Facials are scary for kids.

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So I told Elle that if she made and brought me a cup of coffee I’d do a tickle fight with her. Yes, I’m *that* mom. Bribe my kid for quality time and memories.

Anyhow, my kid is a doll and quickly agreed. Not only did she bring me coffee, she also brought me a cute note.

Note stated: YOUR THE BEST!

My first response was, “Awwwww, so sweet. I love you.”

My next response was, “Oh honey, let me show you something.”

And the note became a spelling lesson.

You are = You’re

Here’s proof that I’m a horribly critical mom!

Please use a mirror to look at the image. Image also shows that I can’t get my iPhone to send emails and I had to use my MacBook Pro Photo Booth to snap the shot. And Photo Booth apparently only takes photos backwards. My kid DOES NOT write her words backwards. She’s not that talented.

Elle followed my (sporadic) tradition of including a note on a napkin. Today she did this while I wasn’t looking and stuffed it into my lunch bag.

She makes my heart smile. Every damn day. So full of unconditional love.

Here are my thoughts in return: Dear Elle, thanks for teaching me that you can never give enough love, hugs and kisses everyday to the loved ones in your life.

Please notice the SDSU lunch bag…that conveniently fits a six pack of beer inside. I know, I used it for something way less fun. Except that sugar free pudding. That stuff must have crack in it. And the berries are divine too. Off to get my fix.

And so does Elle…

I got coffee delivery!

I got breakfast in bed.

All because I’m loved. By the most beautifully talented 10 year old I know.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you all!

However you choose to have love surround you.

Elle said, “We were all just talking and hanging out in Dan’s room.”

My jaw dropped. “Elle! You are not supposed to hang out in a boy’s room!”

She was quick to respond, “Mom, don’t worry. It was clean.”

God, I love that kid. She is so very innocent.

I wonder if she’s mine.

After several sips of bubbly I started brainstorming on what we should do with our day.  Again bubbly makes me happy so I thought I’d give Elle something that would make her happy. She’s been begging me for this for months.

So I said it. “Elle, let’s go get paint and redecorate your room today!” She squealed.

She picked the colors and the design. I bought the stuff. We both did the work.

Now I walk into her room to brighten my mood. The large polka dots are just like bubbles. They makes me smile. Maybe even more than champagne on Sundays or clean sheets on Sunday night. Okay, that might be a stretch. But I do love Elle’s new room.

He has got to be the most brilliant man I know.  Who goes to medical school then right after he begins practicing, he goes to law school? My dad. He was a surgeon by day and an attorney on the side as an expert on medical malpractice cases. At this point he has retired and enjoying a sweet life with a beautiful wife in Texas.

He has helped me through difficult transitions in my life…college, career changes, divorce, etc. Both with his never-ending support and his financial backing. I value his advice and words of wisdom. Always have. Yesterday was no different.

Here’s an excerpt from our standard Sunday chat yesterday:

Dad: Dear, I was reading your blog.

Me: Dad, I told you not to read my blog.

Dad: You really need to stop using that f word. There is nothing more unfeminine than hearing a woman talk like that.

Me: Maybe so, but dad, please don’t read my blog. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.

Dad: Really Susan. You shouldn’t use that word.

Me: Okay, fine. It will be my New Year’s resolution. I’ll stop using the f word. For one month.

Dad: Okay dear. Love you. Talk to you next Sunday.

I made a promise. To stop with the f-bombs here. Consider this your warning for a more PG rated blog now. At least for one month.

Dad, you can read my blog now. Love you. Always and forever.

Last night I was surprised when Elle decided to pull out her journal from a few years back. She’s 10 now, so she would have been 8 years old when she wrote it.

She decided to read something out loud to me.

Elle’s journal entry:

It states:

Last night my mom made the best dinner and she is not a chef at all. She made chicken, carrots, and potatoes. It was like my dad made it and he’s a chef. YUM!

I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

If I *must* cook, it’s rarely good enough for a journal entry. This makes me think Elle exaggerated. By exaggerated, I mean lied.

But I really think this story is a lie because I HATE COOKED CARROTS. I’d never make them as part of a meal.

But this post isn’t meant to be a snowy post.

So rather than share my woes of traveling to work, I wanted to share the cuteness that I left behind.

I swear my 10 year old daughter, Elle, is more maternal with me than my own mother. As I drove her to school she said, “Mom the trick with driving in this weather is to GO SLOW.” She also mentioned, “Stay off your phone when you drive to work in this weather mom.”

I reassured her that I was fine. I wasn’t scared. My car is awesome in the snow. But I will drive slow and stay off my phone.

Her parting words as we kissed goodbye. “I love you. Be safe.”

I love her with more heart than I have. I may the luckiest mom in the world. At least, that’s how I feel.

I called her shortly after seeing her text messages and told her that as long as she believes in Santa, then he is real.

She said she kinda does and kinda doesn’t. And then over dinner she told me she was going to ask Santa for a laptop for Christmas.

Now I need a fucking Santa! Laptops are expensive.

What I love involves being at home, having a beautiful tree with white lights, drinking bubbly, snow, giving to others, spending time with friends, talking with my family (all but Elle live in Texas), and most of all watching Elle’s face light up on Christmas morning.

Those are the things that make my heart happy. Every year.

But to get there, I have to put all my decorations up. Put the spirit of the season in my house. Let’s not get carried away. I only decorate my front living room and an area around my fireplace in another room.

This chore is dreaded. Hell, it’s a chore. But I try and make it fun. Elle and I spend the weekend after Thanksgiving pulling out all the decorations. She talks about how special her ornaments are. I get all anal about making sure we put everything exactly where it was last year.

Normally after a few hours, we’re done.

This year I am overwhelmed.  I bought a new tree. I needed a fresh start. But I overestimated the height of my ceilings. I bought a 9 foot tree. I *think* my ceilings are tall enough. And the fact that it is in this tiny box freaks me out. It may be impossible to make it as gorgeous as it looked in the store. And will I have enough ornaments?

So today I’m taking a break. My break includes hot cocoa with Malibu rum and a movie! Elf. I love this movie.

But really I’m waiting for a friend to help me set up this enormous tree. I could barely manage my old 7 1/2 foot tree on my own.

Let’s just hope there is enough Malibu rum to get me through this decorating shit.

Now I’m being made to finish them both. Fuck I love my family.

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My brother, Tyler, is older. Much older. And a jokester. And sometimes an ass.

He took Mumsie’s phone and typed that message.

Mumsie grounded him for that. Mostly because he would probably enjoy spankings too much.

For those who care, I am NOT actually adopted. And Mumsie loves me more than my brother. I’m sure of it.

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• Ex = my ex-husband, although this story takes place before he was an ex
• Elle = our baby in this story who is now our 10 year old daughter

When I was pregnant with Elle, I ate ice cream and french fries every day! Shut up, my body was craving ice cream for the calcium. I can’t explain the fries, except I love them. Needless to say, I gained 60 pounds by the end of my pregnancy. I was huge!

After I got Elle out of my body, the 60 pounds didn’t go with her. Nope. Most of them stayed with me. Well at least 45 of them did.

45 lbs! That’s a lot on my 5′4′ frame. Technically I’m 5′3.75″. Anyhow I was large.

Ex loved to take pictures and video. He was the one who took snapshots throughout our courtship, marriage, special occasions like birthdays and of course tons of our child.

When Elle was somewhere between 6 – 12 months old (I’m terrible at remembering these things…yes, I’m *that* mom), she got a cute pair of tiny yellow rubber rain boots as a gift. I put Elle in her crib along with her new yellow rain boots. Her little feet were too tiny to keep them on, but they were adorable so we kept trying.

Ex began to film the event. I stood behind him. Mostly because I was in a moo moo nightie, had unbrushed hair, and was wearing my horribly unstylish glasses. Fuck, I was married. Oh, and fat. Really fat.

Ex was commenting about the event as the video camera panned across the crib area. I heard such things as, “Look at our cutie.” “Elle, look at the camera.” “Hi love.” “Sweet girl.” and whatever else doting dads say to their 6-12 month olds.

Elle reached down to one yellow boot and moved it towards her foot. Don’t get excited. She wasn’t advanced enough to slip those things on.

Well Ex noticed her actions. In his cute British accent like any proud dad, he said, “Elle, are you putting on your new wellies?” Ex continued to comment as he panned the room with the video camera saying next, “You’re such a big girl.” He was so proud that Elle was trying to put on those cute yellow rain boots.

Months later we watched the video. The timing was odd. Ex clearly said, “You’re such a big girl” while the camera was on me. He meant the comment for Elle. But no, I was in the frame. Me! Who, again, looked like ass. And a fat one no less.

Lessons here: Never let a man multi task if it involves commenting and video recording.

Smaller lessons: Never wear large sleepwear, it makes you look larger. Never be on camera without at least brushing hair and putting in contacts. Never wait 6-12 months after baby to start a diet and exercise program. Never put those stupid baby borders up in a nursery. I did and it looked stupid. Okay the baby border lesson was unrelated to the story but it was a lesson I wanted to share nonetheless.

Tragic story. Except I’m alive today. And stronger because of it.

It happened in broad daylight. In Houston, Texas. In 1975. I was with my 13 year old babysitter, Vicky.

Everyday after school Vicky came to my preschool. We’d walk to my house from there. Through the quiet Houston neighborhood.

One day a man in a sedan pulled up to ask us for directions. Then he asked Vicky for a pencil so he could write down the directions. She handed him a pencil. He twisted her arm and instructed us to get in the car. Bastard.

He looked normal. But his tone was forceful. This made him scary. Bastard.

He ordered Vicky to “tell the little girl in the backseat to lay down”. I heard him. But he wouldn’t talk to me. Bastard.

He didn’t touch me. But he did violate Vicky. I heard her cries for help from the front seat. He was a sick man. Bastard.

He told Vicky that if she didn’t stop crying he would “kill the little girl in the backseat”. Bastard.

He kept us for many hours. He told us not to tell anyone. He dropped us off. He had to get home to his own family.  Bastard.

He broke Vicky. Her spirit. Her innocence. Her childhood. All gone. Bastard.

He put me, a 4 year old child, in a position to testify in a courtroom. My parents weren’t allowed to be with me. I was alone. Bastard.

He was caught. He was locked up. Eventually he was released from prison (while I was in college). Bastard.

A man kidnapped me. He put fear into my life at a precious young age. Bastard.

This event forever changed me. It changed my outlook on life. This event made me believe that nothing bad (like really bad) could ever happen to me again. So if you ever experience me finding the upside in a negative situation, this is why. It was him. The bastard.

My mom, my dad and my brother had to see me go through this. Without them I would have been broken too. The real courage came from them and the rest of my family. They saved me.

Luckily, at the time, I was too young to know how this would impact my life.

And it did. Forever. And significantly.

This is a shortened version of my story. There is so much more: The memories are so clear. The feelings are so fresh. Even as a 4 year old, I vividly remember holding my artwork as I laid down on the back seat and wishing nothing more than to show my mom what I did that day in school.