There was a sad look even when she smiled.

RIPPED my 19, my blood pressure feels so bad I might just literally blow. You work your ass off, you tell your kid to clean her room or damn well get out. Its my house, and I get to decide how I want it and I am mean… HA, you think that you’ve had it rough before….fuck it, no one compares to me when I’m this worked up.  Don’t worry aunt Pam I’m sure you’ll hear what a horrible person I am very soon. I DON’T CARE. The only way there is in life to tell someone they are making horrible choices. I’m sorry but laying in bed most the day, chatting with friends doesn’t get the disgust in your room gone.

This month has been utterly terrible —hell this year has been rough. And last year, and last year. I’ve drunken too much grape juice. ha. I’m going to leak all over.

Severe mental harshness.
Some thing is just way, way wrong.
Please don’t pressure me.
For it feels as if I might break,
OOh, wait!! I remember!
It was him throwing plates.
O yes, I was really scared that day.
The day I watched my daddy beat up my mama.
It hurt so bad, I felt like I might break.
That is what happened last week.
PSTD – Peggy Staged a Truama, Dammit!
I’ve tried to tell the whole world what was wrong
There was a sad look even when she smiled.
What could be so wrong?
The people that I want to believe,
can talk up, down, and around,
And not address her shame.
How much would it cost,
To make the old and deep, dark and cold
space
be gone.
I was that little girl.
I tried to leap, but I fell down.
I am sorry for being here,
I’m sorry I really do want to go.
But, I am stuck in this deep, dark spot.
I often try to believe in God.
Sometimes I can, often can not.
I try not to say,
God let it happen.
I can not blame them.
They walked in some dark place, too.
I heard the story, of being taken behind the wood shed,
But it is ok, cause he’s MY kid.
In general, the culture of
today’s mental torture
doesn’t work.
Did I get it all wrong?
What is new,
I’m sorry about that request
Can you just hold it?
Do try to be discrete.
Something really black and deep,
creeps itself forward –
There is nothing any one can do.
The pain in that hole,
it screams
it’s command.
Why is there tomorrow?
She looks sad, even when she shares her smile.

Shit I think I just wrote my best poem….

Advertisements

A Thread from Facebook…

First off, let me just say, that I did start this…. but the outcome totally surprised me.  I’m sorry that it hurts so many people, but I have a right to say what I need to say.  I have a right to shout it to the tree tops if I choose, and I do.  There is not one person in this world that can stop me.  Though, they can try.  I’m not the ignorant 30something I used to be.  Threats do not mean much to me anymore.

“I’ve always loved Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those were the two major holidays of our childhood lives. There were always aunts, uncles, and grandparents present. It was always at our house. Mom always cooked. There were the Thanksgiving parades, and football. It is what I patterned my adult life on for the holidays. The holidays are all about family. My kids got presents, but what I tried to make important was family.
I have mostly very warm feelings for the holidays as a child. The only dark spot on those memories is remembering when dad would get on a tirade, make a fork or plate being dirty be all my fault. Twice while everyone ate, he yelled at me for my horrible misdeed threw every dish from the cabinets into the sink, and sometimes breaking them, and in front of my mothers family.
In someways, I wish I were not so insightful. I realized yesterday that those scenes were meant for my mother’s family. My mothers brother who dared to speak up for his niece and teach my dad a lesson. At some point there was a bad physical altercation between them over a little girl… me. It taught my grandparents, and my uncle that he could treat that girl anyway he wanted, and they were powerless to do anything about it.
Having realized that yesterday… it kind of makes the holiday feel a little melancholy. So, I am concentrating on today — being there for my kids, and still trying so hard to not repeat the past. Acknowledging that a piece of the puzzle has fallen to. Thanking my uncle for giving me a piece to hang it on. Thankful for a family and dear friends that I have. Thank you!”  (Original post, Thanksgiving 2017)

Answer from cousin01: I’m so sad for that little girl. So proud of the woman she became and how she stopped that cycle. (Nov. 23, 2017)

Answer from girlfriend from school years: My dad was a jerk too! We could have gone only two ways…be like them or not. You and I learned a lesson on how not to be. Most people don’t get something from that…merely use it as a crutch. Kudos Peggy! Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas!

Answer from cousin02: Happy Thanksgiving Love to you all.

Answer from step-mother: i completly under stand.he took the joy out of life (I have not corrected the punctuation or spelling, because I wanted it to be true to form.  Also note that step mother was being supportive.)

Answer from sister:  I for one am Thankful for my father who has been gone for 30 years now. I miss him terribly and wish he were here.  Until someone has been thru the military and knows what it may be like for that person…or horible health issues. Nobody is perfect. And most don’t deserve to be blasted on face book where other family members can see. So @ joan rowe….I dont aprreciate you blasting my father on face book….not where I can see it. Unless you would like me to blast the stories about you that I know on face book !!!! Let the man rest in peace!! Happy Thanksgiving Dad ♡♡ (my comment: a hurt little girl comes shining through, while she makes it clear to step mother that the divorce between our parents was all her fault.  A reminder here—Dad made choices too.  And him being dead does not make him so scared that I will not punch and punch again if it relieves me of my PTSD)

Answer from me last night (11/26/2017): My sister and I have completely different realities when it comes to our parents. We were raised in the same home with completely different styles. Just before my mothers brother died, he told me about how my grandparents and he, and our aunt would sit around the dinner table and talk about how differently we were treated, and how worried they were for me. I asked him why they didn’t say or do something. His answer was that they were all afraid that they would not be allowed to see us girls. My uncle a few weeks later asked if I remembered a fight he and dad had. Apparently they were trying to hurt each other. It was a serious issue. The fight was over something that dad had done to me. That something is probably why I could tell people when I was little that I loved my dad, but did not like him. Something my mother was quite proud of. I’ve heard that story countless times. I asked my uncle what dad did to me. He just looked at me. He looked sad. Over time he reiterated that as far as he and my grandparents were concerned the Rowe’s were uncivilized. I cant hurt them now. They are all dead. My mother’s brother could tell me about his bar brawls, and his ‘fights with the universe’ and how he lost. I heard a lot from him before he passed away. With all the stories full of drunkenness, and violence and a young mans stupidity, he could not tell me what my dad did to me. There had been a conspiracy almost from the day I was born. He could say and do as he pleased, and mom protected him instead of protecting her daughter. The same scene played out again with my daughter because I did not have the conscious memory enough of the past to stop it from happening. This IS MY struggle, and it’s going to ‘leak’ out on occasion because on occasion, I get triggered, and some ‘realization’ hits me like a ton of bricks. I am way, way beyond angry with both of my parents. I’ve studied psychology along with computers in college. I’m no expert, but I have a pretty good clue. The genealogy hobby, and the love of history– is a tool for learning about the people in ones family. I am smart enough to know that none of it was really my parents’ fault. This shit has been going on literally for GENERATIONS. They came from somewhere, and had their own crosses to bear. But, when they knew right from wrong, then I take issue. My guess is that if my 20 something year old uncle knew that my dad did something wrong, that means mom told her parents, and knew dad was wrong. And over the years, they just let the crap pile on. The only thing that dad did different, is that dad apologized to me before he died. Mom just won’t face a daughter who wants answers. I will take this crap to my grave with me. My mother, when she cut off ties with me, wrote a letter and told me that my daughter would “survive” just like she did. She (my daughter) did not need the insurance money that I was suing for (and gave up) — a judge at one time awarded my daughter 1.3 million dollars for what my daughter went through at the hands of my step-father. He and my mother counter sued. I got emotionally exhausted and I dropped the suit. But, I have to tell you–that daughter is 34 years old and she is angry. She is so angry she is literally SICK. Literally dying. She looks at life through shit colored glasses. And it all of this…. is intertwined–history repeating itself. My mother was incapable of being there for me, and she was incapable of being there for my daughter. What my daughter lives through is not being a survivor. Not yet. My daughter is still fighting her demons. And so am I still fighting with mine (I’m 55 years old, and the flashbacks are not gone yet!). Dad did what he did. I have a right to express how it affected me. And ya, he could take the joy out of things. Like the time he ran over a dog to get back at mom…. the stories could go on all day and all night and well into next year. He was very, very capable of taking the joy out of things. But, on the other hand, he was the one who would let us sit on his lap, and put barrettes in his hair. He sang us songs, he danced with us, he tried to show us right from wrong. NO one is completely evil, or wrong. Even Charles Manson had a good thing or two within him (what, I have no idea). I liked my step father so much I named my little boy after him. It’s been going on for generations — and it’s my generation now. I get to have my say, I get to try and stop the cycle of abuse of all sorts.  I refuse to be silent.

More from me: (11/26/2017): But she (step mom) said it because she is on my page. That means, I am ok with it. I asked Joan, years and years and years ago why she got involved with our father at the time she(they) did. She gave a completely honest, and pragmatic answer. “If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else.” And that was the truth, was the truth, was the truth. It took two to dance that little dance, and dad was apparently fully consenting because he is the one that left us. He was and is as guilty as anyone else. In fact, he’s more guilty…. he’s the one that choose to break up the family. Not me, Not you. We will NEVER know what really happened between mom and dad. I over heard dad talk about mom one night. I know of at least one big reason he left her. The truth is, if it wasn’t Joan IT WOULD HAVE BEEN someone else. That is not her fault. I for one, am not going to stay any more angry at my step mother as I am at my own parents… yup, been there done that. Joan is not at fault that Dad left home. Dad left home because he wanted to. Because things between mom and dad were not good for him. And if the truth be told, based on things mom said to me over the years, that if she were not so busy putting on a show for the world about how perfect our little home was–that she’d realized she was probably much happier without him there. That is after she got over the fact that you can love a mean person, and she should have seen that train wreak very EARLY on. And yes, you can say that about me. The difference is that I am authentically me. What you see is what you get. I already know that I did see my train wreak in the making and I relived my mother’s life–and fought it. I am exhausted as she is, I promise!!!

Additional Notes: A childhood such as the one I had often sets a child up to be an adult that is incapable of functioning in their own home, or even in society at a high capacity.  Sometimes the emotional  fall out is just too great.  I do not have to forgive and forget.  Neither do my kids, whom I failed over and over again. (11/27/2017)

And the conversation went on into the night– and nothing was resolved.  I am not going to shut up under any circumstances.  I may, if I can ever get through certain situations without being triggered by flashbacks from the past, I might slow down.  I might be more quiet.  But, I will not 100% quit until I am dead.   Everyone can literally run to their corners.  Let me say this really loud, clear and simple:  I WILL NOT STOP!

There is freedom of speech in this country, and I am going to take 100% full advantage of it, and I dare anyone to stop me.  I do this for the kids who grew up in compete and utter insanity.  For the kids who’s father showed them a big bowie knife, told them how much like their mother they were, and how much they deserved to die because of it. There is no belittling, no shaming, no pretenses of “I’d do it this way (*if I were you,* was the clear pretense…”) that will ever shut me down.  The grown ups that stood around me as a child created drama that went well into my adulthood.  I am fighting to be 100% conscious of all of that, so that I can heal from it. It is my right, it is my mental health.  It affects my life to this day, as it affects the way I treat my children.  It affects the way I treat my significant other(s).  It affects my ability to keep a job, and to keep relationships.  It takes an incredibly patient and  forgiving person to deal with me and my issues.

If you have a comment that you would like me to see, please email me at pegrowe 62 @ g mail dot com.  (with no spaces).  Depending on how nice you are…  I might or may not answer.  Thank you.

Boundaries, change, and being irrational.

I think I’ve been called every name in the book last night..including but not limited to: ” a psychotic cunt.”

Them is…fighting words. LOL

I’m pretty sure that I will never talk to my two oldest kids again. I’ve done my best to be a really, really good person. I’ve GIVEN myself away, over and over and over again…trying to tell the whole frickin world how sorry I am that I ever fricking existed!

The kids are quick to judge, quick to act, they don’t question anything to see what is going on from another persons view. They think they are right and with arrogance to boot. 

They told me what was “right”. And they are wrong, and they are wrong in such a way that this is becoming unrepairable. I’m not going to lie down and die anytime soon. I’m not into giving myself away so much anymore. There comes a time, when you have to look at a person and say, “you know, you are just too toxic to be a part of my world.”

These thoughts are not the words of an irrational psychotic cunt.  They are the words of an educated woman who is trying very hard to put the pieces together in order to understand her children (her GROWN children).

You know, I’ve done it before, and I’m going to do it again.  My health is far more important to me than their lies and manipulations.  The drama has no place in my life.  And the name calling… well, that is just infantile.  Have a good life kids, hope the pay off is worth it for you.  P.S. Stay off the comment area or I will lock you out.  In fact, think I’ll just do that now. LOL

For my friend again…

header2

twobooks      trouble200

9/26/2017

To Our Customers –
Due to technical difficulties, we are only able to offer 1 free program. However, we will extend the free program offer from 2 days to 4 days. The free downloaded program is your choice and there is no purchase required. This offer includes Core Reading which in print sells for 149.00*.

We are happy to share our programs and hope you will see the quality of the programs at StrugglingReaders.com.  Please email your program requests to Peggy at orders@strugglingreaders.com.  Offer good until September 28, 2017.

Thank you for your patience,
Matt Glavach, Owner/Author
Peggy Snyder, Program Distribution & webmaster
Glavach & Associates

*All programs included except the audio programs.

Glavach & Associates
P.O. Box 302
Cloverdale California, 95425 – US

 

StrugglingReaders

Doing this for a friend of mine, who for years has been working on getting the word out on his products.  He is a Phd., a doctorate who studies brains and reading.  The “buy” buttons on the site are set to NOT charge for the programs for today and tomorrow.
If you have a problem, email: orders@strugglingreaders.com

header2

5 FREE PROGRAMS!  You Choose!

SEPTEMBER 25 and 26 – 2017

5 FREE PROGRAMS! 
​Choose Any Program to Download and Print.
No Purchase Required.

Choose any program on the StrugglingReaders
website from 48 Different Programs.

GA123-200px_smallWordRoots2small 
(Audio programs not included.)
About the Author of the programs, scroll down!

matt-glavach
Matthew Glavach, Ph.D., teacher, researcher, and writer, has authored and coauthored over 40 educational programs, including Reading with Donny and Marie Osmond, an original music based reading program for younger readers, and research articles, including “Breaking the Failure Pattern” in the Journal of Learning Disabilities. More recent research articles include “The Brain, Prosody, and Reading Fluency” and “A Reading Strategy for Content Area Teachers, Parallel Reading Intervention” published with the National Association of Special Education Teachers. In 2005, his reading program Core Reading was among programs chosen by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, NICHD, for a possible visit by First Lady Laura Bush.
 Struggling Reader Programs meet
or exceed Common Core Standards.
Dr. Glavach  is currently on the editorial board of The Journal of the American Academy of Special Education Professionals (JAASEP) an online peer-reviewed journal committed to advancing the professional development of special education professionals. With his Northern California company Glavach and Associates, (StrugglingReaders.com), Dr. Glavach is committed to improving student literacy.

Glavach and Associates 
Email for more information today!


My Dream Life

I told a psychologist about four or five years ago that I do not dream anymore, and if I do, I don’t remember them.  I can say that the state of my dream life hasn’t changed much.

Last night I had a dream and I remember it mostly.  The dream did not come to any conclusion because I was woken up by a ‘charlie horse.’

At first I thought it was a fun but weird dream. I had not thought of a hint or perhaps myself talking to me, until I was driving down highway 5, going home from running my dear youngest child to her appointment.   Something, I’m thankful I won’t be doing much longer.  She is getting the Subaru, and I am getting a PT Cruiser.  A beautiful blue PT Cruiser.  I will post a picture when I actually have it.  Not that this information has anything to do with my dream, but I am so impressed with this car.  It’s probably the lowest mileage car I’ve ever owned.

Anyway, back to my dream.  It was interesting.  I’d gotten a job as a nanny.  A job I would never take in real life, not now.  I’ve raised my kids, and I want and need a break.  I became a nanny to maybe an 18 month or so toddler, who was behind developmentally.

The baby was behind in her growth because her parents were not caring for her properly.  She should have been walking, or at least trying.  She should be sitting up, and babbling away.  She was all smiles, but she did not make any attempt to roll over, play with her feet, get up, walk, or babble.  This child who should be at the very beginning of taking her place in the family and figuring out how to get things done to her satisfaction was still pretty much a smiling but helpless infant.  It was my job to bring her up to speed developmentally, and to protect her.  I have no  idea who she needed protection from except maybe her parents.

I was about to pick this beautiful baby up.  I just so wanted to hold her.  She was just irresistible.  But, then I love babies. There are two stages in (my) a child’s life that are my favorite.  The baby stage, and the grown up stage.  LOL.  LOL When *MY* kids are in the grown up stage.  They get to walk through their hard stuff, and I get to cheer them o when they come out the other side.  I have learned over the years that I can never really stop being mom, but  being friend as well, can be introduced with care.  I probably made the that particular transition best with my youngest.  But, then… I really never had a chance with my oldest, she was stolen from me years, and years ago.  [And a note to my mother, if she happens to be reading this: Yes, she has survived this, but it doesn’t mean that she is “okay” — and it sure as hell proved that you were NOT right.]

On my way home this morning, it dawned on me that maybe my dream was a message to me.  Maybe it was a sort of instruction.

Back in 1993 or so, I was in some really, really heavy therapy.  The goal then was more about my kids.  How could I make myself healthier so that I’d see danger coming before my family was hurt.  To do this, I had to, I felt, educate myself about everything and anything that comes into the sphere of  childhood sexual assault (or in short form, “molest”)

It was during this time that I discovered just what Domestic Violence was and that I was living with it every single day and had lived with it almost all of my childhood.  I basically learned the names of, and definitions of a whole set of messy things that exist in the world, and in my world.  I was in my early 30’s when all this information came into my consciousness.  I look back now, and it seems as if I were cramming for a final. Probably from the school of hard knocks.

Eventually, I learned about art therapy. I thought I’d give it a try.  I enjoyed coloring before it was ‘cool’ for meditations.  I made collages.  Sometimes I made collages of things I enjoyed and sometimes I tried to explore a specific theme.  But, no matter what I was doing the bottomline was a very targeted goal.   What experiences, what people, what culture — the who, what and why of what I am deep down inside is what I was trying to work out.  Why was my little girl a target, what weakness did I show that allowed   anyone to take advantage of who we were.

Some of my questions were answered and some were not. Lucky for me, the brain never quits. I am a curious person who likes to learn. I want to know what goes on in the world, especially in my little world.

While in the art therapy mode, I did a LOT of journaling. I mostly used the ‘free thought association’ (I think, its been a long time since I’ve used this language).  Occasionally, I’d get an image in my mind and I’d draw it and/or color it.  I’d put it aside or in my note book.

Two images come to mind now.  Both of them were done in black and white.  There was no color.  Both seemed to be associated with the same situation.  One was a black monster with many arms.  It was black with a beak.  Today, I’d say it was a squid with an octopus head, a very black squidopus.  hehe.  My artwork is on a 4th grade level.  For me the ‘monster’ came out pretty well.  The message I took away was that  I felt there were many arms around me.  I’ve never really understood it, but thought it would mean something eventually.

The second image was drawn after some very physical therapy.  My father was dead already, I could not ask him questions.  My mother had basically booted me out of the family.  I was angry that I had been treated so poorly as a child.  In the therapy, I put a t-shirt on a chair and screamed obscenities at it will I punched it.  A safe way to have a temper tantrum.  I worked myself into exhaustion, and laid down on the couch.  I was very relaxed, and I have never believed I was asleep. I had a dream– I was in my white crib, looking around my bedroom.  I remembered what the curtains looked like.  In this ‘dream’ or probably in the ‘memory’ I was big enough to stand in the crib.  I later asked my mother about the details of my room. She confirmed for me that I had remembered right.

Sometime later, I had a similar ‘dream’ or ‘memory’ — and then drew a picture of it.
There was a helpless baby, all swaddled up tightly.  The baby was wiggling and could not break free of it’s cocoon of flannel.   There was a feeling that the baby was not liking what was happening to her.  Something wet and warm kept hitting her face.  It made her feel as if she might be smothering, and yet, all she could do was squiggle in her fortress of flannel.  In the dream stood a man that I identified as an uncle.  My then husband, not in the dream, and not even in the house while this was going on, decided that I had my uncle confused with my father.  I knew I had not confused anyone.  But as a young, young person there is a chance that maybe I wasn’t ready to see my father in that place.

I have interpreted this already.  In the past I have interpreted it in two different ways.   If it is a memory, then I as a baby did not understand what was going on.  I am sure that while I could not name fear, I certainly felt it.  I questioned if what had happened was a form of sexual assault.  Or maybe just a little boy experimenting.  I may never know.  What I do know is that it was a very uncomfortable experience for me.

Fast forward to last nights dream whose dream theme was similar to that explained above.  A baby, a helpless baby.  Only this time, I was there to work on making things better.  In light of the past work I have done, including some work that I am doing now in a PTSD group, and in individual therapy – I have come to the conclusion that those dream memories from the past are connected to last nights dream.

I knew last night, in the dream that I was going to have to take up the baby, and help her learn to sit up, and stay sitting.  I’d probably have to put her feet in her hands to help her realize she had some toes to play with.  She needed to learn to crawl, to become curious enough to want to climb, and to take her first steps.

Maybe, once I have supported the baby enough, and she feels safe enough, and realizes that exploring life can be a fun and happy thing, maybe then she will share with me what is inside her.  So, now it is time to talk to this baby at her level, on her terms, with quietness, confidence, and a loving tone. Maybe I just need to lead the baby down her path and protect her from all the things she was/is afraid of.

 

For June 2, 2017, my graduate, & youngest girl…

May 20, 2017

Diane—

So in less than two weeks you will be a high school graduate.  I am hoping that your little graduation present gets here in time.
I’m writing this letter for you so that you can get the little ‘bump’ you need to send you out into the world and make it big—but make it big in your way and in the process making YOUR dreams come true.
I bought a CD for you today.  There are two songs there that are the reason why I bought what I bought.  There are two songs that are my personal gift and message for you.

My Wish

 I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you wanna go,
And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window,
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile.
But more than anything, more than anything

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

     Suppose it could be said better-but, when you are in doubt just remember that at least your mom is cheering you on.  I realize that I have made a lot of mistakes.  I’ve realized that being a mom to one child doesn’t make you good mom to all kids.  My weaknesses with my oldest were sometimes still my weakness, and sometimes by the time I got to you, I had a whole new set of weaknesses.  No matter how poorly I have said, “I love you.”  Know that I always have, & that my dreams for you were always big, even if I couldn’t provide you with a great jumping off pad.
There will be times when I still have to be a ‘mom’.  Unfortunately, that is just the rules for engagement between you and I.  But, I am hoping that we can always talk about any problems we have and work them out.    The thing that I am really best at and can still do for you, is to be your cheerleader.    And I always will be that.   And I want all the same things for you as I ever wanted for the other three:

  1. Be Happy. Be Healthy.  3. Follow your Dreams. 4. Don’t hurt others.

That last one is the hardest one for me.  That’s the one I choke on.  It’s the only one that can ever get between you and I.  It’s really important to me because so many people have worked so hard hurt those around me.  I’ve lived the fall out; I’ve seen the emotional devastation.   That is where I draw my line in the sand.

But, having said that I cannot imagine you hurting someone on purpose, for the sake of fun or anything else.  You are a really good person. The one kid who actually turned out the way I hoped all my kids would.  I see a happy life for you.  That is not to say you won’t hit bumps.    Sometimes those bumps really hurt.  Sometimes the days will get really dark.  It’s just how life goes sometimes.  Light a candle, say a prayer, take some really deep breaths, take a long bath, listen to music, paint, and call your mom.

One thing to remember is even when you feel really, really alone, the truth is that you are not.  You have friends and family who love you and want the best for you.  Even if all they can give you is a hug, and probably that’s all you’d need anyhow to be able to get out there and face the world again.

“Stand”

You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you’ve lost your fight
But you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright

‘Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you’re made of
You might bend, ’til you break
‘Cause it’s all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you’ve had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand…

You come from a LONG LINE of really tough people.  Not perfect people….just really tough people. People who have faced all kinds of situations—starvation, witch hunts, wild bears, wars, homelessness, extreme cold, rape, molest, abuse.  Each one not only survived but succeeded in some way, or else YOU would not be on this earth today.  Each of us alive today on this earth can believe this because it’s true!  And, it is all the more of a reason to celebrate YOU!
You have been handed the gift of life.  Each person in your life is a gift.  Maybe there will be times when you can’t see it, but EVERYONE who crosses your path will share something with you, even if all it is ‘just’ a smile.  It might be a small or a great gift: wisdom, fact, love, a hug, a meal, a theory, maybe someday a child.   Never take it for granted.  There might be a billion of us here on earth, but there is only one me and only one you!!  That makes us special. It makes being your mom special!

Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.  Thank you for the GIFT of being YOU!!
I do LOVE YOU!!!  & I always will!!  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox