Look at my girl!  I don’t care; she was the most beautiful baby I have ever seen!  I believe I may have mentioned (shamelessly bragged) before she got a perfect 10 on her APGAR test in the hospital.  Oh WHERE did the time go?!  I remember being terrified of bathing her because she was so little.  She has always loved the water just as her namesake would suggest.  (In Latin Maris means “of the sea.”)  My husband and I loved her paw shaped birthmark (“stork bite”) which, ironically, she got about a week and a half after she was born.  We reluctantly had it removed when she was about 2 1/2.  Surprisingly, it was never remarks from other children; it was always adults making the comments.  For a long time I used her Godmother’s sweet reply that the angels had kissed her.  But it became harder and harder to ignore as she grew more aware.  The defining moment for me was an adult pointing straight at her face and asking what had happened.  I will NEVER forget her lifting her tiny hand up to her face and wondering why she was being pointed at.  Burk strongly felt we should have it removed because he didn’t want her to feel self conscious.  Now, two years later, she is upset with me for removing her “special wolf paw mark.”  Everyone who knew us was freaked out that it looked like she was touched on the cheek with a perfect wolf paw print.  My Daddy used to say hindsight is 20/20.  I can only pray she will not regret the decision we made in her stead forever.  American author Bret Harte once wrote:  “Never a lip is curved with pain that can’t be kissed into smiles again.”  I kissed that mark a thousand times.  I loved it; it was a part of her.  It belonged to her.  God gave it to her.  And at the tender age of three she started expressing her upset that her mark got removed.  It took two laser surgeries to have it removed.  I pray that I can kiss her lips into a smile again, and that she will not always regret the decision we labored over on her behalf.  And, for the record my darling, I do believe you were kissed not only by the heavenly angels but by the wolves as well.  I am proud of you for embracing it.

This photo of my folks is fuzzy and out of focus.  I fear my memories are becoming the same and I do not want that.  I want to remember them; their love, their warmth, and their strength for as long as I have breath.  It is especially important so that I can pass that along to Maris.  She is their legacy and the living embodiment of my entire life.  I try to stay upbeat in my blogs but OH how I miss them!  I tell my little one stories about them every day to keep them alive for her.  This was taken when I was in the Miss Texas USA pageant in Padre Island and it was the very first time I had ever been anywhere outside of Dallas with my family.  I believe I was 24.  I discovered Mama’s love for the ocean and remember marveling at how my dark red father’s feet were impossibly white — a shocking reflection of his mixed heritage of German and Choctaw.  I would say we were all in our prime then.  It is before my parents had any health problems that surfaced and I weighed less than 110 pounds, eating whatever I wanted.  I lost to who would become Miss Universe and I ate her cheese danish every day for breakfast so I got two.  I only got to spend one night with them on that beach in Padre Island but I remember I saw them in a whole new light.  I have been so fortunate to travel since I have gotten married and it is terribly important that our daughter never become blasé about such a privilege.  The French novelist Marcel Proust once wrote:

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

I want to continually see the world and people with new eyes — always seeking out the best.

Oh dear God what has happened to my house?!  I think it’s called “my child is home from school.”  I could not believe the state her playroom was in.  Little pieces of Lord knows what were everywhere!!  I walked in, took one look around, and wanted to give up and go straight to bed.  Before I had a child, I always thought mine would be the house they’d come to.  I have a new iMac that was not inexpensive which some kid cracked within MILLISECONDS of coming in to play.  I especially love that his Dad covered it up and I did not discover it until later.  That’s when I realized once again our child was actually very good and has not touched anything she wasn’t supposed to.  I’ll never forget her third birthday (the last in our home) when a little boy broke a piece of Native American art whose artist’s work is in the Smithsonian.  The mother asked if “it was worth much” and when I looked horrified she asked how I managed to keep “nice” things out.  “Nice” and “priceless” are quite divergent.  But at least it taught me just how good my little girl really was.  As I write and I’m thinking this through I realize she was simply playing with her own things in her playroom.  The rest of our house remains intact.  Sometimes toys spill over from her room to the loft and I ask her to please keep certain things in specific areas.  So for instance her kitchen things need to stay in her kitchen; outside toys like bubbles stay on the porch, and she has a designated table for coloring, etc.  This room was the result of me not reminding her to put things away for several days as I have been really sick.  I came across a quote from the comedienne Phyllis Diller which I thought was apt:  “Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing up is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.”  Thankfully my karate kid girl is learning the value of discipline and responsibility.  I had her put everything away under my guidance of restored order.  I want her to be free to play … I just don’t want to see any more Play-Doh tornadoes; the wolfies have had rainbow-colored poop for days.  We’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.

Pictured here is Alamo, Tux, and Cocoa.  They have been clients of mine for years.  I came across this in my Timehop on Facebook from three years ago.  This is one of those stories which is funny now but was absolutely HORRIFYING at the time.  My client’s mother-in-law I believe had passed away but they had her old meds still hanging around.  So I was making my rounds and I discovered all these chewed open pill bottles — EVERYWHERE.  I completely freaked.  Oddly enough, first I worried about the plastic.  So I went and got them all white bread (which they thought was a treat) to coat their stomachs with since I had no way of knowing who had ingested how much and of what.  Next I lined them all up and DEMANDED to know WHO had done this!  If you’ll note, Alamo (on the far left) looks guilty and Cocoa (far right) wouldn’t meet my eyes.  Well she was a rescue, poor thing, and the sweetest doggie in the world — as Pitbulls often are despite what people have done to them.  So who does that leave?  Look at Tux in the center looking all unrepentant.  Sure enough, he was the culprit.  Fortunately, he was not hurt by the THIRY some odd prescription bottles he’d managed to open.  I swear I turned grey that night.  I prayed and prayed they would all be OK.  I tried to give them a doggie sobriety test (they’ve never looked at me the same since then) and I stayed over later to make sure no one vomited.  WHAT a scare!  American reporter and humorist Franklin P. Jones once said, “Scratch a dog and you’ll find a permanent job.”  And so it goes.  Tuxedo got showered with freaked out love and attention … and lots and lots of scratches.  Alamo and Cocoa justifiably demanded the same.  My job as a petsitter is to give as many scratches and as much love as I possibly can.  Fortunately, I am happy to take on the task.

I’ve said it before … either I find wolves or they find me.  This time it was in the grocery store.  And clearly I’m a sucker for marketing.  Fortunately the hubs doesn’t have definitive absolutes about what I buy for him.  Scratch that.  He does but this falls under his I-don’t-really-care-which-one purview.  I did not even bother to smell it and scent is very important to me.  I’m guessing they’ve tried to gear this toward teenage boys with the whole “nocturnal creatures” thing.  This would not be the first time I have had something in common with teenage boys … like video games for instance.  I have always loved them and in fact would not date a boy again if I had to spend all night just watching him play in an arcade.  Heck, I even judged Burk on that at Dave and Busters before we were married.  I like dual players but it is also nice to have someone watching you, too.  However I have also always lamented the lack of strong women and/or the roles they have been given in video games.  American feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian said:

“I love playing video games, but I’m regularly disappointed in the limited and limiting ways women are represented.”

I could not agree more.  So take that you statistical bean counters with your coded algorithms trying to stuff people in stereotypical boxes.  I am NOT some middle-aged woman who mostly does the grocery shopping in the family; I’m looking forward to the latest version of Tomb Raider.  Nevermind that I don’t really have time to play anymore; it’s the thought that counts.  And now if you will excuse me, I am off to buy a two pack of mint dental floss.

As the early heat of this summer rises my mind goes back to the even hotter heat of late last summer and my excitement in ordering our little one’s first ever school uniform.  I went to public schools and wish I could have worn a uniform.  As it was I got made fun of for wearing the same clothes.  However as an adult it taught me not to care if I wear the same thing every day or not.  And I truly don’t — as long as it’s clean.  Pictured here is her Chapel uniform.  She also has shirts monogrammed with her school’s logo, skorts and Crocs for wearing in the garden.  She really is my Baby Doll and I have had more fun putting her little saddle oxfords on and then pairing them with knee highs in the winter.  She has her little red monogrammed school sweater and bows and headbands and tiny white socks that turn down at the ankles.  She was so small they had to special order her size as they did not keep it in stock.  I notice now her jumper has gotten shorter and realize it is because she has grown.  She has sung with her class, learned about the world, played on the playground, gotten into trouble, and celebrated her fourth birthday in her cheerful, nurturing school room.  In this past year she has used scissors to arrange flowers, glue for art projects and she can even write her name!  Sometimes she hums the Montessori song under her breath in the car.  She has been to fun functions at school, holiday parties and to Chapel twice a week all throughout the year.  I thought I would put her in some type of “day camp” this summer but I find I cannot bear to let her go.  Tempus fugit.  American author Nathaniel Hawthorne said, “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.”  I want those shadows to be filled with happy memories of our time spent together.  I know the shadows from my own childhood still lovingly linger and fall softly over me like a warm blanket, and I am thankful to Mama and Daddy for giving me their most precious gift of all; the gift of their time.