Pass me a tissue

I have a a very, very dear friend who is going through what I think is a crisis of faith.  She has lived through some really rough stuff and has every right to be angry at God.  Even turn her back on God and question His very existence.  I am angry for her, my faith lags for her.  But see, something happened once upon a time in my past that makes me know God exists.  I never really shared the story with anyone, or my thoughts on what happened, I figured people would think I am nuts.  Was it Lily Tomlin who said, why is it when we talk to God it's praying but when He talks to us it's schizophrenia?

My friend had just had an incident happen right before she texted me.  She said she had to tell me about this thing that happened with a book of faith, a cat, an I-pad, and a highlighted passage caused by a cat paw.  It was a random sort of thing, but in my humble opinion I told her it could be God's way of trying to tap her on the shoulder and remind her that He is there still.  Still waiting to be a mooring of strength during this difficult time.  That's when I decided I would tell her why I believe in God, and why maybe it was His way of reaching out to her, this freaky happening she was trying to reasonably explain.

I know I have mentioned my father and him being sick for a long time in one blog or another.  He suffered with so many different things, lupus, dermatomyositis, replaced heart valves, multiple heart stents, the list is never ending unfortunately.  Anyway one of the problems his lupus caused was pleurisy, fluid in his lungs.  He had to get a chest tube to drain it.  During the procedure, unbeknownst to us, a staff infection was introduced.

My dad made it through the holidays that year, barely.  The staff infection was invading his body and doing it's damage.  My mom knew there was a problem the morning he sat at the table trying to put his bridge in upside down and started to make no sense.  Panicked she raced him to the local hospital, she thought he was having a stroke.  I will not bore you with everything that happened that day.  It was a horrible day that ended with me getting a phone call from my older brother the next morning around 5:30-6:00AM.  If you have a loved one with serious health issues, you know the phone ringing at that time is never a good thing.

I answered the phone that morning, and life as I knew it kind of ended with the answering of that call. I remember verbatim what Rick said to me.  "Dee, dad's back in the hospital.  He's on life support but you don't need to come up or nothing.  He's gonna be fine".

Insert tire screeching sound here......

My mind started racing as did the tears down my cheeks.  I woke Brad up and we decided I would go up to New York ASAP with the two littlest ones.  One wasn't quite two, the other was in pre-school.  He would stay here with the two in school.  I would let him know if they needed to come up and how soon.

I don't even remember how I packed, but I did, got the kids loaded in the car, it was a cold January, kissed my husband and other two ladies good bye and left.  We drove straight to the hospital, took over 8 hours that drive.  But we got there, I made my way to where my family was waiting, it was my brother and his girlfriend who is now his wife, my mom, her sisters, their husbands, my father's brother and some of his cousins.  I knew it was bad by the way everyone looked.  I left my two little ones with my mom and aunt, and tentatively stepped through the automatic doors to make my way to my dad's room.  My legs felt like lead, they didn't want to move. I got there and I wasn't prepared for the sight to be honest.  My father's brother had come in with me.  I grabbed his arm as my legs failed and buckled beneath me.  I had never seen him with so many tubes and wires coming out of him. I cry as I see the image in my head again.....I had to shift my sight to the huge window that took up the whole wall behind his bed.  It had started to snow, these lovely, large, white, ethereal flakes making their way gently down, so pretty behind the starkness of the dark sky.  When I got a hold of myself, I walked away from the window and dried my tears. I asked the nurse who came in to check on his machinery what everything was for.  She basically explained the staff infection ravaged his body.  Systematically and insidiously shut down his organs.  He was on a respirator so he could breathe, he was on dialysis as well, I don't remember much more of what she said after that.  She asked me if I'd like my dad to wake up and see me.  I did, more than anything in the world, at that point I wanted my dad to know I was there.

She was a big Jamaican woman, with a lovely lilting accent, and she said loudly to my dad, "Anthony, (but it came out Ant-honey), your daughter is here, Anthony.  Wake up and see her."  And he did.

I will never forget the look he gave me, how scared he looked, how happy he looked to see me, but I think in his heart he knew he must be in rough shape for me to be there.  I showed him the picture of his granddaughters I brought.  I told him his girls missed him and wanted to see him home soon. The nurse taped the picture on the side of his bed where he could see it.  Then I grabbed the hand with the least amount of tubes coming out of it and held it, I leaned down and kissed it, he couldn't move his head with that thing in his throat, I wanted so desperately to kiss his forehead....

He lingered like this for awhile.  I stayed with my mom with the two littlest ones.  Our lives came and went in shifts.  I would take the morning visitors shift so mom could get some work done, I'd come home and she'd go and take the evening visitation shift.  Or vice versa.  I'd do the cleaning, the shopping, the cooking, I did everything I could to help.

I went one morning shift for her, I had done the evening one the night before, kissed dad and told him I'd see him tomorrow. At this point the nurses knew me, I got several kind greetings before I turned into dad's room.  When I walked in my dad was awake and had NO tube in his throat!  I was amazed, I grabbed a nurse and asked what happened.  Why did they un-intubate him??  He was barely awake the night before, what was going on??  She told me to ask him.

So I did.

He couldn't really speak, the tube had been in his throat damn near two weeks and had damaged his vocal cords and esophagus.  I asked him what happened???  He pointed up.  Then he sort of hissed an answer to me slowly.  The gist of what he hissed and pantomimed was he told me he took the tube out himself last night in the middle of the night.  He told me God came to him the night before. Touched him and woke him up. Told him to take the tube out of his throat. That he needed to be able to talk to us before he died.

I ran out of the room and called my mother immediately.  She rushed to the hospital on the news.

Then another miracle occurred.  His kidneys started working again.  Just like that, the damn things started doing their job.  They stopped the dialysis.  He started to get better, good enough to be moved to a regular room within a weeks time.

Good enough for me to shave his face again, and even clip his toenails a job mom and I used to flip a coin to see who had to do it before when he was too sick to do it himself.  I sat and held his hand and watched TV, me yammering away about his granddaughters.  Just happy he could hear me, he was awake and every now and again he could hiss an answer to me.

Before you know it we started making plans to bring him home.  Mom was going to get him an aide to help because he was supposed to go to a rehab facility first but he begged my mom not to and to let him go home.  Of course we made plans to do that instead.  I made plans to go back to Virginia and see my girls and come back in a week for a few weeks again and help mom.  I'd do that as long as I needed to during his rehab.

I remember the last time I saw him, I remember the last time we held hands, I remember the last I love yous spoken between us.  Something that my heart wraps around every time I miss him, hearing his voice, seeing him....

We got the phone call that night around 3am.  He was crashing, I heard mom say, "everything.  Do everything you have to to save him."  By the time we got to the hospital

he

was

gone......

Long story short the staff infection had invaded the defibrillator implanted in his chest to keep his heart beating regularly and it failed to work.  His heart stopped that night.......never to beat again.

But see, I believe God did go to him.  Did tell him to take that tube out.  Did make it so he could let us know how much he loved us.  I also believe God knew my dad had suffered long and hard, long enough.  He knew the struggles coming up for my dad would be more than he deserved to bear, so he called him home. Rewarded him with the paradise we are all promised someday.

And I got that last I love you everyone always says they wish they had when a loved one leaves this world.  I didn't have to wish.  I got mine.

We all got the gift of those few weeks of dad being able to be with us again.  I was blessed beyond measure to receive them.  Call me schizo, but God talked to my dad, God blessed us all with his grace those few weeks.

So my very, very dear friend, do I think the cat paw accidentally stepped on the particular passage that was highlighted?  In a  word?

Nope.

I think the Lord has a way of reaching all of us that makes sense to us.

I believe he made this little creature you love as much do his mouthpiece. He is reaching out to you with an innocent creation letting you know there is a Kingdom where no numbness exists.

Ball's in you court now, do with it what you will......or let the kitty bat it around for awhile. All while you wait for the next tap on your shoulder.

Friday the 13th, why Friday, why not Monday?

My daughter Katie and I got laughing about that last night.  Why is Friday the 13th scarier than say Tuesday the 13th? I quite personally believe any Monday is scarier than a Friday the 13th.  Monday the 13th I think is the scariest day of all.

I used to be superstitious.  I would drop salt and have to throw some over my shoulder.  Never remembering which shoulder it was I was supposed to throw it over, I would toss it over both.  I watched a show about how superstitious hockey players are a long time ago. Phill Esposito, one of my favorite Rangers, had this whole pre-game ritual he had to follow or he couldn't go on the ice.

I see it with our team.  I hear tale of some of the ways the guys have to get dressed or do things before a game.  I would imagine me just getting there in enough time and getting into my gear would be my whole ritual lol.

I can remember my Grandma Tav having this whole thing she did, short of curling up in the fetal position, if she spilled oil of all things.  Who ever heard of such a thing?  She probably just made it up, really what on earth is going to happen if you spill oil?  Will your skin get oily and  break out? Will your food never fry right again??

But that's my point, superstitions were made up by someone looking for an excuse to explain something bad that happened.

My best friend was killed in a car accident on Friday the 13th.  Was it the day that caused that accident?  No, I think not.  It was the driver of the step truck who failed to follow the speed limit posted, couldn't stop in enough time at that red light, that hit her from behind.  It was the fact that old cars didn't have the safety features that new cars have and her vehicle crumpled up like a used tissue.

Some superstitions are common sense.  Like walking under a ladder.  Why would you want to do that? There is a good chance there is something on said ladder that could fall and hit you on the head.  Or the ladder could fall over on you and I am sure that would leave a mark.  Breaking a mirror is dangerous too. Not because of the bad luck thing but have you ever gotten a shard of glass in your foot?  Or sliced yourself on a piece of glass? It hurts!  Open an umbrella in the house?? That's like running with a lollipop in your mouth in Motherland. A huge no no!  You'll lose an eye or choke to death...Wise reasons to follow stupid superstition.

There was a documentary on maybe Discovery about how dangerous superstitions are.  The gist of the documentary was that yes they might seem harmless but it was a belief in superstitions that sent how many people to their untimely deaths in Salem, Massachusetts once upon a time?  That had hoards of black cats massacred in the middle ages, that have albino children killed in Tanzania to this very day....they can be truly dangerous.  Broke me of the need to believe in them after I saw it.

So relax people it's just a date on the calendar.  It's just a black cat crossing your path, go ahead and open your umbrella in the house, scratch your palm if it's itching and step on that crack or line, I bet I won't look like Frankenstein.....knock on wood.

I have a lot of nothing to say today....

I was sitting here, staring at my computer trying to work.  But my work is utterly boring.  All numbers based, and for those of you who know me, I am more like the socks I like to wear to CrossFit

I'm not the all making sense and calculatable type like my work.  I have never been the numbers or spread sheet lover, and it's all I've done for the last 11 or so years.  Regardless.

There are thoughts in my head just dying to make their way into this world so I figured my blog about nothing would truly be about nothing and everything today.

I have been up since 4:30 with hungry, yelpy, thirsty puppies.  As I stumbled downstairs to clean their pen before the kids started making their way down, I was grousing away under my breath. I was none too happy to see the little babies at this early hour, until one put her paws up on my leg and looked at me with her brow all furrowed as if to say, "why so grouchy Mama, you always pet us and love us when you see us first thing". Alright my heart melted and I pet the little beast and her sisters, gave them all big dog biscuits to gnaw on after their breakfast was done, and went to sit for a few before I had to hit the day. Clock on the wall says it's now 5:15ish.

As I sat I realized it would be the optimal time to make lunches so I decided to get up and do that instead of just wasting time, Timex time? 5:30ish.  

A few more minutes of sitting, I watched the weather and thought another Africa hot kind of day, then I went and woke everyone up.  Your time according to my cable box,  6:00am.

TA-DA  My day has started.

I made myself a cup of coffee, started cleaning out the sink, ironed a shirt my daughter wanted to wear today that I remembered on the ironing board. Go back to scrubbing the cookie sheet from last night's cookie bake, put the dishes in the dishwasher and dry off my hands.

I run back upstairs to make sure everyone is awake, it's now 6:30 only to find my 11 year old asleep still and her bus is coming in 20 minutes!  Get her clothes together, her hair done, find her tooth brush, make her a bagel with peanut butter, run upstairs to get her a pair of socks while she packs her backpack and grab two puppies from the pen who are crying and need to go out.

In the meantime my two high school daughters had come down, made some breakfast, walked outside to the car and bid me goodbye and off they go in one of our cars to another day at the "best high school in the nation" according to the morning announcements.

I sit on the stairs, I am tired, and start making a mental checklist of all I have to do today.  Thankfully there's no soccer on Wednesdays.  I have to get my work ready for my accountant, I have a mountain of laundry in my laundry room that needs to be addressed.  There are pictures that need to be rehung since we got the house painted, the floors are in dire need of a vacuuming.  I think I know what's for dinner tonight, so I can get that ready before I go tonight and that will be good.  I am recovering from straining my back a week ago, so my workout will be light and easy again today and I stayed home from CrossFit so I wouldn't even be tempted to try today's awesome workout in honor of 9/11.

I pop on FaceBook and Twitter because I need to waste time like I need a hole in my head, but some times, that escape into my cyber world helps maintain my sanity and think I wish I had something worth value to blog. But I don't and I want to write so here I sit, trying desperately to think. 

I put my Beats on, listen to some music that usually peps me up, the Steve Aoki remix of Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness is where I start because I was listening to it yesterday and never finished. This song makes me smile for whatever reason. And music tends to be my muse. Not today.  I think my brain is too tired.

I got thinking is it disrespectful for me to blog such blandness on a day like today?  It is 9/11 and we did live through such tragedy.  I will definitely pull out the 9/11 box from under my bed and let my girls leaf through the newspapers, magazines etc. that I have kept in a time capsule for them someday. Like most horrific historical events I know this day will never be forgotten, ever. I will remember every moment, frozen in frame and in time, from finding out what was going on to, to finally reaching my dad in the City and telling him to get home because he will never find a train to get home with everything going on, to worrying about a cousin who works in the Pentagon, to going to church and sitting with all of the other dazed people, crying and wondering why there is such craziness in this world, all the while holding my then 2 year old and hoping for peace in this world for her and all of my other girls someday. But the business of living is exactly what we should all be doing so I guess I will continue to write.

I have my spreadsheet open now, I open it without even realizing that I'm doing it.  I change the dates and get ready to enter the numbers that stare at me and mock me.  Taunt me with the banality that is the bookkeeping chore in front of me, and settle in to work and my blogging has to be done.  The creativity that demanded an outlet is quashed, not allowed to continue.  I have to be a responsible adult now and work.

Someone deliver me from the land of numeral Hell....

My creativity is sadly curled up in a corner of my brain not to be bothered right now.  Shhhh, be quiet! I mentally yell at it as I pick up a pink pen and start doodling my favorite doodles....

Femmaballs

No idea what that means, I believe I have them, but it's a term we came up with this past weekend when I met some friends in Dallas.  We had a raucously good time.  A couple of women and my new gay bff because like in Kick Ass, a girl needs to have one of those, just cutting loose in the land where everything is bigger. Parties definitely and fun included.

It was like a giant slumber party.  What girl doesn't love a slumber party?  It conjures up the images of a bunch of females all giggling and staying up into the wee hours of the morning.  Secrets are shared, startling truths spoken out loud....

This big girl slumber party was no different.  It was amazing when I think about it.  The similarities all the same, except now the secrets are more than, "I like Brad and we kissed behind the Shoprite last night". And we don't have a mom yelling upstairs, or down, wherever we might have been sleeping, to quiet down and get to sleep.  There was some jumping on the bed, me singing out loud in the morning one morning to wake everyone up, the secrets juicier,  the boy talk wayyyy past who was cute, the drinking legal now and way more copious.

The women I met up with came from this group of friends that I met online when the Twilight craze hit.  We all managed to meet on Twilight Moms, I cannot believe I just admitted that out loud haha!! But we did meet there, in this secret part created called the Basement.  You had to ask to join the Basement and wait for approval.  When I saw this section of what was a rather innocent website I requested to join.  There was one area of the Basement I frequented, The Barge, and this is where I met my buddies.  We had so much fun there, getting rather randy being able to hide in our secret world.  Then, just like that, one day when I went to access the Basement, it didn't exist anymore. Our section got unceremoniously booted off of the site for some reason!  Although my friend I met in Dallas for the first time proudly admits she told them she was leaving because they were fricking Twilight Nazis.  Basically you had to listen to their drivel about these books or be shunned, which was what happened to the rest of us. So there I was, staring at my computer missing these women I had been meeting every night for how long??  I remember telling my husband I felt like someone punched me in the stomach.  I had come to regard these woman as my girls.  People I could let down my hair down around without fear of condemnation.

Then I got an email from one saying they created a site for just us. As one of my friends said, I remember this quite vividly, she felt like "Johnny no mates" after she got kicked off of Twilight Moms.  We had formed this bond, we had fun together.  And then Facebook became all the rage and we formed a closed group on FB where we all still meet every day.  Just checking in, commenting on this or that, posting pictures we like. Sharing problems we are dealing with.  A support group for the demented!!

We are a motley crew.  We live all over the US, plus England and Australia.  All different walks of life and professions, different ages, some married, some not, some with kids, some without.  And every now and again there will be a meetup, where our virtuality becomes reality.  That is what this weekend was all about.

Two of these women I had met already, and meeting another one for the first time.  But it felt like, when I hugged her when I finally saw her face to face, that I had known her for years, and after all, I have.  Toss in a friend she brought, who I loved to death, and another of her friends, my Papi, and our weekend was complete!

I won't bore you with the details, but this was a slumber party on steroids.  One that was borne from a Twilight basement that lasted for days that included, Bloody Marys, Patron, Sake, Grey Goose, Blue Moon, Lotto Moscato, me rapping Big Sean for Donell, gay bar hopping until the wee hours and people partying it up and rocking harder than they had in a very long time. It was an amazing few days to remember, or sort of remember, or maybe we should forget, and one where I really can't share any pictures from. Although there are a few Vines that no one will understand and make me belly laugh every time I see them.

When I mentioned to my friends I was thinking about blogging this I promised them all the names would be changed to protect the innocent.  And one chimed in, what about the guilty?? I had to laugh.  That is sooooo how we think!

We were certainly guilty of total debauchery this weekend.  It will easily take another almost 2 years to recuperate. I think my liver packed it's bags and left for vacation after Saturday night.  But recuperate we will.  Smile at the goofy stuff we did, laugh with each other as we share even more big girl secrets we created from the trip.

All in all, a successful DB meetup, and of course we started planning for our next one before we even finished this one.

Anyone up for NOLA, 2014??

My First Kiss Went a Little Like This....

Ah, first kisses....romance's first blush on someone's face perhaps bringing about the first meeting of lips.  It should be such a memorable thing.  Happily it was for one of my daughters.  A boy she has been rather smitten with in what seems like forever gave her two first kisses that were as she described, "magical".  That made me smile.  How quickly that magic is fleeting for our kids anymore.

When she called me to furtively whisper into her phone the details of said smooches, whispering because her friends were around and she wanted this for just my ears, I have to admit I smiled for her.  Happy in the fact that her first kisses were exactly what she had dreamed them to be....

It got me thinking of how I dreamed my first kiss to be. I had hoped my crush at the time would decide I was beautiful.  A girl that he saw in his mind's eye all the day.  That he would try to talk to me, take me aside, maybe walk with me and hold my hand.  Profess how much he liked me maybe, and then sneak that first kiss I longed for.

Alas, it was not at all like that as I remembered mine. I was hoping to find the butterflies that my daughter did, but there were none of the good kind.  It wasn't at a formal, with me in my princess dress, looking just stunningly perfect, slow dancing with the boy of my dreams.  

I guess the kiss was memorable, I can remember who it was with and remembering being scared out of my mind.  It was during a game of spin the bottle at my first boy/girl birthday party in the sixth grade I think it was.  The bottle kept spinning and hitting everyone else, then the guy I had been crushing on, the one I wished so desperately would like me back, spun it and it landed on me.  He kissed me and it was over pretty quickly.  

But how I held on to the details of that kiss. Nothing magical really to report. Being the awkward, overweight, and not nearly as attractive as my contemporaries girl in my class, it would be a long while before I received another.  I was hoping my crush would decide he couldn't live without me, that my daydreams about him would come true but it was more like "ack, I've been kissed by a dog!  

Ok, maybe he didn't run around wiping his mouth off, screaming in horror, but his reaction definitely wasn't one like he was seeing skyrockets and fireworks because of his lips on mine.

Was it wrong of me to be secretly pleased that my daughter's first kiss wasn't like this?

She's only 13, well almost 14, I guess she's not that young, but in my heart I know I am truly thrilled her first kiss was nothing like mine.  That when she is listening to her daughter call her and tell her about her first kiss, she will conjure up these happy memories.  Her heart will jump a little remembering it, a little smile might play across her lips. I hope that my future granddaughter will be able to tell her first kiss tale as happily, and dreamily, as my daughter told hers to me.

Well I guess my first kiss was not picture perfect.  Not nearly as beautiful as my daughter's.  My memories didn't make me smile, blush a little, and relive that moment in teenage girl bliss. But I guess you never forget your first kiss now do you?

Today is not my Un-birthday!

Since today started out so beautifully even before I woke up, I understand the heavens tossed handfuls of stars to make it rain like glitter, when my alarm went off my husband made me turn it off and stay in bed.  No morning routine for me today!  WOW!!  As I lay there snuggled underneath my comforter all downy and fluffy thoughts started swirling around in my head.  This blog was born as sure as I was on this day!

I have everything I need and most of what I want, I am blessed that way.  When my daughters asked what I wanted for my birthday that is what came tripping from my lips.  Really I don't need anything, but I did say to them, what I wanted was a day I didn't have to ask anyone to empty the dishwasher, pick up after themselves or be a referee.  A day with no bickering or back sass would be nice.  Perfect gift, just the right size and that is what I truly want.

I wish for a world where the least of my brothers and sisters, animals, children, the eldery, differently abled, the homeless, know love, kindness and mercy that we are supposed to show one another. Especially those that are weaker and/or less capable than we are and truly need us to help them.

I would love it if my dad would call me with my perfunctory old phone call.  Every year, without fail, I'd get my "you're getting old kid" call.  I would counter with something like, "when did this happen dad??"  Then he'd tell me to be grateful I woke up another day, lived another year because, "the alternative is worse".  The world according to Bubby (my dad's nickname), I'd say to him.  He always had little nuggets of wisdom to share and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could hear him pop one off for me....

I want the world to be a better place for today, so my friends instead of getting something for me, do something on my behalf.  Practice one random act of kindness to a stranger today, it can be small and simple, but something that makes someone smile.  It is already Earth Day, let's make it People Being Good to Each Other on Earth Day.

As I am mentally blowing out my candles and making my wish I wish for it to be a good day for everyone today too.  I want it to be a good hair, awesome outfit, light is always green, primo parking place kind of day.

And if anything good like this happens for you today, let me know because that would be an amazing gift to give me, to know that my friends are sharing in my good day too.  It will make my birthday more amazing than it already is.

Happy birthday to all of us!!

I want to rock a white tutu..

Yeah, I'm a typical female when it comes to emotions.

I am an emotional eater.  If something upsets me there is nothing a chocolate chip cookie, or a dish of ice cream or maybe a slab of chocolate cake cannot fix in my mind.  Notice how I didn't say some carrots or an apple would help..Probably why I struggle with my weight the way I do.  But, as always, I digress....

Another emotional thing I like to do is shop.  Shopping is a lovely form of therapy that doesn't add to my waist line.  Yesterday I took my girls shopping.  To soothe the sting of not freezing our asses off in Minnesota for Spring Break, my husband surprised us with a trip to Fort Lauderdale.  Of course that meant we needed some new stuff to beach it up with.

I took two of my girls with me, nothing like shopping with your daughters.  We love going to places like Ross's or TJ Maxx to see what kind of bargains we can scare up.  That's typically our first stop.  This trip was no different.  You know you're in trouble when you send them in ahead of you while you take a phone call, you get in and they say to you, "don't freak out when you see all the stuff in the cart...."

Anyway, after much picking and loading of the cart, we headed towards the dressing room.  You could only take 8 items in at a time so I volunteered to stay with the cart and their other stuff.  As I was standing there a flash of white caught my eye.  I looked down the aisle I was standing at the head of to see a little girl, maybe 4-5.  She obviously picked out her own outfit, I have to applaud her mom for letting her, because she was dressed in a typical little girl's dream outfit.  She had on a pink top, black pants, silver shoes and the piece de resistance a big, white tutu.  She had these crazy curls that were wildly flailing around as she danced to her own private Swan Lake while her mother perused the aisle.  I had to smile, and even wanted to clap when she was done with her little dance because her mother was oblivious to a performance I would chose over any of Anna Pavlova's.  Then I watched as my girls came out of the dressing room one at a time in this outfit or that.  I saw them tugging, pulling and readjusting what they had selected to try on. Rarely dancing their own Swan Lake in what they picked.

It got me thinking, when do we lose that confidence as women?  Why do we stop wearing wearing white tutus and silver slippers in the same outfit?

When do we stop loving what we are wearing and how we look so that we stop dancing our own private ballets in public?

As I came back to reality, and I watched said little girl begin her dance anew, it made me wish for my teenage girls to have that little girl swagger.  The "I'm taking over the world wearing a tutu so nah nah nah on you" bravado.  Sadly the time is so fleeting from what I have seen from my own girls.

This time I did clap as she curtsied to her imaginary audience.  I gave her a brava!  She smiled and went by her mom obviously pleased that someone liked her performance.

It made me wonder what would happen if we all rocked that tutu a little longer?  I want my very own white tutu, I want one for each of my girls....