last dose of the day, sometime around 1:30 am she came to tell me that she was having difficulty breathing.

After some back and forth, she saying she didn't want to go to the ER and me saying "maybe we should"...we layed on the couch and I rubbed her tiny feet and tried to calm her.

I wondered if it were her asthma, and asked her to take a couple of puffs of her inhaler.

I didn't want to scare her, but breathing issues can get serious fast...

When the inhaler didn't appear to be helping, she agreed that we should go to the ER.

Once we got to the hospital they got her into triage pretty quickly.

More proof that breathing issues are not to be played with.

She ended up needing some Benadryl and a steroid shot.

While we waited, there was moaning coming from the next small room.

Those ER privacy curtains do nothing but hide bare butts, everything else is fair game in the ER.

The moaning was starting to worry both of us.

It was loud and painful just to hear.

We couldn't understand why no one was responding, why no one went rushing in when she yelled "I can't breath...why doesn't anyone believe me?"

The moaning continued.

Suddenly I remembered Daddio and I once being at the ER and being placed next to a woman who was also moaning and hollering and threatening and whatever else she could do to gather the attention of the doctors and nurses.

Daddio, who was being seen for a respiratory ailment insisted that the nurses take care of the woman first.

The nurse poo-poo'd Daddio, telling him that the woman was a prescription drug addict who came to the ER at least once a month.

The nurse didn't care at all that she was blasting this woman's business, and frankly, I was glad that she did, cause it was a concern that her cries were going unanswered, and that explanation helped us to understand why.

While we waited for Googie's meds we overheard one of the doctors say to another "how are we ever gonna know if she is ever in any real pain?"...

Ahhhh, now I understood.

The nurse came and gave Goog a shot and the Benadryl, then left us alone to allow the drugs to do their job.

Soon Googie's breathing was up to par and she was released.

On the way out of the ER I said what I usually say "Praise you Lord, thank you".

Later at home, I gave my kid the once over, a big kiss and a hug and went to my own bed to get a bit of sleep before I had to get up and ready to leave for work.

Laying there, unable to sleep, I played our ER visit over and over in my head, thinking how thankful I was for the blessings of medicine.

I thought too of the mother of the moaner we heard in the ER and how they are not so much a blessing for her child.

I was so sad, I almost cried.

Flowers for me??? I do declare.....

When I was in the hospital soon after giving birth to Googie my visiting dad made a funny comment...."How does it feel to have your own real live doll?"

Wow... I hadn't really thought about it that way.

A person, a little girl person who I could dress up and play house with.

Mine, all mine.

In the hospital the nurses brought her to me with tiny bows stuck on her head.

She had about 7 dark brown hairs on top of her noggin and since they had nothing to anchor the bows onto they used K-Y Jelly.

She looked lovely.

She put up with that crap until she was able to notice that something was on her head and then she'd pull everything I put in out.

"Darn it Googie, leave it in" I used to say, hitting her wee hand with a little ball-peen hammer ( I didn't really, I was just making sure you were paying attention)

Anyway, my plan was to make my doll the most beautiful doll anyone had ever seen.

(Not that she needed my help, just sayin)

I guess she had a similar plan.

When she was two, someone (Grandma Jan perhaps??) gifted her with a pink tiara.

It was a gaudy thing, sturdy plastic with a flag of pink chiffon material that blew in the air when she walked.

She didn't go anywhere without that tiara.

She got lots of attention at the grocery store.

And the pet shop.

And the doctor's office.

Yes, my doll was that adorable.

Even in that goofy tiara, she was simply cute as hell.

I've been noticing these beautiful huge azaleas around town and a few days ago I spotted one in my neighbors back yard.

I asked him if I could have it...ballsy, I know..but I had a plan.

How sweet that would look in someone's hair, Hawaiian style.

You know Dad,  you were soooo right about the fun I would have with my own real live doll.....

"Hold still you brat, give the K-Y time to dry."

She really is a good sport.

(Thanks kid for indulging your crazy azz mother)

This freakin azz freak flower is as big as a freakin dinner plate.

Another freaky thing....

On Saturday I celebrated an anniversary.....my First Blogiversary, I wasn't able to make myself a cake, so I stole a picture of one ( from Google Images and this website basic-yoga.mattters dot com.. Thank you basic-yoga.matters dot com for the picture)

Pooooo-poooooo-p-do!!!!!!

PS...To anyone who takes a minute or two to visit this blog and read it, thank you!

 I appreciate you!

And to those who comment.. I appreciate you x's 2.

xoxoxo

Hungry?.... Eat!!!

Just a couple of weeks ago I watched, teary eyed, as my Blue Sky marched her pint sized pretty self across a stage and accepted a diploma declaring her a college graduate.

I've written before that she made the road to this moment seem effortless.

Not effortless in that she didn't suffer stomach aches and anxiety over exams and papers or look bleary eyed some mornings after staying up half the night working on homework...effortless in that it seemed like she made a couple of choices, took the proper classes and VOILA!!!.. a Bachelor Degree.

I'm filled to the gills with pride.

But Googie's not.

She's been complaining lately that she simply "settled" on a Major to get her tired butt out of college.

That she got impatient and couldn't bear the thought of being on the five or six years to graduation plan.

So she gathered all her credits, marched into her advisor's office and said "get me out of here".

And while that was an okay decision for the moment, it's left her hungry.

Hungry for more than she feels she's settled for.

I think I'm correct in saying that the hunger has always been there, she just hid it well.

Or pretended it wasn't there???

The other day Googie told me that she could return to school and get a second degree in Theater.

"One year, Mom. That's all it would take" she said, using my favorite ear to ear Times Square smile.

In the past few days she's been doing lots of research online and has even become email pen pals with a Tony Award winning actor.

Then she mentioned something about a big audition.

So big that a number of theaters would have casting people there. (These Michigan theater groups are nationally respected and pay with real cash money to those that act on their stages).

She called and asked about a slot to give it her best shot.

All filled up...sorry, they told her.

She prepared anyway.

She asked Trouble to take a couple of good head shots and she practiced a monologue.

She then drove, alone, to the audition site many miles from our home.

She didn't take her crooked mother's advice to pretend that she did have a slot and that somebody must have screwed up and forgotten to write her name down. (You know those damn stage mothers they'll say or do any-thing to get their kid's foot in a door).

Her "Motherrrrr!!!!!!!" was enough to tell me she'd do it her own way.

The right way.

She walked in and told them that she didn't have an appointment but was hoping that she would be allowed to audition.

She called to tell me that they'd let her.

And when she did, she made them laugh.

(Well of course you did darlin!!!)

She felt like she did well.

She doesn't know if they can use her for anything...but hey, she gave them some good food for thought.

Sweetheart, like the song says, I hope you 'always keep that hunger'.

I love you GOOOOOOGIE, you make my heart sing.

Googie on Times Square with her ear to ear smile.

She hates this picture, but it shows how her face looked the entire time we were in New York.

"Sparkle Shirley...... Sparkle"

What a whirlwind weekend. Googie had a show and I agreed to do the hair. The poor dear was sick (any relationship between massive amounts of stress and frequent colds and infections?).

She had the lead in a silly little musical called Urinetown.

It’s about pee.

I sat in the audience on Saturday, with a couple of nuns sitting to my left. I cringed a bit when I saw them walk in and take a seat. Not like it was me on stage singing about pee or anything, but I knew what lyrics were coming and I know a little bit about nuns.

No matter how it’s cut, nuns and pee never mix, not even in the same sentence.

From my vantage point I could see by their posture they were quite stoic… I think an uncomfortable squirm would have not have been as bad. But nothing. No movement. Deathlike stillness.

Oh well, it is called Urinetown…..

On Sunday I sat in the audience as well. This time there were a couple of blue hairs (old biddies, not young punks) sitting in front of me a bit to my left. When the character Penelope Pennywise uttered her first “pee”, one blue hair nudged the other. I watched to see what they would do next….(yes, I was missing a portion of the play, but Googie didn’t have a big part in that song and I was dying to know what the biddies were gonna do when Penny belted “piss” and “defecation”).

Sure enough, the minute the word “piss” left Pennywise’s mouth the ladies looked at each other and both shrugged their shoulders. And then shook their heads.

Looked like Two Thumbs Down to me.

After intermission, their seats were empty.

Too bad they left, Urinetown was really funny.

I’ve acted as Googie’s personal dresser for as many years as she has done theater. I don’t dress her, really, I just help with her microphone, or her bobby pins or I just look her over and give her the a-okay.

A last minute hair fluff and a peck on her painted cheek.

Lastly I take a line from my favorite stage mother and I say.... “Sparkle Shirley... sparkle”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

( "SPARKLE SHIRLEY...SPARKLE" : Shirley Temple's mother's instructions from the side of the stage.)

Then I sit in the audience and enjoy.

This day, she stripped off her top, I handed her the starched pastel yellow costume she wore for the show.

She slipped it on and I did a double take.

Googie’s brassiere was showing through the shirt.

She called to her cast mates and asked if anyone had a tank top she could borrow. One girl agreed to take her own right off her back and give it to Goog.

Once on Googie’s little 94 pound body it hung like a sack and it was much too bunchy to fit properly under her costume.

Okay…now what?

I knew what.

Later in the audience it was a bit hard for me to breath.

Not just that my heart swelled to take in the wonder that is my daughter,

but it was hard to breath wearing Googie’s too small bra.

I couldn’t let her go on stage, the lead in a show called Urinetown, wearing a pea colored bra that showed through her shirt.

A mother’s suffering knows no bounds.

(And for what’s worth, this is the SECOND time I’ve done this for my daughter…at least this time her bra size was larger than a size AA.)


PS....Her most sincere appreciation via this coffee pot note (and some stalks of beautiful white flowers, stolen from the restaurant where they ate after the show) made it all worth it, of course.

She is woman......

“If I have to


I can do anything


I am strong (strong)


I am invincible (invincible)


I am woman” I Am Woman…Helen Reddy


My poooor poor poor baby girl. Yesterday she woke up with a sore throat, a gravely voice that sounded as deep as her hairy brother's, and a pounding headache.

A few hours later she confirmed that her throat was on fire and she felt like crap.

She did great onstage for the matinee and I realized the kid truly is an actress. No one could tell she was sick...cept me.

When I returned to the theater for the later show she was curled up on the couch and looked like death warmed over. She had a heat buddy (a feed corn filled fabric bag that is heated in the microwave and used much like a heating pad) balled up under her shirt and tucked into the top of her baggy yoga pants.

The kid had looked up at me with pitiful eyes; eyes that were red rimmed and bagged underneath.

“Mom” she said wheezing “can you go to the store and get me some supplies?…Aunt Flow decided to curse me further today.”

When I returned from the store I found her to have been hit a third time….she’d eaten so many sugar free cough drops (containing a sugar substitute) that her stomach was threatening to blow up.

So severe was that noxious gas swirling around her tummy that she wondered (aloud) if she’d be able to stand.

As I worked on one of her cast mate’s hair we talked about being sick and how when you’re “mom” you have no choice but to carry on and take care of business.

I’ve found this to be true of most women, moms and non moms too.

I rubbed her back and said a silent little prayer for her strength.

The kid performed her evening show and, once again she was awesome (if I may say so myself).

She is WOMAN (albeit a mini one) hear her roar.

Perfecting her cartwheel, age 4.

When things runneth over......

Opening night for Googie’s show Seussical the Musical last night. She’s been doing theater for so long that I just assumed she didn’t get stage fright anymore. Watching her in and out of the bathroom all day long told me otherwise. (Sorry kid...nuthin is sacred when it comes to mom's blog).



I was frustrated that I could do nothing to help her.


My rapid fire line of questioning doesn’t usually sit real well with her on a regular day, so today, the day of opening night I try really hard not to do it.


Anything to make today easier. And her trips to the bathroom, less.


Yesterday was Trouble’s 21st birthday and Googie wanted very much to make it nice for him. She went to his house and homemade him some wonderful cinnamon/walnut/brown sugar pinwheels in the morning.


She brought a couple home..and I have to say, I was quite impressed.


Not only cute, the kid can bake too.


She’s had a few mishaps in the kitchen. Once she doubled the amount of sugar in the crust of a pie…Trouble and his parents ate it and proclaimed it “ really sweet, but very good”.


(And their noses didn't even grow a centimeter ;-)


She’s getting to be such a good baker that her dad has dropped her nickname (Ellie Mae Clampett). He gave it to her after sampling one of her made from scratch muffins that could have doubled as a hockey puck.

The day went quickly and when we were 15 minutes from leaving I asked her to come and lay down on my bed for a couple of minutes.


I put on the fan to drown out the sounds of the house, and turned off the light.


I rubbed her tiny back and shoulders. I massaged her legs and small arms.


I told her not to talk, just be still and let the stress go.


She said it helped.


I was happy that no one was sitting next to me while I watched her sing and dance.


I found myself spilling over into the seat next to me…and the seat next to that one.


My pride swelled so large and so did my heart.


I truly, seriously almost burst.

This is not how she looks in the show...this was just a silly picture she sent to me the other day with the message "Gertrude McFuzz loves you".

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY !!!!!!!

Twenty two years ago right this very minute an angel came down to earth to live in my house. She has brightened and blessed my every single day since....

Dear Blue Sky…

When I prayed to God for the perfect daughter, I asked that she be beautiful on the outside, with eyes the color of cornflowers, and a smile that could light up any room, and I asked Him to add the most infectious laugh to go with that smile.

I asked Him to make her even more beautiful on the inside.

I asked that she always be kind and gentle and have a place in her heart for those less fortunate.

That she be tolerant and accepting of those who are different.

That she be the kind of person who never hesitates or is afraid to speak her mind or live her convictions.

That she be tireless in her quest for knowledge and allowed to delight in her every discovery.

I prayed that God would make her friendly and likeable and easy to talk to, and give her the gift of compassion and understanding, and also give her a steel determination in all places and times when she needs strength of character.

I prayed that she would be a leader, with vision and clarity.

That he give her a deep faith and a wicked sense of humor, and make her a loyal and true friend.

I asked that she have a determination to succeed and preserver in everything she does.

I hoped God would give her the voice of an angel and a small stubborn streak…with all these things in place one would have the most perfect of daughters, priceless beyond measure.

You sweet Julienne are living proof that God answers prayers.

She colored this for me a few months ago while at work at the church nursery.

With eyes the color of cornflowers. And chocolate frosting on her nose.

My beautiful birthday girl.....Happy birthday, love of my life!!

Dancing in Africa...

Many characteristics, physical and otherwise jump generations. Receding hairlines, chiseled jaw lines, overbites and even chutzpa…

Or maybe I should say especially chutzpa.

I admire those who possess it naturally and otherwise.

Chutzpa has a number of definitions, but for the sake of this story I am using my own, which include, gall, nerve, "balls”….

I’ve been called quirky, never brave or overly adventurous.

And while I’ve been called full of something, sadly, it had nothing to do with chutzpa.

Chutzpa, as a characteristic, seems to have played leapfrog over my back and landed right on top of the teeny tiny shoulders of my darling daughter.

“Bigger than my body gives me credit for” sings John Mayer.

Song lyrics fitting for the little 4 foot 11 inch spitfire that shares my DNA….but not my mousy ways.

I am in awe of this kid…and her very strange and interesting list of life goals.

She is graduating college in a few short months…and while I’m sure it’s been a long road for her, she has, most times, made it look almost effortless.

At the dinner table the other night she had a question for me…

“Uh, is there, uh, do you think, umm, will there be some kind of Graduating From College gift?”

“Sure” I said “what do you want?”

“I was thinking” she answered “that I would like Rosetta Stone”.

(Rosetta Stone is a Language Learning Program)

“Rosetta Stone…why?” I queried.

“Swahili mom” she said “I need it”.

“SWAHILI???…Why not a nice watch?” I asked.

“I can test out of my language requirement for my Masters and it will help me to release my inner African” she said.

Chutzpa….some of us have it.

Hey Googie, a message for you…..

Mimi Tumaini Wewe Cheza (I Hope You Dance…in Swahili)

The Doc-tor is in..................

"Mom" the minute I heard her voice I knew something was wrong.

"What?...WHAT'S WRONG????!!!!" I jump from my normal hysterical self to certified nut case when I hear that tone.

"Is a citation the same thing as a ticket?" sniffle, sniffle.

"Uh....yup" arrggghhhhh.

"I told you, I told you , I told you this was gonna happen...didn't I????? arrrghhhhh.

"Ohhhhhh I don't need this right now, I gotta go" sniffle sniffle.

"Wait, don't hang up, you need to stop crying, you'll get in an accident, don't hang up, please.... I'll stop" aaargggghhhh.

Later when she got home she was furious..."Why are you so mad" I asked her " because you got caught"?

She didn't know why...she just was.

I am a bit of a back seat driver and a bona fide nag when I'm anywhere but the driver's seat. Slow down, don't tailgate, make sure you stop all the way, watch for that car, watch for that pothole, watch for that, watch for that, watch for that....

"The next time I drive you anywhere...you will be wearing a muzzle" she told me recently after a lengthy road trip.

"I am very tired of your telling me what to do....I am a good driver and I don't have any tickets and so you need to back off, and I mean it"....(feisty little thing this daughter of mine).

Ok...so being the first born child and knowing that all children that come after me (including my own) can and will be subject to my very own personal brand of torture...I really really really badly want to rub it in.

I'd chant "I told you so I told you so I- t- o- l -d -y- o- u -s -ooooooo...."

I'd whisper every chance I got "Smarty pants, you should have listened."

I would sing, "You should have listened...you should have l-i-s-t-e-n-ed!"

"Now seeeeee what happened...seeeeee seeeeee what happened".

If I told her once, I’ve told her a hundred and fifty seven times a little red car and a pint sized foot made of lead...don't mix.

She tells me she is going to pay for this ticket. I tell her that her dad and I paid for her brothers when they got a ticket and that she would also be allowed to have one Get Out of Jail Free card...she's digging her heels in on this one..she is going to pay.

I think I finally got to the bottom of the anger...and the determination to pay this ticket herself.

Yesterday she made the comment that she was now a delinquent, a trouble maker...a no good rotten kid.

She forgot to add....tainted, corrupted, and fouled.

This child (she believes) has taken a fall from Grace....

And to pay the ticket herself...she'd still keep her standing as the Good Kid in the family. The Responsible One...the One Most Likely To never break the Bank of Mom and Dad, or their hearts either.

(I want this publicly known...you little girl are perfect in every way, no traffic ticket, not even going 80 in a 70 zone in a little red car talking a mile a minute on your cell phone to Trouble is going to change that. You, my dear, really do walk on water as far as you loving father and I are concerned….

I hope you know that.

Love, Dr Mom...(the armchair psychologist)

Who would have thought that this darling child would grow up to cause this kind of trouble????? If you look closely at this picture you can see her little arm beginning to tighten around the cat's neck. Children that grow up to be delinquent law breakers often start out by hurting small defenseless animals. I should have seen it coming

 
(Googie your mama loves you...more than life itself)

The broken, battered, very bruised ego......

She is probably so sick of hearing “if it is meant for you, it will not go by you” and “maybe next time” and “please don’t give up”.

In my desperate attempt to bolster her broken heart…I try to think up all sorts of “you can get through this” and “things will start looking up” and “it will soon be your time” words and phrases.

I don’t think she believes me anymore.

And, honestly, I am starting to not believe me either.

My darling daughter, the blue sky of my existence lost out on another part last night.

As a community theater actor she’s been suffering a lengthy and serious lack of a good part....a major drought.

It pains me so looking into the cornflower blue pools that are her tear filled eyes.

They leak, and I dab, and I kiss, and I cry too (but never out loud so she sees me).

I am tired of explaining to her that maybe she is too short or too blonde or too not the director’s neighbor’s brother’s girlfriend and that is why she didn’t get the part.

I am amazed that she never gives up.

It makes me proud to be her mother.

But I still worry about the long term effects of her many bruises, her constant battering.

Will my never ending cheer….. “go-go-go”, “rah-rah-rah”, “never give up”, hurt her in the long run?

I don’t want her to give up her passion.

I just want her to always and forever get up one more time than she falls down

….even if sometimes; it feels like I’m asking too much.

Thanks for listening.