OK. OK. I've heard it loud and clear....you want me to finish my novel. Well its been difficult as my new work life and personal life has interfered with my writing. So... here is another snap-shot from Olivia's senior year in high school.
“Livvy, you should marry a doctor someday,” said mom the morning of my high school graduation.
“Why’s that?” I asked back annoyingly as any teenager would.
“Your spending habits are out of control. Look at all of these clothes,” she screamed while waving the new blouse I just purchased.
“Why a doctor? Can’t I just marry a rich man,” I responded to her cleverly.
“A doctor is rich, intelligent and doesn’t have time to cheat,” she uttered snidely.
“Don’t worry mom, I’m not going to marry a cheater.”
“You won’t have those looks and that body, forever honey,” she went on.
“So what are you really getting at mom?” I finally confronted her about this ridiculous conversation.
“Just be careful with boys. Don’t get too serious too fast. Go to college and make something of yourself. Be independently wealthy and don’t rely on someone else to take care of you,” she warned.
“What the hell is she talking about? Is this her way of approaching the ‘sex’ talk with me?” I thought. I grabbed the new blouse from her hands and stormed off to my room.
Pondering the conversation that I had with my Mom twenty-two years ago, I began to think about my life and the quest for how important being an independent woman was to me all those years ago. Although I wouldn’t admit it then, my mother’s words did have a profound effect on many of the decisions I made in my young adulthood.
At the time, little did mom know that I was currently semi-dating a pre-med student from the University of Minnesota. She had encouraged me for months to date boys other than my boyfriend, Ben, who had been away on an exchange trip to Europe during my entire senior year of high school. As a typical teenager, I wouldn’t give my mother the satisfaction of knowing I’d been dating other guys the entire year Ben had been away.
I met Christopher, Dr. Chris, as Amanda called him, the night of the contest. Amanda stayed overnight at my house to console me after I didn’t receive the star rating from the asshole judge that made a pass at me that terrible day during my senior year of high school.
“We need to party tonight,” said Amanda as she went through my closet to pick out a sexy outfit for me.
“Tonight, we’re in search of mature men. College men,” said Amanda.
Amanda worked at Target which was a frequent stop for many U of M students. She received an invitation the night prior to attend a party at Phi Gamma Delta (FIJI) from a guy named Tom. Unlike my job at the boutique, Amanda’s job at Target was a goldmine in providing us with an endless stream of dates and party invites. Tom told Amanda to meet him at the fraternity house at 9:00 pm. We told my parents that we were going to hang out at our friend Jackie’s house that evening to watch movies. We begged my mom to let us stay out until 1:00 am. Thank goodness, she consented.
Amanda drove us to the fraternity house. Like other parties at the U of M, it was easy to find the house, but not as easy to park. After looking for a spot for about twenty minutes, we parked about five blocks away from the house which made it a very long and cold walk for a March night. Once we reached the house, we opened the front door and went inside. The fraternity house was dark and crowded with college students. The music extremely loud. The bass rumbled from the stereo located in the basement where the bar was setup. Amanda said, “How are we ever going to find Tom?” Just then we were immediately greeted by two guys.
“Hello ladies how are you this evening?” one asked.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes,” said Amanda.
“We are meeting Tom Johnson tonight. Have you seen him?”
“Sure, I’ll go get him for you,” said a tall, thin blonde guy. Before the blonde could come back to us, we were greeted by a few other guys. They were armed with cold beers for the two of us.
The two guys were very cute, but I knew that Amanda did not want to irritate Tom by flirting with them. I noticed one of the guys staring at me. He was tall with dark wavy hair and striking blue eyes. When I looked at him, he smiled. I smiled back and looked away in my typical shy manner. Then, Tom came over to greet us.
“Amanda, I‘m so glad that you made it,” said Tom. Very politely, he introduced himself to me.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m glad that you could come tonight.” Tom turned to his friends and introduced us to them.
“This is my younger brother, Christopher,” he said.
“Fraternity brother or biological brother?” I asked as I smiled Christopher. He was the young man that was staring at me.
“Both,” said Christopher.
After the introductions, Tom asked us, “Would you like a tour of the house?”
“Sure,” said Amanda quickly. Tom took her by the hand and led her through the crowded living room.
Christopher placed his hand on my back and said, “After you?”
*****
That's all for now. Comment if you want more....I need a push to keep writing.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Personal Mission...or Not.
It’s funny. My life was all planned out at the young age of 26 as I read the personal mission statement created in 1994 for my first MBA graduate course. Although it was clear that my mission in life as a Working Girl was to have a successful career, I laugh now at what I read. My plan included a successful career in information management. HA! What was I thinking?
With a clearly mapped out career path in the document, I was to soar up the corporate ladder and retire at the age of 55. Funny thing was, all of my personality tests indicated that I was to work in creative field such as marketing or advertising. Tests don’t lie. In fact, as I reviewed the Myers Briggs, Strong Campbell and variety of other tests, I was ‘off the charts’ intuitive…not cut out for the geeky field of computer science.
An INFP is what the tests indicated. A quirky little personality type that represent only 5% of the population. Now that explains it!! The description describes intuitive, creative, in love with life, loves all people and despises details. Career path recommended: Social worker – no; Acting – maybe; Musician – closer; Inventor – hmm just like Dad, Writer – not an option at that time; Marketer – right on! The very next semester I dumped the field of IT and changed my major to marketing. INFP’s follow their gut…it wasn’t a hard decision.
Even funnier was the account of how I mapped out my personal life. I would only have one child. And SHE would be born by the time I was thirty. This was scary to me at the time considering that was only four years away. The real story was that HE was born just two year after the document was writen…and HIS brother was born 3 ½ years later. I still received my MBA in marketing and don’t regret for a minute that I didn’t have a SHE.
The craziest thing as I read the professor’s comments sixteen years later. “You engaged me throughout the document. Forget the MBA, you should be a writer.” Why did it take me so long to listen??
With a clearly mapped out career path in the document, I was to soar up the corporate ladder and retire at the age of 55. Funny thing was, all of my personality tests indicated that I was to work in creative field such as marketing or advertising. Tests don’t lie. In fact, as I reviewed the Myers Briggs, Strong Campbell and variety of other tests, I was ‘off the charts’ intuitive…not cut out for the geeky field of computer science.
An INFP is what the tests indicated. A quirky little personality type that represent only 5% of the population. Now that explains it!! The description describes intuitive, creative, in love with life, loves all people and despises details. Career path recommended: Social worker – no; Acting – maybe; Musician – closer; Inventor – hmm just like Dad, Writer – not an option at that time; Marketer – right on! The very next semester I dumped the field of IT and changed my major to marketing. INFP’s follow their gut…it wasn’t a hard decision.
Even funnier was the account of how I mapped out my personal life. I would only have one child. And SHE would be born by the time I was thirty. This was scary to me at the time considering that was only four years away. The real story was that HE was born just two year after the document was writen…and HIS brother was born 3 ½ years later. I still received my MBA in marketing and don’t regret for a minute that I didn’t have a SHE.
The craziest thing as I read the professor’s comments sixteen years later. “You engaged me throughout the document. Forget the MBA, you should be a writer.” Why did it take me so long to listen??
Sunday, February 14, 2010
My Valentine
I can thank a boy named Brian Miller for helping me find my true love. It was his high school graduation party where I first met my husband, Jon. June eighth to be exact. A beautiful summer evening. Like most weekend nights, my best friend and I were on the prowl for boys. We left my house around seven o’clock that evening. Outfitted in a pair of tight cropped pants and a pastel oversized, belted blouse. The ensemble was reminiscent of Flashdance and I looked as hot as Jennifer Beals. My stick thin legs and tiny waist were complimented by my flawless long, brunette locks. Even before we got to Brian’s party, I had turned many heads that evening.
We scoured Como Park for our targets that night. Parked in the lot next to the lake, my friend and I sipped our two liter of Peach Wine Cooler. It was warm, but we didn’t care. It was the effects we wanted. Earlier that evening, we convinced a thirty something man to purchase our alcohol. Parked in the lot of a small liquor store on Rice Street in St. Paul, I rolled down the window when a man opened his car door. “Hi,” I smiled at him.
“Hello,” he smiled back.
“My friend and I are wondering….” I said to him with a seductive glance.
“What would you like?” he asked without the need for me to have finished my sentence.
It didn’t take us long to attract attention. A car-full of boys pulled up beside us. “What’s up tonight, ladies?” one of the boys asked us. “Not much.” I replied trying not to look desperate. A boy in the back of the car said, “We are going to a great party tonight. Want to tag along?” He asked. I asked the boy where the party was and he said just a few blocks away. Since it was not that far, we felt that it wouldn’t be too much of a waste of time should it turn out to be lame. “We’ll follow you.” I answered. “But we have another commitment, so I’m not sure how long we can stay.”
We arrived at the party. It was at a small house a few blocks north of Como Lake. Interestingly, when we followed the boys into the backyard of the party, they ignored us. Apparently there were some young ladies in attendance that would not approve of them hanging out with two knock-outs from Roseville. I whispered to my friend, “This is a strange party. Why are there so many old people here?” It quickly became apparent that we were at a high school graduation party and we had never met the graduate. Plus, we stuck out like a sore thumb as we knew no one. Although there was no shortage of cute guys at the party, we felt out of place. Right before we were to make our quick exit, a boy approached me. He introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Jon.” I was not immediately attracted to him; yet he was with some very good looking guys.
Jon was not my typical tall, dark and handsome. None the less, he was cute and very friendly. I connected with him right away. That night was the first of many dates Jon and I would have that summer before he left for a year- long Rotary Exchange program to England.
From the moment we met, I believed that Jon was my soul mate; selected by God purposefully for me. He was the first guy that took the time to get to know me, the real me. To Jon, I was much more than an attractive young teenager with a knock-out body. To him, I was sensitive, smart and a great listener. He understood the real me. The quiet young lady who had a heart big enough for six people and a never ending desire to see the good in all things and people. He was the first man to say he loved me.
We were completely wrong for each other. He was Catholic, I Lutheran. His family was white-collar wealthy, mine blue-middle class. He was conservative, I liberal. He went to private school, I public. I was taller than him. He was blonde, I brunette. He lived in a mansion in the city, I in a post-war suburban rambler. He wore socks with sandals, I wore Gucci. As a young couple, we spent hours discussing our backgrounds, beliefs and values. In an unnatural way, we were a natural fit. It was our differences that fueled our attraction.
Jon and I met by accident – fate I imagine. From the night we met, we were inseparable for two months. My young heart was devastated when he departed for a year- long exchange trip to Europe. A lover of literature, he left me with a long reading list that included some of the most romantic novels written – Pride and Prejudice, Love Story, Jane Eyre. Not only did he love the written word, he was an exceptional writer himself. While in Europe, he wrote hundreds of beautifully crafted love letters and poems especially for me. Terribly home sick, I had the good fortune of being the beneficiary of his thoughts on paper. His words were magical; that he loved only me and imagined us together forever. As a teenage girl, it was a fairy tale romance. But, the problem with finding your soul mate while only seventeen is that the mind and body are not as mature as the soul. But at the young age of forty-two, it is so apparent!
I thank God every day for sending me Jon; to a place where I didn’t belong. I believed it was fate that brought us together. I still believe that today. Six years from the very day we met we were married. It will be nineteen years in June! Happy Valentines Day, honey! I love you.
We scoured Como Park for our targets that night. Parked in the lot next to the lake, my friend and I sipped our two liter of Peach Wine Cooler. It was warm, but we didn’t care. It was the effects we wanted. Earlier that evening, we convinced a thirty something man to purchase our alcohol. Parked in the lot of a small liquor store on Rice Street in St. Paul, I rolled down the window when a man opened his car door. “Hi,” I smiled at him.
“Hello,” he smiled back.
“My friend and I are wondering….” I said to him with a seductive glance.
“What would you like?” he asked without the need for me to have finished my sentence.
It didn’t take us long to attract attention. A car-full of boys pulled up beside us. “What’s up tonight, ladies?” one of the boys asked us. “Not much.” I replied trying not to look desperate. A boy in the back of the car said, “We are going to a great party tonight. Want to tag along?” He asked. I asked the boy where the party was and he said just a few blocks away. Since it was not that far, we felt that it wouldn’t be too much of a waste of time should it turn out to be lame. “We’ll follow you.” I answered. “But we have another commitment, so I’m not sure how long we can stay.”
We arrived at the party. It was at a small house a few blocks north of Como Lake. Interestingly, when we followed the boys into the backyard of the party, they ignored us. Apparently there were some young ladies in attendance that would not approve of them hanging out with two knock-outs from Roseville. I whispered to my friend, “This is a strange party. Why are there so many old people here?” It quickly became apparent that we were at a high school graduation party and we had never met the graduate. Plus, we stuck out like a sore thumb as we knew no one. Although there was no shortage of cute guys at the party, we felt out of place. Right before we were to make our quick exit, a boy approached me. He introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Jon.” I was not immediately attracted to him; yet he was with some very good looking guys.
Jon was not my typical tall, dark and handsome. None the less, he was cute and very friendly. I connected with him right away. That night was the first of many dates Jon and I would have that summer before he left for a year- long Rotary Exchange program to England.
From the moment we met, I believed that Jon was my soul mate; selected by God purposefully for me. He was the first guy that took the time to get to know me, the real me. To Jon, I was much more than an attractive young teenager with a knock-out body. To him, I was sensitive, smart and a great listener. He understood the real me. The quiet young lady who had a heart big enough for six people and a never ending desire to see the good in all things and people. He was the first man to say he loved me.
We were completely wrong for each other. He was Catholic, I Lutheran. His family was white-collar wealthy, mine blue-middle class. He was conservative, I liberal. He went to private school, I public. I was taller than him. He was blonde, I brunette. He lived in a mansion in the city, I in a post-war suburban rambler. He wore socks with sandals, I wore Gucci. As a young couple, we spent hours discussing our backgrounds, beliefs and values. In an unnatural way, we were a natural fit. It was our differences that fueled our attraction.
Jon and I met by accident – fate I imagine. From the night we met, we were inseparable for two months. My young heart was devastated when he departed for a year- long exchange trip to Europe. A lover of literature, he left me with a long reading list that included some of the most romantic novels written – Pride and Prejudice, Love Story, Jane Eyre. Not only did he love the written word, he was an exceptional writer himself. While in Europe, he wrote hundreds of beautifully crafted love letters and poems especially for me. Terribly home sick, I had the good fortune of being the beneficiary of his thoughts on paper. His words were magical; that he loved only me and imagined us together forever. As a teenage girl, it was a fairy tale romance. But, the problem with finding your soul mate while only seventeen is that the mind and body are not as mature as the soul. But at the young age of forty-two, it is so apparent!
I thank God every day for sending me Jon; to a place where I didn’t belong. I believed it was fate that brought us together. I still believe that today. Six years from the very day we met we were married. It will be nineteen years in June! Happy Valentines Day, honey! I love you.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Real Beauty
My husband asked me to marry him again a few weeks ago. Ring and everything. He’s an amazing man and I often take that for granted. Although we were married very young and had some rocky times, we’ve stood by each other through thick and thin.
We fell in love all over again when our lives were flipped upside down with our son’s illness. Dealing with the daily demands of caring for a son with Type 1 Diabetes can take a toll on even the strongest relationship. So focused on the care of your sick child, and giving what’s left to your other child doesn’t leave much for a relationship…and even less for yourself.
For me, writing is my therapy…a chance to float into a fantasy world to escape my often tired reality. A chance to imagine a simpler life. A chance to be someone else for awhile. I’m blessed to have many people in my life who have helped me through this tough time and I’m very sorry to those that I’ve inadvertantly hurt with my words on paper.
Yes, Jon. I will marry you again! And yes…I’m brave enough to leave my child behind for a few days so you can sweep me off my feet – even if we have to hire a nurse to care for him. And yes…we will sleep through the night without having to wake up at midnight and 3:00 am to make sure our son is safe. And yes…I will prance around in a slinky bikini all day long.
Seeing the tears in my husband’s eyes as we walked our oldest son into the high school enrollment tonight made me love Jon even more. He’s an amazing father. We’ve learned to enjoy our not so simple life. Our relationship is simple and loving. Real Beauty. Thank you honey!!! I’ll never take you for granted again.
We fell in love all over again when our lives were flipped upside down with our son’s illness. Dealing with the daily demands of caring for a son with Type 1 Diabetes can take a toll on even the strongest relationship. So focused on the care of your sick child, and giving what’s left to your other child doesn’t leave much for a relationship…and even less for yourself.
For me, writing is my therapy…a chance to float into a fantasy world to escape my often tired reality. A chance to imagine a simpler life. A chance to be someone else for awhile. I’m blessed to have many people in my life who have helped me through this tough time and I’m very sorry to those that I’ve inadvertantly hurt with my words on paper.
Yes, Jon. I will marry you again! And yes…I’m brave enough to leave my child behind for a few days so you can sweep me off my feet – even if we have to hire a nurse to care for him. And yes…we will sleep through the night without having to wake up at midnight and 3:00 am to make sure our son is safe. And yes…I will prance around in a slinky bikini all day long.
Seeing the tears in my husband’s eyes as we walked our oldest son into the high school enrollment tonight made me love Jon even more. He’s an amazing father. We’ve learned to enjoy our not so simple life. Our relationship is simple and loving. Real Beauty. Thank you honey!!! I’ll never take you for granted again.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Mama, Tell Me about the Coldest Day of the Year
It’s hard for me to believe that I have a fourteen year old. My oldest son’s birthday was this week and it always brings me back to that time in my life when I thought I could control just about anything.
The story begins on Friday, the day before Owen was born. I was thirty-six weeks pregnant…and still didn’t believe I was having a child. Owen wasn’t an accident…I’d been married for nearly five years…but I wouldn’t say he was planned. Just ask Jon. (Yes…I did get married very young. My hubby tied the knot so I wouldn’t run off with the doctor in training. That’s another story.)
Driven, even at the young age of 28, I was convinced that Owen would arrive on my schedule. Working nearly sixty hours a week and attending my evening MBA program two nights a week and Saturday, I was a busy young lady. With the exception of vomiting constantly for the first four months, I had a fairly easy time forgetting that I was pregnant.
The Friday was a snowy cold day. I had a television commercial shoot that I needed to attend for my company. The shoot was located at Hyland Hills Ski Area in Bloomington. We were filming at the top of the hill. The best place to capture the beautiful falling snow. At the bottom of hill, I looked up and saw the small crew. Afraid of heights, for a moment I wondered how the hell I was going to get up there. A small chair lift was an option. There was also a man on a ski-doo traveling up and down the small hill with lighting equipment.
“Hey Sir,” I yelled to the man on the snowmobile. “Would you give me a lift to the top of the hill? I need to be at that shoot.” He took one look at my oversized stomach and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Off he went without me. Next I walked over to the ski lift. The lady at chairs said, “Pregnant people are not allowed to ride the lift.” Damn. Now what was I supposed to do? I stood there and looked up the hill. Determined not to disappoint my company…and myself I stubbornly walked up the slick snowy hill. Me and the seven pounder in my tummy.
My back hurt like hell the next day when I woke up. Realizing now it was a bad idea to walk up and down the ski slope, I dragged myself out of bed for my morning Business Law Class at St. Thomas in downtown Minneapolis. It was the coldest day of the year. 25 degrees below zero. Jon was kind enough to take me to class that morning as I wasn’t feeling well. I made it through class and parked my huge body on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon.
Jon, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in hangin’ around the house with his grumpy pregnant wife. (Who could blame him?) He had other plans for the day. St. Paul Winter Carnival plans – surely to include lots of adult beverages to keep warm. Sending him out of the house to have his fun…I armed him with a cell phone and a pager and begged him to be on the look-out for a message from me. He graciously checked in with me several times that afternoon and early evening as I still didn’t feel well.
At around 10:00 that evening, I was starting to have horrible back pains. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. I called. I paged. I called again. No sign of Jon. Apparently both devices were left in his jacket at the sports bar. He frantically called me at 12:30 when he saw the 30 some odd pages and phone calls. Racing home now, he arrived about 1:00 am.
When he finally arrived, we went to bed and I felt even worse. At 2:00 am, Jon got up to call the doctor and they instructed me to come in as soon as possible. I wasn’t prepared. No packed bag waiting for me, as all of the books I meticulously read instructed.
It was 2:15 am. We sat in our small car at the intersection of White Bear Avenue and County Road E. Not a soul on the road, it seemed forever until the light would change. I looked up into the midnight blue cold sky and saw the brightest full moon ever. It was the coldest night of the year. Now 30 degrees below zero. I could still see my breath in the car as we didn’t have time to warm it up. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” was playing on the radio. The pain in my lower back was excruciating. I was terrified that I wouldn’t make it to St. John’s hospital just a few miles down the road.
We made it to the hospital at 2:25. Owen arrived at 2:45, four weeks early and completely unexpected. The doctor said I was lucky that he didn’t arrive right there in the car at on White Bear Avenue. That early cold morning, life changed forever. Owen taught me that life can’t and shouldn’t be a series of planned events. And he wasn’t an accident. He was my angel sent from heaven!!
The best part of my son's birthdays is the time I have alone with them. I sit them down, hug them tight and tell them about the day they were born. They never get sick of the story. Neither do I.
The story begins on Friday, the day before Owen was born. I was thirty-six weeks pregnant…and still didn’t believe I was having a child. Owen wasn’t an accident…I’d been married for nearly five years…but I wouldn’t say he was planned. Just ask Jon. (Yes…I did get married very young. My hubby tied the knot so I wouldn’t run off with the doctor in training. That’s another story.)
Driven, even at the young age of 28, I was convinced that Owen would arrive on my schedule. Working nearly sixty hours a week and attending my evening MBA program two nights a week and Saturday, I was a busy young lady. With the exception of vomiting constantly for the first four months, I had a fairly easy time forgetting that I was pregnant.
The Friday was a snowy cold day. I had a television commercial shoot that I needed to attend for my company. The shoot was located at Hyland Hills Ski Area in Bloomington. We were filming at the top of the hill. The best place to capture the beautiful falling snow. At the bottom of hill, I looked up and saw the small crew. Afraid of heights, for a moment I wondered how the hell I was going to get up there. A small chair lift was an option. There was also a man on a ski-doo traveling up and down the small hill with lighting equipment.
“Hey Sir,” I yelled to the man on the snowmobile. “Would you give me a lift to the top of the hill? I need to be at that shoot.” He took one look at my oversized stomach and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Off he went without me. Next I walked over to the ski lift. The lady at chairs said, “Pregnant people are not allowed to ride the lift.” Damn. Now what was I supposed to do? I stood there and looked up the hill. Determined not to disappoint my company…and myself I stubbornly walked up the slick snowy hill. Me and the seven pounder in my tummy.
My back hurt like hell the next day when I woke up. Realizing now it was a bad idea to walk up and down the ski slope, I dragged myself out of bed for my morning Business Law Class at St. Thomas in downtown Minneapolis. It was the coldest day of the year. 25 degrees below zero. Jon was kind enough to take me to class that morning as I wasn’t feeling well. I made it through class and parked my huge body on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon.
Jon, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in hangin’ around the house with his grumpy pregnant wife. (Who could blame him?) He had other plans for the day. St. Paul Winter Carnival plans – surely to include lots of adult beverages to keep warm. Sending him out of the house to have his fun…I armed him with a cell phone and a pager and begged him to be on the look-out for a message from me. He graciously checked in with me several times that afternoon and early evening as I still didn’t feel well.
At around 10:00 that evening, I was starting to have horrible back pains. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. I called. I paged. I called again. No sign of Jon. Apparently both devices were left in his jacket at the sports bar. He frantically called me at 12:30 when he saw the 30 some odd pages and phone calls. Racing home now, he arrived about 1:00 am.
When he finally arrived, we went to bed and I felt even worse. At 2:00 am, Jon got up to call the doctor and they instructed me to come in as soon as possible. I wasn’t prepared. No packed bag waiting for me, as all of the books I meticulously read instructed.
It was 2:15 am. We sat in our small car at the intersection of White Bear Avenue and County Road E. Not a soul on the road, it seemed forever until the light would change. I looked up into the midnight blue cold sky and saw the brightest full moon ever. It was the coldest night of the year. Now 30 degrees below zero. I could still see my breath in the car as we didn’t have time to warm it up. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” was playing on the radio. The pain in my lower back was excruciating. I was terrified that I wouldn’t make it to St. John’s hospital just a few miles down the road.
We made it to the hospital at 2:25. Owen arrived at 2:45, four weeks early and completely unexpected. The doctor said I was lucky that he didn’t arrive right there in the car at on White Bear Avenue. That early cold morning, life changed forever. Owen taught me that life can’t and shouldn’t be a series of planned events. And he wasn’t an accident. He was my angel sent from heaven!!
The best part of my son's birthdays is the time I have alone with them. I sit them down, hug them tight and tell them about the day they were born. They never get sick of the story. Neither do I.
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