To My Daughter, Sophie

Dear Sophie,

Right now, you are four years old. You are tall and beautiful. You are smart and funny. You are shy in certain situations and a total chatterbox in others. In other words, you are PERFECT.

I want you to know that I'm always going to love you. Nothing's ever going to change that. No matter what happens in your life, I'm here to love and support you.

When I was growing up, Nana was always there to guide me. She was, and is, my best friend. But sometimes growing up, it's hard to listen to your mother. I know, in a few short years, you may not always want to listen to me or take my advice. However, as I've grown up and become a mother to you, I've learned along the way that Nana is pretty smart. So I want to pass along to you things she taught me, and things I believe, and notes about the kind of person I'd like you to be. I'll love you no matter what, but just keep these in mind, okay?

Be kind, especially to older people.
Kindnesses are easily given to others and much appreciated. It's important to be kind and respectful to all people, but especially always try to be kind and show respect to older people. Both Nana and Papa have always been so respectful of their elders and I believe I've grown up to be the same. Older people are sometimes forgotten in society, but they were young once and have amazing stories to tell if you take a moment to listen.

Be a giver.
Nana has told me that she would rather be a giver in life, even when that giving isn't always reciprocated. She is incredibly generous of her time and talents to those in her life, especially me and you. She's someone who always considers what she can do to help a friend or family member. She sends flowers, she makes food, she runs errands for others. She lives her life with a service mentality. I try very hard to live this way in my own life, although I'm not sure I'm as good at it as she is.

Don't change yourself to keep a friend or a boyfriend in your life.
Nana always made me feel very confident in myself. I hope greatly that I can impart this feeling to you as you grow up and encounter challenges in life. Sometimes people will ask you to do something or go along with something you don't really want to. Trust your gut. Be yourself. If a friend is truly a friend or if a boy really likes you, they will like you just as you are and not force you to be someone you're not or do things you don't want to do to keep your relationship with them.

I spent many years as a single person, watching some of my girlfriends change their personalities with every guy they dated. It's okay to take an interest in something important to a guy you like or are dating (for example, I'd only seen one hockey game before I met your Dad); it's another thing to change your personality from one extreme to the next to try to make something work (it's not like I took up playing hockey and watching every game and only talking about hockey when we started dating LOL).

Daddy would tell you that I'm telling a story here and that I actually did a lot of hiking with him when we were dating and first married and I do not hike now, and that's kind of true, but we had a lot more free time TO hike back then than we do now. And I still hike occasionally!

Make special occasions special.
Even when I was little and we didn't have a lot of disposable income, Nana always tried to make special occasions special. She's big and possibly over the top on Christmas and Easter and birthdays now, as you know, but she has always made things special even when money was scarce. In fact, Nana told me that as a girl she used to wrap empty boxes and put them under the Christmas tree just to make the tree look pretty at Christmas. This story simultaneously breaks my heart, thinking of her growing up with so little (growing up poor as one of 10 children), and makes me totally indulge all the ways in which she goes over the top at Christmas now, because she deserves it.

Some of my favorite memories of "special" occasions with Nana are simple things. When I was 10, we went camping in the Rocky Mountains. One afternoon, Nana packed up an awesome picnic lunch and we took it out into the middle of a meadow in the mountains and ate it. Nana is kind of famous for making the day special with picnic lunches. Remember when we celebrated Fourth of July at Blanco State Park last year and I made a picnic lunch (like actually cooked things for it?!). Well, you definitely have Nana to thank for that.

When you were three weeks old, Daddy had gone back to work and I was home alone with you, sleep-deprived and in desperate need of a few minutes to shower. Nana came over one day and not only took care of you so I could shower, but brought all the makings of a lovely tea for us to enjoy. And not just the food...the serving dishes for the tea and soup and desserts. She set the table so lovely, as if it was tea for the Queen! I felt clean and refreshed after my shower, and you in your bouncy chair, me with my freshly washed hair, and Nana, enjoyed a lovely tea together. Just a random weekday that she made feel special.

I hope someday you remember days and events that Nana and I made special for you and you carry this forward in your own life with your own child(ren).

Stay clear of tanning, tattoos, and crazy piercings.
You only get one body in this life and I hope you are kind to it. For me, I wish I had listened more closely to Nana when she tried to get me to wear sunscreen as a child, because today I look at the freckles and age spots on my chest and hands and wish I could take them all back.

You have GORGEOUS skin right now, Pumpkin, and I am trying to do what I can to keep it that way. Luckily, you accept sunblock graciously most of the time. As you get older, you may find you want tanner skin than you have naturally. If you must tan, SPRAY TAN ONLY. I spray tan occasionally, mostly around big life events. The rest of the time I don't worry about it much. These days, I admire naturally pale women and YOU and wish I had your porcelain skin. I've never used a tanning bed and you shouldn't either. Growing up on a farm, Papa has had several skin cancers removed and I get my skin checked regularly. If I can leave you with one beauty tip in life, let it be this: TAKE CARE OF YOUR SKIN.

Oh, and um, please don't get any tattoos or crazy piercings. (One set in the ears is OK...I once had two-not worth it). Tattoos (and piercings) seem to be more accepted and prevalent in society these days, but I just can't get behind them. Nana kind of raised me with the belief that classy southern women don't get tattoos. Yes, this sounds judgmental and, well, I guess it is. Mostly, I just think there's not much I'd want to put on my body for my whole life. Maybe your name or your initials, but that's it! Not even Daddy makes the cut there-just you. And your skin and your body change so much that something that might look good at first, might not look great later.

However, if you someday feel really strongly about getting a tattoo or piercing something, please talk to me first and I PROMISE to try and have an open mind about it and I will go with you to get it. Maybe you can just do it somewhere on your body that isn't quite so visible to others, just for me? Please at least give me that! :)

Don't drink and drive. Ever. Mostly, don't drink.
Nana's father was an alcoholic. His addiction was this horrible secret in her life until he abandoned their family before her senior year of high school. Five years later, he committed suicide. I never knew him, but through what she shared with me about him, I knew what his addiction did to her. Nana never drank when I was growing up and neither did Papa. They still don't, champagne toasts at weddings aside.

Out of respect for Nana and all she had been through, I never drank alcohol in high school. Ever. I went to parties and drank soda. I was the designated driver for all my friends. I didn't care what they thought of me, I did it so she would never worry. I did the same in college. I was infamous for my non-drinking. I never drank until I was legal to do so. I spent some of my single years drinking socially in bars and clubs, but my friends and I always took turns being the designated driver.

Since I've had you, I rarely drink at all. And I don't miss it. Drinking isn't that exciting to me. It usually gives me a headache anyway. I hope you will feel the same. I hope you will have the courage to be different and not drink just because "everyone else is doing it." But I won't be mad at you IF you do it. I'll only be mad at you if you don't call me to come pick you up! I'll only be mad at you if you drive drunk or get in a car with a driver who is drunk. SO CALL ME, OKAY?!

Along these lines, just say no to smoking and drugs also. Just say no.
Smoking will kill you if you do it long enough. You know how I give you what I call "Hard Sugar"? Where I kiss you really hard on the cheek and you giggle and ask me to do it again? Well, my favorite uncle, Nana's brother, my Uncle Red, always gave me "Hard Sugar" when I was little. Giving it to you now is one way I remember him and honor his memory. He was a lifelong smoker. When I was 19, he died of lung cancer caused by smoking, way too young. The entire summer before he died, he stayed with us while he was undergoing cancer treatment. He was in so much pain, he couldn't breathe laying down and slept sitting up, and it was so, so awful. It broke my heart. Please don't ever, even for one minute, smoke a cigarette.

As for drugs, re-read what I said about alcohol above and just know that any momentary high one experiences on drugs cannot compensate for all the awful lows that addiction, out-of-control behavior, and an expensive habit automatically bring. Drugs destroy lives, so just say no.

Love yourself.
This can be very hard to do, especially as a woman in a society focused on outer beauty. Are there things I would change about myself if I could? Sure. I'd have smaller feet, a straighter nose, and a flatter stomach. In reality though, my big feet support how tall I am, which is one of my best traits-I love being tall! If my nose was straighter, I might not look like myself anymore, like Jennifer Grey post-Dirty Dancing (we'll watch this movie together when you are older). If my stomach were flatter, well, it would probably mean you didn't exist, and although it is often the bane of my existence (mostly when I see it in photos), my poochy stomach is a badge of motherhood and it is a badge I wear proudly because I fought a hard battle to earn it and bring you into this world.

In high school, I weighed 112 pounds and thought I had big hips. I wish I could go back in time and shake 1989-1991-me and make her realize how lucky she was to be so thin without any effort. When Nana looks at pictures of herself as a young girl, she now realizes she was beautiful in a way she never did at the time. I look at you and think you are perfect. You are going to be so tall and you have the most beautiful coloring and eyelashes a mile long. I cannot imagine you will ever need to wear makeup you are so naturally lovely. So love yourself, try not to compare yourself to others, and appreciate even what you think are your imperfections-they are what make you my Sophie.

My darling daughter, I love you so much. I hope that as you grow up, you and I have the type of mother-daughter relationship and friendship that I have with Nana. I hope you will always want to tell me your stories and share with me your secrets and dreams. I hope you will call me, often, for whatever reason, just because.

Love,
Mama

Still Good in the World

The world changed irrevocably on September 11, 2001. While I didn't lose anyone I personally knew in the terrorist attacks at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and in Pennsylvania, I lost the belief that living in the United States meant being protected from outside forces of evil, that being an American meant things usually worked out okay. I was incredibly naive, obviously, bad things happen in America and to Americans all the time (e.g., Oklahoma City, Columbine, etc.). But 9/11 just destroyed any sense I had that things would usually work out and be okay.

On September 11, 2001, I was single, 28 years old, working, and had moved in with my parents after my Daddy had retired from the Air Force and they moved back to San Antonio. The first year they lived here I spent three to four nights a week at their house eating dinner, so it made sense to move in with them and save all that rent money for traveling and other adventures. In fact, I had a solo trip to Paris planned for February 2002.

The morning of 9/11, I was driving to work, listening to a CD in my car. When it ended, I switched over to the radio and heard the normally jovial DJs talking in somber tones about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. When I walked into my office, I headed for our conference room to turn on the TV and see what was going on. I found all of my coworkers already assembled, watching the news, some crying. Grasping the main details of the crash, I called my mother, who I knew was still asleep at home, and told her to get up and turn on the TV, something big was happening. Then, I called my Daddy at work to make sure he had heard. When I stepped back into the conference room, the second plane hit. Then, the Pentagon.

Realizing the United States was really under attack sent me into shock. I couldn't and didn't cry, not that day, not the first week, not the second week after. On Friday the 14th, I had plans to drive to Dallas, spend a night with my sorority sister and her family, then drive over to Granbury the next day and spend the night with my aunt before coming home on Sunday. My mom didn't want me to go, which now as a parent myself I totally understand-she didn't want me out of her sight, she wanted to know I was safe-but I didn't want to change my plans and felt bad for my aunt, who was all alone. My uncle, working in Poland as a contractor for the U.S. Treasury department, was stuck abroad and unable to fly home.

I listened to the 9/11 national memorial service on the drive to Dallas. 9/11 was all we talked about all weekend. I still couldn't cry. My sorority sister couldn't either, which made me feel better. When I got home, I slipped into what was definitely depression. I would go to work, then come straight home and immediately change into my pajamas, and watch the news and TV curled up on the couch in the family room with my parents. At the end of the second week after 9/11, I started crying and crying, about every 9/11 story on the news, in the paper, whatever. My mom, who cried the first two weeks and was starting to get over it, couldn't understand why it was all hitting me then, but it was. Then, I talked to my best friend from college and discovered that her first cousin died in the North Tower. He was on the 92nd floor. I had no idea anyone I knew had a direct connection to the attacks. I felt awful I hadn't known about her cousin. I made a contribution to a scholarship set up by his company in his name. I never told my friend. I just wanted to do something.

I don't remember what CD I was listening to in the car the morning of the attacks, but on my drive to Dallas, I heard a version of "Walk On" by U2 with audio of 9/11 interspersed through it. I bought the CD and played "Walk On" obsessively, on repeat, for the next three months, on my way to and from work. The lyrics, to me, spoke directly to the situation, and how I was feeling, and while I was listening obsessively in my depression, the song helped me heal.

And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on

Still, what lingered was this sense that life would never be the same. That life would never be as good as it had been before 9/11.

I went through with my solo trip to Paris in Feburary 2002 (couldn't let the terrorists win), but I didn't enjoy it as much as my first visit in 2000. Instead of wanting to lose myself in Parisian life and culture as I did before, I felt my American-ness more keenly. Instead of enjoying my own company and the thrill of adventure, I just felt isolated and homesick. I was suspicious of people in airports, in the streets, on boat rides. I think I was still pretty depressed, and being alone, in a country questioning America's decision to go to war, did not help the situation. I was happy and relieved to get home safely.

Slowly, after that trip, my depression began to subside and the tide began to turn back to the good. In fact, amazingly, all the best moments of my life have happened in the last 10 years. In November 2002, I met my now-husband. We got engaged in 2003 and married in 2004. (We honeymooned in Lyon, France, and Geneva, Switzerland. It was a much better trip.) In 2008, we became the parents of our beautiful daughter, the light of my life.

In our wedding ceremony, the reverend, who was the chaplain at my university and who was and is a very dear man with a gift for uplifting messages, said something completely unexpected and perfect, that just hit me right in the heart and brought tears to my eyes at the time. He said that despite all that had happened in the last few years (obviously referring to 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq), that there was still good in the world and we should always look for the good. I love that, and love that he included it in his message during our wedding.

9/11 and the person I was at that time seems like a lifetime ago, not just 10 years. I can still see how our world has changed forever as a result of it. I am still changed because of it, although I no longer think about it every day, as I did for a long time. Every year around the anniversary, I have to force myself not to watch remembrance specials, because I see the footage and hear the recollections and the memories flood back. My chest tightens; I can't breathe. I have to stop watching. But I'll never forget.

I am actually going to be in Granbury this weekend, the weekend of the 9/11 anniversary. I am going up there for work and am staying with my aunt and uncle while there. When I made the plans to go, I didn't even connect the dates and the fact it was the 10-year anniversary to my trip. It seems like, as Oprah would say, a "full-circle moment."

Most likely, I will play "Walk On" on my iPod in the car on the drive up and remember. I will pray for those we lost that day and for those we've lost in war since. I will pray for those who loved all of them. I will pray for our country and for peace. And I will remember there's still good in the world. And I will thank God for all the blessings in my life these last 10 years.

"Walk On" by U2


And love is not the easy thing
The only baggage that you can bring...
And love is not the easy thing...
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind


And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Oh no, be strong


Walk on, walk on
What you got they can't steal it
No they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on...
Stay safe tonight


You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been
A place that has to be believed to be seen
You could have flown away
A singing bird in an open cage
Who will only fly, only fly for freedom


Walk on, walk on
What you've got they can't deny it
Can't sell it, or buy it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight


And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on


Home... hard to know what it is if you've never had one
Home... I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home
That's where the heart is


And I know it aches
How your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on


Leave it behind
You got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you feel
All this you can leave behind...

From America: A Tribute to Heroes, U2, "Walk On," Live from London, September 2001

Queens for a Day

Every year, May to June is a crazy time. My birthday always falls a week after Mother's Day and my mother, the Nana's, birthday is a few weeks later and always falls near Father's Day. Every year, Mom and I rack our brains over what to get each other for these occasions. (Father's Day, sadly, does not usually warrant too much fanfare...maybe a barbecue dinner or picnic!)

This year, I decided to take two days of vacation, a Monday and Tuesday, for my birthday. S had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, my actual birthday. On Monday, I thought I would send S to school and then either get a massage or go to an afternoon movie or something. When I mentioned this plan to Mom, she suggested we do a spa day together and count it as Mother's Day and my birthday. "Why not your birthday too?" I suggested. And then Mom said, "And let's go to a really nice spa, not just a day spa."

Now, I should explain at this point that my Mom and I are not fancy people. I've had the good fortune to go to several spas, day and otherwise, in different cities. My Mom has only done day spa stuff with me, maybe twice before, and never a full massage, only facials and pedicures and such. So I was a little surprised at her request, but all for it. I researched and found out that the Mokara Hotel on the San Antonio Riverwalk has the only five-star spa in town. They have a package where you and a friend can get a massage and a deluxe pedicure and enjoy lunch on the rooftop deck overlooking the skyline of the city. It's a little expensive, but sounded great.

When I proposed the idea to my Mom, not only was she raring to go, she upped the ante. "Why don't we check in the day before and spend the night at the hotel and have dinner on the Riverwalk? I mean, it is for both our birthdays and Mother's Day, so we should go all out!" she said. So we did!

Getting ready to head downtown for our Mother-Daughter Retreat

And it was wonderful! The staff at the Mokara Hotel treated us like queens. When they discovered we were from San Antonio, it seemed like they went out of their way to make our stay special. Would you like complimentary champagne, chocolate covered strawberries, and a cheese plate sent to your room? Yes, please! We can put you in a better room if you don't mind waiting a little bit, is that okay? Yes, thanks! How about a tour of the spa while you wait? OK, great! And now enjoy drinks on the river and we'll call you when your room is ready!

Isn't my Mom cute?

Cheers!

And they didn't actually call--the Manager came and PERSONALLY ESCORTED US UP TO OUR ROOM. I thought my mother's eyes were going to bug out of her head--she couldn't believe it! Didn't he know we were just regular people?! LOL

And then our bags, which had magically disappeared when a gentleman took our car off to valet parking, leaving my mother fretting slightly over their whereabouts, were delivered, followed shortly afterwards by the champagne, strawberries, and cheese. We kicked back and snacked on all our goodies, plus a few nuts and snacks in the minibar and just talked and talked. It was really lovely.

Later in the evening, we wandered down the Riverwalk and stopped in at the Republic of Texas restaurant for dinner. We sat on the patio, watching the world stroll by on the Riverwalk and noshing on fantastic Tex Mex appetizers and drinking frosty margaritas! So good!

After dinner, we went back to our room and watched a bit of the Survivor finale. Then, we put on our suits and headed upstairs to check out the rooftop's heated pool and hot tub.

Looking at the stars and the skyline from the heated pool, we decided "This is the life! If only we could do this all the time!"

The next day, we enjoyed our spa experience to the hilt. We relaxed, we got massaged, we lunched on the rooftop in our spa robes, neck warmers, slippers, and shades, we drank more champagne, we got our toes done, we steamed, and we whirlpooled. It. Was. Amazing.

Post-massage lunch on the rooftop deck.
Mom and I wore our robes, slippers, and neck warmers, plus shades, of course!

All too soon, it was time to leave. Mom and I were super-relaxed after our day of pampering and wanted nothing more than to go upstairs to our room, crawl into our plush beds, and nap until dinner time. Unfortunately, we had to go pick S up from day school, which was sure to bring us back to reality with a thud.

"When we do this next year, we should stay TWO nights," my Mom said. And just like that, a tradition was born.

Happy birthday, Mom! I love you! Thanks for being a wonderful mother, an amazing Nana, and an even better friend. I am already looking to next year's Mother-Daughter Retreat!

Note: I was not paid in any way for my experience at the Mokara Hotel and Spa or the Riverwalk. All opinions expressed are my own, achieved on my own dime. :)

Every Day Is Mother's Day to Me

Last night, my baby girl, S, was having trouble going to sleep. When I went in to check on her, I picked her up, wrapped her in a blanket, snuggled with her in the glider in the corner of her room, and rocked her.

As we rocked, I stroked and kissed her hair and talked to her. I told her how very happy I am to be her mommy and how lucky I am to have her. How she is my best little girl and I love her so, so much. I breathed in her sweet baby smell and felt tears coming to my eyes.

As we continued to rock, I thought about the fact that at this time, four years ago, I didn't think I would ever get to be a mother. My world seemed extremely bleak, and I was sad and angry most of the time.

Then, I thought about the fact that at this time, three years ago, I was happily pregnant, and enjoying a pretty easy pregnancy (sciatica and swelling aside), which would be followed by a fast and easy delivery.

May 2008: Happily celebrating my birthday and Mother's Day

Still in the "cute" pregnant stage. The "HUGE" pregnant stage was still to come!

Then, I thought, how I wish I could go back in time and tell the sad woman I was four years ago to have faith--that the hard part was almost over, that she was going to be a mother and soon, and that her daughter would be the most beautiful, sweet baby who is growing into a strong, smart, independent, funny little girl who makes her proud everyday.

Since she was riding a horse, she HAD to wear a cowgirl hat!

My little girl's growing up so fast. But she's still my baby!

S with her pal Zoe at Sea World of Texas

Four-years-ago-me would have a really hard time believing it. Some days, I can't believe it myself.

I'm so blessed. So lucky. Every day is Mother's Day to me.

Two Years of Miracles and Dreams Come True

"I was waiting for so long/For a miracle to come/Everyone told me to be strong/Hold on and don't shed a tear.

Through the darkness and good times/I knew I'd make it through/And the world thought I had it all/But I was waiting for you..."

--From A New Day Has Come by Celine Dion

Two years ago today...I met an angel God sent to me. She saved my life.

Glam-O-Mommy meets daughter

Ready to go home--third day

First moments at home

8 lbs 6 oz, 21 inches long

When I look at her, I believe miracles can happen. Dreams can come true.

One month old

Seven months old

One year old

Thank you, God, for answering my prayer.

Two years old, 30 lbs 8 oz, 37.25 inches long

Happy birthday, Big Girl. Mommy loves you SO much!

Cowgirl cutie, ready for her big party

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Sweet sleepy moments...

Little pumpkin butts...

Baby burritos...

Funny faces...

Little pink cheeks...

Big blue eyes...

Movie moments...

Big pretty bows...

Looking up to others...

Edgy fashion choices...

Friends...

Family...

Hugs...

Sweetness...

Coolness...

Goofiness...

Joy...

Laughter...

Drama...

Love...

Vanity, Thy Name is Glam-O-Mommy

A major part of my feeling of self-worth lives and dies by the state of my hair.

If my hair looks good, there's almost nothing that can ruin my day. If my hair looks bad, well, the day is only going to go downhill from there.

Lately, I've been having LOTS of bad hair days. This is partially because about seven months ago I let my stylist of 17 years convince me to change the way he does my highlights. For about five years or so, I've sported chunky double blonde highlights set off with double lowlights. This makes me look very blonde, which makes me very happy. (I was born a blonde, so I'm always trying to return my hair to its natural state LOL.) He really thought I should go back to thin blonde highlights and few lowlights, with more of my regular (I refuse to call the dirty dishwater color that grows in my natural color) color coming through.

When I decided to try it his way, I instantly regretted it. Not only did I look less blonde, my roots became visible much more quickly than normal. For seven months, I've been trying to get him to switch my highlights back to the chunky double highlight/double lowlight look I love...the look that feels like me.

Then, July happened. Let's take stock of my July, shall we? Hurricane Alex hit the first week, which meant I worked extra long days at work and missed out on time with my kid, which makes me unhappy. By the time that was over, I had a horrible cold, which dragged on through the next week and caused me to miss some work. Then, just as I was getting over that, my husband had emergency surgery and was in the hospital for three days, and then was still down for the count recovering all this last week. This meant that I again missed work, putting me behind on a big project, plus I was extra stressed taking care of both my dear husband and my daughter without his help, PLUS I missed my normal highlight appointment, meaning my already scraggly, rootsy hair had to stay that way for an extra week.

So, I've felt kind of like Crap Walking all month, but especially the last two weeks. And when my parents offered to keep my daughter yesterday (hubby's not allowed to lift her for FOUR MORE WEEKS-GAH), so I could go get my hair and nails done and do a little personal pampering, I jumped at the chance! When I called my stylist to make my hair appointment, I was all, "Look, dude...I am not letting you talk me out of this again...I WANT my chunky double highlights and lowlights back! I want my MOJO back!"

Two points here:

• I said "dude" to my stylist because he is a 6"4" straight guy (strange for a stylist, I know) who has curly 80s rocker hair all the way down to his waist. I'm not even exaggerating this description. He once got mad at me when I told him I had DREAMED he had cut his hair short like Sammy Hagar did when he was in Van Halen. Last night, he was going to see the Scorpions in concert here in San Antonio. Because I've been going to him for 17 years, I can call him dude and be completely honest with him about what I want. I realized yesterday he is one of the few people I can talk to this honestly LOL, and it's very refreshing. :)
• The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines "mojo" as (1) a magic spell, hex, or charm or (2) magical power. I truly believe my hair is the font of all my mojo and has magical powers. But only when the highlights are RIGHT!

So yesterday was a fabulous day for me. I got a mani/pedi for the first time in at least a month. My stylist willingly obliged me and did my highlights the way I like them, which has made me SO happy. (In his appointment book, next to my name, he had written, "Wants mojo back!" LOL) Then, I got a massage and a facial and capped off the day with dinner with all of the people I love: my sweet parents, my dear husband, and my darling daughter.

Am I vain? YES. But I was thinking about it this morning and I realized I'm a lot LESS VAIN than I used to be.

As a mom, there are lots of situations you find yourself in where you just can't take the time to care about your personal appearance or how you look to other people.

This morning, for example, I took my daughter to a different pool because our swim class was cancelled. I would've preferred to carry my daughter about in the water and practice some of our swim class activities, like back floating, kicking, going underwater briefly, etc. This could all be done in the four- to -five-feet deep section of the pool, so that my poochy mom belly and flabby thighs would be nicely covered up by the water as they are in swim class. My daughter preferred to sit in the shallow two inches of water at the entry end and splash, which meant that is exactly where I sat with her, poochy belly and flabby thighs out above the water for the world to see. :) She was happy as a clam, and I was happy she was happy. This is a far cry from the pre-baby me that only ventured in a pool to cool off, never got my hair or face wet, and inclined on a lounge chair with one leg cocked up at a precise angle to make my belly look as flat as possible LOL.

(OK, technically, I am working out twice a week to try and tighten the belly and thighs up before our Jamaica trip; however, realistically I know that I will spend very little time in Jamaica lounging on a chair under a palm tree like I did on my last visit and most of my time carrying her or chasing after her and looking crazily disheveled and wet like I did at the pool today. A girl can dream though.)

Other situations I've faced as a mom where all vanity and caring-what-other-people-think-of-me went out the window:

• Infertility treatment. Everyone and their brother got a look at my hoo-ha during this time--the first part of my journey as a  mother.
• Giving birth. Everyone and their brother got a look at my hoo-ha, I threw up twice in front of a room full of people, and continually felt stuff other people could see gushing from me for several hours. BUT I got the epidural, which made all of that go out the window and was A-MAZ-ING, and my beautiful daughter came out healthy and loudly a mere eight hours after the whole thing began. AWESOME.
• Explosive diapers. My daughter has gifted me with several of these, most memorably as we descended into the San Antonio International Airport. You know, on the descent. Where you cannot leave your seat. Where my husband and I belatedly wrapped my daughter and her RIVER of poop in her changing pad and I ran off the plane (not really, even the threat of poop doesn't stop the idiots in front of you from taking forever to get their damn suitcases out of the overhead bins) to the bemused stares of the surrounding passengers and had to inform the flight attendants to check seat 24B for poop on the way out. Where I then had to strip my daughter completely naked, wipe all the poop off of her and myself and change her into another outfit to the bemused stares of the surrounding female passengers, who had all come to the bathroom directly off of our flight and seemed to be enjoying my Poopapalooza.
• Vomit. The first time my daughter ever threw up, I tried to catch it in my hands to save the couch. Take it from me...that doesn't work. It leaves you with a couch still covered in vomit and HANDS covered in vomit...hands that need to pick up your baby who is freaked out and covered in vomit. Luckily, this was at home. I've also worn another kid's vomit on my pants back to work after feeding my daughter her bottle at school. Word of advice: identify the stealth vomiters in your baby's day school class early and do not sit near them while feeding your own baby. It's bad enough to wear your own kid's vomit...worse to wear some other kid's!
• Insane crying, part I. This has really only happened to me twice in public. Once was at my daughter's first swim class, where she cried hysterically from the beginning to the end of the lesson, all the while clinging to my neck and face and HAIR and almost exposing my boobs to the assembled parents watching their older children's lessons. I just kept going and tried to keep my boobs covered and my hair out of my eyes and now she loves swimming.
• Insane crying, part II. The other time was worse. My daughter really is generally a good traveler, explosive poopy diaper aside (that was the airlines' fault, we had experienced several flight delays, but the kind where you are on the jetway and they won't let you get up from your seat and people don't like it if you change a diaper right on the seat, so you try to wait the situation out, thinking, "We'll be there soon."). Counting each leg of a trip as its own flight, she has been on 14 flights in under two years. The explosive diaper was one bad experience. The only other, insane crying one, I also blame partially on the airlines. She and I had already had a flight delay, so we were taking off on our last flight of the day into San Antonio later at night than I'd expected. My daughter was overtired from being out of town, meeting new relatives, being spoiled by my parents who were at our destination, and napping erratically despite my best efforts to keep her on a schedule. As the plane took off and the lights were turned out for our 40-minute flight, she fell asleep, which was awesome...for 25 minutes. Then, the flight attendants abruptly turned on the lights and made an announcement, which jolted my daughter into having a night terror. This is a bout of insane crying where the baby isn't actually awake or consolable. They last 10-15 minutes and there is really nothing you can do to calm the baby down. She had had a few of these night terror episodes at home before, usually when she skipped a nap and was overtired, so I recognized that was what was happening right away. I knew nothing would console her, she just had to get through it, but I tried everything to do so anyway, all the while with her screaming, trying to climb out of her seat and up my body, and clawing at my hair. Yes, I was that parent unable to calm down their child on a plane. Yes, I got RUDE comments from people in the surrounding rows, although I got several supportive comments from parents who had been there themselves. I got a little more sympathy when a flight attendant asked me my daughter's age and I told her she was 18 months old. Because my 18-month-old was as big and TALL as many three-year-olds, so most people just thought she was being a Terrible Toddler. "She's just a baby then!" the flight attendant exclaimed, which shut some of the people up. Yes, she is indeed a baby, I said. And she's having a night terror episode because she was overtired, our flight was delayed till late, and the lights and announcement jarred her from a sound SLEEP! The capper to this episode was discovering as I finally deplaned with my finally calm baby that I had gritted my teeth so hard trying to calm her down that I had CHIPPED the top of one of my lower teeth. We met my husband at baggage claim and I promptly burst into tears. Not glam.

So there you have it. I am admittedly vain, but becoming less so all the time. I mean, I did live without nails and accepting bad hair days way beyond my pre-baby tolerance for that type of thing (ZERO TOLERANCE). This is just one of the ways my daughter is making me a better person. I'm growing. I have less time for vanity and more acceptance of imperfection. I've also become amazingly more patient, but that's a subject for another post. :)

This is what my daughter has looked like on 12 out of 14 flights.

 This is how we normally look when we travel--poop and night terrors aside.

Holding Tight, Letting Go

This week, my daughter started a new class at school. Upstairs. Where all the big kids' classes are. (All the baby classes are on the first floor.) I took her to drop her off for the first day of this new class...this class she is in because she started expressing an interest in potty training a few weeks ago, and so we asked when they would start working on it at school and were told she could move to a class upstairs where they work on it with the early training kids.

So she essentially skipped a class, leap-frogged over almost all the kids within four months of her age, and is already upstairs working on potty training. All the other kids around her age on the first floor will move up in August, so it's not that big of a deal, but she is getting a little headstart.

So far, it seems to be going well...she's peed on the potty at school for her teacher a few times. Tuesday night, she peed on the potty at home for my husband (I was working late and missed it). She tells us when she's going poo-poo, but isn't quite ready to try the potty for that yet. She remains completely obsessed with Elmo's Potty Time video and would watch it on repeat 24-7 if we let her.

Dropping her off for her first full day upstairs was hard on me. Physically, my daughter is very tall (probably 36" tall at 22 months) and looks older than she is, so she was the same size as the kids in her new class, but when I looked at her, holding hands and walking with the other big kids to go down to the cafeteria for breakfast, all I could see was my little baby becoming a big girl.

I held it together at school, as I was also learning new things, like where to sign her in upstairs and where to put her bag in her new class. But when I drove to my office, I found myself crying as I pulled into the parking lot. Crying not only because she's growing up, but because I don't want to rush her growing up, so why did I push for her to go upstairs? Actually, I didn't push...I just asked when they would start working on potty training with her class, and things moved rapidly from there. But now, it might be moving a little too fast for Mommy!

Realistically, I do think it will be a good thing for her. I think she might be a little bored in her regular class, where it's a lot of open play between meals. She already knows her colors, can sing the ABC song, spell her name, recognize all the letters and numbers, count to 12, and more, and she loves to learn new things.

Upstairs, the classes are more structured, with fun new activities. Tuesdays, they have Splash Day, Wednesdays, they have music class (she loves to sing and dance!), and Thursdays, they go to a Chapel service, which I'm very excited about (it's a Lutheran Church Day School...I'm Baptist, my husband is technically a Catholic, but not really...all of that is another post). They have structured activities throughout the morning and afternoon with a little time for open play still.

She does know one of the other girls in the class and all the kids seem cute, though it feels weird, because I don't know them the way I know all the kids in her last class, because they've all been together since my daughter was four months old. In August, when all of those kids move upstairs, the class she is in right now will close down and all the kids will be re-shuffled, so my daughter should end up back with her buddies, I hope.

It's such a push-and-pull...I want her to learn, to grow, to be independent, and I'm so proud of her when she accomplishes something new, but at the same time, I want to stop time. I want to put her back in a swaddling blanket wrapped up tight and hold her in my arms and never let her go. I love her so much, more than anything else in this world, and it fills up and breaks my heart on a daily basis. Fills it up with love with every smile, every hug, every moment, and breaks it in tiny little pieces every time I see her becoming less and less of a baby. Doing more and more things without needing me. She's my only child; I'll never have another, so let's just stop the clock. Wind time back. Slow things down.

Right now, I'm holding tight, but I know I have to let go.

Marking Milestones with Jewelry

I love things that sparkle and shine, so it should come as no surprise that I love, love, love jewelry. (I am Glam-O-Mommy after all.) Over the years, I've marked many milestones in my life with jewelry.

For my 29th birthday, I was living the high life in Las Vegas for a weekend trip with two girlfriends and one of my friend's extended family. Her dad was considered a high roller, so it was all expenses paid for us at Mandalay Bay while we were there, which was amazing! I used my own piddly spending money to play quarter slots and won a big (for me, not for any high rollers LOL) pot, so to commemorate my 29th birthday and my awesome weekend, I took a taxi over to the Bellagio and used my winnings to buy myself a Tiffany heart bracelet with my initials engraved on it. I was so proud of it, because it was my first piece of Tiffany jewelry--we didn't even have a Tiffany's in San Antonio then. It seemed glamorous and iconic to have a little piece of that on my arm. Being 29 and single, I was fairly bitter at the time; in fact, my nickname for myself then did not include "Glam" in the title at all...it was Single Bitter Woman LOL. I regaled all of my friends and coworkers with stories of my Single Bitter Woman bad date and awful pickup line encounters (Single Bitter Woman would've been an AWESOME blog filled with hilarious, horrifying dating stuff!). I was pretty sure I was going to be single FOREVER at that point, so the bracelet was sort of a "I don't need a man...I can buy myself pretty things" statement for me too.

Ironically (and luckily for me), later that year, I met and started dating my now-husband, the Destroyer of Single Bitter Woman (hard to be bitter when you're happy and in love) and the Co-Creator of Glam-O-Mommy. :) For our first Valentine's Day together, when we'd been together about three months, he was trying to do things right, so he bought me some roses and candy from the grocery store, and a piece of jewelry...a $7 silver bracelet that he bought at Target. He kind of meant it as a joke, but I put that bracelet on and told him I was going to wear it every day until he replaced it with another piece of jewelry! And I did. I never took it off until...

Seven months later, when he proposed to me with a gorgeous engagement ring. We had looked at rings together, so he got exactly what I liked (a marquis diamond surrounded by princess-cut diamonds), and he proposed to me at the ice skating rink we frequented (he's Canadian and plays hockey, so he's a great skater and it's one thing we love to do together!) for two reasons: (1) because it's the first place he told me he loved me and (2) because he thought the ring would look extra sparkly out under the lights on the rink! Does he know me or what?

For my wedding, in addition to the beautiful wedding band my husband gave me to go with my engagement ring, I bought myself a diamond and pearl tiara to wear. At first, I did not plan to wear a tiara, because at 31, I thought I was too old of a bride to wear one, which I thought for months...until I finally tried one (just one, THE ONE) on and that was it! I was a tiara girl, to the surprise of NO ONE, since all my bridesmaids, my maid of honor, and my mother were like, really...YOU are not going to wear a tiara?! You know they sparkle right? And make you look like a princess? Are you sure?

My lovely parents also gave me a pearl and diamond necklace and earrings to wear at the wedding, since their originally planned gift went out in the trash a few years before. See, my Mother's engagement ring had a tiny chip of a diamond in it, and a few years after my Mom got the ring, she accidentally vacuumed it up while cleaning. This destroyed the band, but my Mom managed to find the tiny diamond and kept it for almost 30 YEARS, in a tiny plastic bag in various jewelry boxes. Her plan was to have the little diamond set into a necklace to give to me to wear at my wedding. About four years before I met my husband, my parents were cleaning things out of the house in preparation for a move, and my poor sweet Daddy accidentally threw the little plastic bag with the diamond away! He thought it was a stray piece of plastic and didn't even see the tiny diamond inside. Once they realized what he had done, Mom and Daddy searched the trash thoroughly, but never found the diamond. They were heartbroken about it, and so was I when they told me, because I would've cherished having that since it was the diamond my Daddy gave my Mom when they were 20 and 21 years old! (They've been married almost 42 years!) So they gave me a beautiful pearl and diamond necklace and earring set to wear on my special day instead and I cherish that as well. Someday, I hope my daughter will wear the tiara, necklace, and earrings on her own wedding day...I'm keeping all of that for her!

It's a little tough to make out the earrings and necklace in this picture,
but the tiara looks amazing, right?!

My husband, the Destroyer of Single Bitter Woman, also rocks!

Another thing I'm keeping for my daughter is a present I picked out for myself for my 35th birthday when I was pregnant with her. As I've explained previously, I fought a tough, completely unglamorous battle to get pregnant. The fact that I was pregnant and going to have a daughter was amazingly miraculous to me, so I when my 35th birthday rolled around, I had been thinking about jewelry to commemorate my impending motherhood. My parents decided to give me a little cash for my birthday that year, and since clothes and SHOES were not really that exciting an option for me at that point, I decided to add to the cash they gave me and splurge on an initial necklace from Tiffany's (which had made its way to San Antonio in the six years since I turned 29), because my daughter and I share the same first initial. My plan, from the moment I bought the necklace, is to wear it myself until my daughter turns 16, and then give it to her on that significant birthday. I hope she loves and treasures it and understands what it represents...my love for her and how she is the fulfillment of my heart's deepest desire.

My husband has given me some other pretty wonderful pieces of jewelry that I adore. And when I say 'given', what I mean is 'taken me to the store and let me pick out what I want', which is his favorite way of giving gifts and one that I'm generally down with, since he actually hates to shop and is not a huge fan of getting or giving gifts at all. So the fact that he gives me gifts this way tells me that he really does love me a lot! For our first Valentine's Day as a married couple, he gave me a pretty diamond drop necklace. For our first anniversary, he gave me a set of diamond stud earrings, because I had had surgery to repair both my earlobes since our wedding and needed real earrings to wear after they were re-pierced and while they were healing rather than costume jewelry. On my 34th birthday, I was deep in my hellhole of infertility despair at that point. I saw two things I liked when he took me to shop for a gift, a pink sapphire necklace and a pearl necklace, and told him either would be wonderful, I couldn't decide. He bought them both. I know...I am one lucky lady! He was really trying to make me feel better with that double gift, because it was literally the saddest, lowest point of my life at that time, and he was in those emotional trenches with me every day. He was my rock.

A month before my due date, my dear husband took me out for a nice dinner and to shop for a special gift since I was in the home stretch of my miracle pregnancy. He balked at the suggestion that this was a 'push present' as many people call it, he was like, "This is my idea! I just want to give you something nice because pregnancy is tough and you only have a month to go!" Together, we picked out another pair of diamond earrings, this time a little drop style vs. the studs I normally wear. And those lovely earrings were the only piece of jewelry on my person when my beautiful baby came into this world and took her first breaths and laid in my arms. And I still marvel at the fact that I am a Mommy every time I look at those earrings.

This year, for Mother's Day, I bought myself my own gift. My husband is not big on Mother's Day and my daughter made me a beautiful painting of a sunflower with her hand and thumb prints that I framed and have displayed in my office, but I had been wanting a Mommy necklace, a simple one that would look chic with jeans or a dressy outfit. I found the Tiny Tag Designs website and decided to order myself a simple two-tag necklace with my daughter's name and birthdate, which is of course, one of the best days of my life! Certainly, an amazing day to commemorate, but it's really a commemoration of the greatest gift of all: being her mother, a role I wasn't sure I was ever going to get to play, and a child's love, one I was not sure I would ever know. I'm so grateful to know it now. I got my necklace a few days before Mother's Day, and could not love it more! (Note: I bought the necklace myself and am not receiving anything from the designer or the website for this plug...I just seriously love my Tiny Tags necklace!)

My daughter's gift is super sweet and looks awesome framed in my office!
I smile every time I look at it.

While I love beautiful things, and aspire to glamour in all aspects of my life, ultimately what jewelry comes down to for me is love and life. The most important days, milestones, loves, and experiences of my life have been marked with jewelry. When I wear that jewelry, more than swathing myself in sparkle and bling, I'm clothing myself in the love and the memories of the people that gave me the pieces or that were part of my experience, whether that's my 29-year-old Single Bitter Woman self who I now remember with love and wish I could go back and advise her to relax, you will find someone, you will eventually have a beautiful daughter, life will be okay, or my husband who is truly my love and my partner in life and changed my life for the better in so many ways, or my amazing parents who sacrificed everything they ever had to give me a good life, symbolized in a pearl and diamond necklace and earrings that are really stand-ins for a tiny, not-worth-much-except-the-world-of-my-parents'-love chip of a diamond I never got to receive.

I am blessed and I am grateful to have so much love in my life. It's like the Mastercard commercial...gorgeous bling, sparkling diamonds, and pearls=$$$ dollars. Having an amazing family, loving, and being loved in return=priceless.