My Gabriella can be a stinker. Her attitude needs adjusting many times each day. But at her core, she is kind girl with a heart as big as her personality.

There’s one thing she makes very clear on a daily basis.

She loves her family with her entire being. Her family is everything to her.

While her brother was away at boot camp, she struggled with his absence. Each and every day, she’d talk about him, or cry about missing him. It was the sweetest, most heartbreaking thing to watch.

Yesterday, I saw a pink piece of paper with a note sitting on top of the next near the kitchen. I hadn’t seen the note before, so I asked Gabby about it. She said she wrote it a while ago, but forgot to give it to us.

“You can have it now. I’m sorry I forgot to give it to you when I wrote it.”

I couldn’t help but cry just a little bit.

She loves us all the most. How lucky are we?

Normally for after school pick up, I sit in my parked car in the rear entrance of the school and wait for my daughter.

On Friday, I couldn’t wait. I got out of my car when I heard the bell ring and ran up the stairs to wait for her. As I stood there in the middle of the field waiting for her, the cold wind blew my hair into my eyes. I pushed my hair back and I wiped the tears from my eyes.

I don’t want her to see my cry.

I spotted her walking with a friend. She was wearing her big, puffy jacket. She was laughing– pure joy, sweet, innocent childhood joy.

She doesn’t know. I thought to myself. Thank God, she doesn’t know.

As she got closer, I felt the urge to run to her, scoop her up in my arms, and squeeze her tightly. But I stood there just a bit longer, waiting for her to see me standing there.

She saw me. Her eyes lit up. The smile on her face grew ten times bigger and she ran towards me.

“Moooooommmmmyyyyyyyyyyyy!” She shouted as she ran.

I began running towards her.

When we met, I knelt down, she wrapped her arms around my neck. We hugged tightly.

“Why did you come here to meet me? I’m so happy to see you!”

“I was thinking about how much I love you and couldn’t wait to see your face.” I replied.

“Well, this is the best day ever!” She said as we began walking towards towards the car.

Tears.

No, it’s not. It’s the worst day ever. The absolute worst day. But she didn’t need to know that. In that moment, she needed only to believe that it absolutely was the best day ever. She was safe, I could hold my baby’s hand, she could hold mine. Oh, I felt so very lucky, so very blessed. Because on the other side of the country, so many parents no longer had their babies with them. They couldn’t hold their hands. They would never again get out of their cars to meet their babies, or see their smiles again, or feel their babies arms around their necks.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Here’s information on you can help one of the precious victim’s family.

When we were making our birth plans for our first born, I said that I would be okay with family and friends being in the delivery room with me. In fact, I believed that people who wanted privacy with their partner during the birth were selfish jerks. Why wouldn’t you want the people who loved you the most to be there with you to share in the birth of your child?

I created a list of people I would call when it was time to head to the hospital for the birth of our child. This list was quite long and included immediate family, cousins, friends and some people from church. The second my water broke, I started calling people on the list to let them know we were on our way to the hospital.

Shortly after we arrived and I was admitted, the visitors started coming. My mom, my sister, my mother in law, my best friend, my cousin, people from our church. At first, it was great! There were people there to keep me company, to make me laugh, to give me advice!

But then, things got a little… not so great. The nurse informed us that only four people could be in the room at a time. Well, that caused a little bit of drama and the nurses started to get annoyed. Then, my contractions started to come faster and harder and well, I didn’t want to hear Church Lady telling me to “trust God” to give me an easy labor and I didn’t want my mother in law to tell me to “breathe” or to put her hands on my feet to rub them. I wanted peace, quiet and for everyone to get out of my room.

After my son was born and I had been placed in a recovery room, the nurses allowed my parents to come in to see me. That’s when I found out that all hell had broken loose in the waiting room. Apparently, everyone who was there waiting wanted to know if i had given birth to a girl or a boy, but the hospital staff refused to tell them, saying that it was the parents place to inform them of that information. And my mother in law didn’t like that answer and got bossy with the nurses, who then called security. NO LIE SERIOUSLY THAT ALL HAPPENED.

And so, the next time I found out I was pregnant, we decided that only parents and siblings would be notified ahead of time because never again. I finally understood why people wanted the experience to be a private one.

How do you feel about having friends and family present for the labor and birth of a baby?

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From the archives, Originally posted September, 2003.

I was reading Joelles post about pooping in public restrooms and it reminded me of one of my most embarrassing moments in life.

When Tony and I first got married, he wanted to go to Tijuana to visit his grandparents. I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. When I was a young girl, I had to go there with my parents are part of their church ministry and I know what the “bathroom situation” is like in most places. The idea of staying somewhere for more than a day where I might possibly have to take a dump in a box with a hole cut out didn’t appeal to me at all. (I have bathroom issues.) He swore to me that his grandparents lived in a modern house, with running water and an actual toilet. I fought the idea of going, but I realized I was acting like a spoiled rotten brat and agreed to go. However, I wasn’t thrilled about it.

We arrived and I was thrilled to see that yes, they had a toilet! However, the toilet was in the middle of the living room. There were four pieces of wood surrounding the toilet that went about halfway up to the ceiling. So, while you technically had “privacy”, there was really no barriers to keep the sounds/smells confined to the bathroom area. I was slightly mortified, but hey! it was a real toilet that I could flush! And besides, it was just us and his grandparents at the house. I could totally deal with that.

A few hours after we arrived, Tony’s grandmother began making chocolate milkshakes for us to drink. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying “no thank you.” So, I had a milkshake. But then, she made another one and then, another one and you guys! I kept drinking them so as not to offend her. Later that night, my stomach started to hurt really bad. Uh, oh. I thought to myself. I know what’s about to happen and it’s not going to be pretty.

I was laying in bed with severe stomach cramps when I heard people start coming through the front door. The started to file in, one, two, three at a time. Before you know it, the entire living room was filled with people. And these people were ALL MEN.

“What the hell is happening here?” I asked my husband. He went to talk to his grandma to find out.

Apparently, his grandfather was very active in Mexican politics and that night he was hosting A TOWN MEETING! In his living room! The same living room that had the only toilet in the house right in the middle of it! With only four boards around it so no one could see you, but everyone could hear and smell you!

Oh hell no. This was not happening. Except, it was happening! OH MY GOD IT WAS HAPPENING.

I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. I ran to the living room. After making my way past two thousand Mexican men, I made it to the “bathroom.”

OH LORD JESUS, HELP THESE PEOPLE FOR WHAT THEY ARE ABOUT TO HEAR… and smell

And then. It happened.

Sitting on a toilet, shitting out dozens of milkshakes in the middle of a mofo TOWN MEETING. It was loud in the room, so that helped to calm my anxiety about what was happening just a little bit. Until THE ROOM GOT QUIET. I sat there, crying, asking Jesus to JUST KILL ME NOW PLEASE because I had no idea how I was going to find the strength to exit that bathroom after what I had just done.

I sat there until I figured out an exit strategy. I was going to walk out of there with my head held high, like, YEAH, I JUST DID THAT… WHAT??! But that’s not what happened. I walked out of there, saw the line of people waiting to use the same toilet I had just tore the hell up, and ran out of there– tears streaming down my face– as fast as I could.

So there you have it. My Most Embarrassing Bathroom Story.

Care to share yours?

On second thought, DON’T! I don’t want to hear it!

Once I found out I was pregnant, life was then filled with a Series of Firsts. The first doctor visit. The first sonogram. The first time I heard the baby’s heartbeat. The first stretch mark.

The one “first” that stood out the most to me was the first time I felt my baby move inside of me. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I wondered what that first kick, movement would feel like. I had heard stories from people who had been pregnant before me. “It will feel like butterflies.” “You’ll feel like something is swimming inside of you.” are real things people told me.

What does something swimming inside of you feel like? How would I know for sure that it was my baby and not gas or hunger pains?

I remember spending many nights sitting on the sofa with my hands on my belly wondering if that day would be the day I’d feel my baby move. Around the fifth month, I started to feel what I can only describe was “flutters.” I wasn’t sure if it was my baby, but it was definitely something I had never felt before.

And then, one day, It Happened. There was a movement that felt like a kick and I was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had finally felt my baby kicking and moving inside of me. I yelled out to my husband. “I just felt the baby move!” And yes, there were tears because I just felt my baby move.

As the days and weeks went on, the movements became stronger. It was the most amazing feeling I had ever experienced. Eventually, the kicks became strong enough that others could feel them by placing their hands on my belly. Every night, my husband would sit on the couch next to me with his hands on my belly and we’d sit there in awe each time we felt our baby kick.

Those kicks weren’t as precious when they started happening on my bladder and liver. OUCH, but seeing and feeling those movements from inside of my body will always be one of the most spectacular things to have ever happened to me as a mother.

Do you remember the first time you felt your baby move?

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Random fact about me: I am afraid of cats.

This does not mean that I will not be in the same room with a cat or that I will not pet a cat. It just means that I believe that every cat I come into contact with is trying to figure out how to kill me.

One time? When I was staying the night at my friend’s house? Her cat sneaked into bed with me and when I opened my eyes, he was sitting right near my face, just staring at me. I was frozen with fear. I cried out from the bed. “LEEEEEEENA! HELP MEEEEEEE!” Lena didn’t hear me, so I just laid there, as still as could be, pleading with the cat not to scratch my eyes out.

Tonight, Tony, Gabby and I went for a walk to see the Christmas lights in the neighborhood.

“Mommy, would you be afraid if you were walking alone in the dark right now?” Gabby asked as we were walking.

“I probably would be because I’d be afraid of the coyotes.”

Right after I said that, I saw a black figure in the distance walking towards us. “What the hell is that?” I asked Tony. And then I heard it.

“Meow.”

There was a cat and it was walking towards us while meowing in what I perceived to be an aggressive manner.

It kept coming towards us while meowing.

I looked over at Tony.

“Why is it meowing? And why is it walking directly towards us?!” I asked.

“It’s not going to bother us. Just keep walking.”

As we made our way past the cat and up the street, it continued to follow us as we walked.

Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.

Gabby grabbed my hand and said “Okay, Mommy. I’m starting to get really freaked out.”

I didn’t want my daughter to be as terrified as I was, so I turned to her and said “He’s probably just lonely, or really hungry.”

“Yeah.” She said. “FOR OUR FLESH.”

My daughter, she knows the truth about the cats. She knows.

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There is a very specific way in which I load my dishwasher. Not because I’m a control freak, but because this way works for getting the most dishes possible in the dishwasher so as not to waste precious water.

I’ve showed my husband countless times how to properly load our dishwashers and honestly? It’s super easy! Cups and glasses on side top rack. Bowls in the middle, plates at the bottom, DISHWASHER LOADING BASICS. And yet, every single time he loads the dishwasher, he puts everything in the wrong place. This wouldn’t be a big deal if he was able to fit most of the dishes, but the way he stacks it, he only can fit about 8 things. I end up having to go rearrange everything to make more room.

“Why don’t you load it the way I’ve showed you 500 times?”

His response is always something along the lines of “Well, if you don’t like it, why don’t you load it yourself?”

Which, give me a break. I DO the load the dishwasher myself most of the time. The few times you do load it, WHY CAN’T YOU DO IT THE RIGHT WAY? Or even the sort of right way?

Is he doing this on purpose? Is he just trying to annoy me? Is it possibly he has a Dish Washing Impairment? Or am I the one with the problem? Do I need to just let him stack that crap anyway he wants to and not worry about all of the water that will be wasted because of his refusal to DO IT RIGHT?

I don’t know man. I just don’t know.

This post has been brought to you by 22 years of marriage.

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In 2001, I started this blog.

By 2004, there were a lot of people reading this blog. At some point, it became what some may call “popular.” (You can punch me in the teeth for using that stupid word.) There were thousands of people stopping by to read what I was writing every single day. My posts would get a ton of comments (Super funny, smart, thoughtful comments.) I was actually proud of this blog and there aren’t many things in my life that I am proud of, believe me.

Then, something happened. Something I’ve never written about. I emailed privately with friends about it, but never addressed it here, publicly. This something that happened shook me up. It freaked me out. It made me question putting all of my business out here for all of the internet to read. I wasn’t mad about what happened, but I was sad about it. I learned that not everyone appreciated what I was writing and that people who didn’t even know me could hate me enough to be cruel to me publicly.

That Thing that happened definitely changed me, changed the way I approached blogging. I didn’t shut my blog down, or quit blogging, but I definitely was more guarded with what I put out there. The fear of people twisting my words into cruelly crafted posts or other type of assholery affected my ability to write my truth and put it out there for all to read.

Posting has been sporadic over the past couple of years and I’ve lost a lot of readers (justifiably so.) But, I’ve never been willing to fully let my blog go because of what it means to me. I’ve written my life in words for the past 11 years. I can go back and read what I wrote to my children on their birthday’s, there are things that my children said when they were little that are documented here forever. When my son graduated from high school, I printed out posts that I had written about him, put them in a book and gave them to him as a gift. He loved it and was grateful I had kept an account of his life as a kid. That alone is worth keeping this blog.

I recently agreed to do a series of sponsored posts in the hopes that it would inspire me to write more regularly. The topics would be something I have experienced through parenthood and it seemed like the perfect thing to get me through the funk and back into the habit of writing (while at the same time earning me much needed dolla bills to help cover some Child Related Expenses. Can you say Travel Ball/ Gymnastics?) It didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped. I found myself unable to get over the mental challenges that have pestered me over the past few years. However, over the past few days I’ve felt more inspired to write again and I like the way that it feels. I feel the urges that I used to feel to “write this down and hit publish.” I’m hoping this renewed desire to write will continue and that I will be able to put The Thing behind me once and for all and make this blog enjoyable/readable for an audience again.