Thanksgiving is a time for escape. A kind holiday with little ceremony and expectation. A time to relax, spend time with family and friends, eat way too much fattening food and enjoy football. So as I sit in my cozy home, I reflect on a few things in 2010 for which to be thankful.
Several weeks ago, my new smart phone encountered a small hiccup and all work emails were lost. For a brief moment, I panicked. What the hell was I going to do without 24/7 connection to perceived chaos? Then I remembered, I manage my life…life doesn’t manage me. I remembered one core learning from a year of unemployment: There is no need for work emails while away from work.
The reinvention of Date Night with my husband Jon has turned me into a teenager again. Holding hands on a long walk, dining at great restaurant without having to pay and colorful conversation with my true love makes me giggle. So do the Appletinis, because date night always comes with a designated driver.
A black-nosed, pooping in the house, underwear eating pug puppy has brought calm to a stressed hubby, compassion to a teenager and responsibility to a young boy.
Healing: physical, spiritual and emotional.
2010 began with a new job after twelve month journey of unemployment. Entering the workforce again, I had no expectations, no desire to climb the corporate ladder and a mission to maintain balance in life. What I hadn’t realized when I walked through the door was a refreshing group of real people and work that I love. Yes it sounds corny…but I have a job that pays me, yet I’d do it for free. And a two mile commute.
Just two days ago we met with Amanda, our son’s fifth grade teacher. He is fortunate to have her for the second consecutive year. What’s amazing about Amanda is not only that she is a fantastic educator, but she also has a rare talent of uncovering the unique gifts within her students. I couldn’t help but sniffle when she proudly showed me a short story that Eli had written. “He has a voice. This is something you can’t teach.”
A husband that takes care of me.
The look on my fourteen year old son's face when he made the freshman basketball team and then the look of disappointment when his best friend had not. It was clear, I’d raised a good person not a ball player.
Discarding the Glucogon kit. Expired and unused.
So as I stuff myself with turkey and pie today, it’s easy to think of the big things in life to be thankful. But it’s remembering the small things that really matter.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Vision of yesterday
Could it be a dream? A chance to relive your past. A time where all things are not real. A heart break relived from so long ago. Yet, haunts you today. Why must the past feel so real? So present. Is it because of all of things you wished for that didn’t come true? But, the present seems so unreal. Not quite here and now. Is it possible to step back and relive what was never meant to be?
No.
No.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
White snow cold heart.
The glow of new white snow glistened when I looked out of my bedroom window this morning. A bit shocking in fact as my world’s landscape changed overnight. Not yet ready for winter, the beauty was breathtaking so the grief of the long warm fall wasn't so awful. Each year, the cold weather tears me apart like a bad break-up. Winter is not my friend. It takes time to adjust.
The freshness of the air burned my lungs as I breathed in the cold air while taking Bosco outside to experience the chilly, wet snow for the first time. He leaped into the air catching soft white flakes on his pink tongue as if they were doggie treats falling from the sky. The site of a puppy experiencing a winter wonderland for the first time made me giggle. It didn’t take him long to realize that the white stuff was cold and place he didn’t want to endure for long. Within minutes he was scratching at the door to come inside. Reluctantly, I let him in knowing that he will leave his morning gifts somewhere inside the house.
There is something about the first snow that changes people. For some, it’s a chance to get into the Christmas spirit. For others, it’s a chance to take on the Minnesota roads for the first time. For me, the new snow wiped away the painful week I’d experienced. A snowy Saturday morning allowed me to curl up with coffee and a blanket. My mind was still paralyzed by the draining week that included a very sick child, a demanding work week and evening commitments. The snow provided a fog that numbed my reality at the perfect time.
It looks like the snow is here to stay and winter is upon us. It could be so easy for me to slip into an unhealthy mental state. Yet, my imagination will allow me to mentally escape the cold that burdens my soul each year. Let the writing begin.
The freshness of the air burned my lungs as I breathed in the cold air while taking Bosco outside to experience the chilly, wet snow for the first time. He leaped into the air catching soft white flakes on his pink tongue as if they were doggie treats falling from the sky. The site of a puppy experiencing a winter wonderland for the first time made me giggle. It didn’t take him long to realize that the white stuff was cold and place he didn’t want to endure for long. Within minutes he was scratching at the door to come inside. Reluctantly, I let him in knowing that he will leave his morning gifts somewhere inside the house.
There is something about the first snow that changes people. For some, it’s a chance to get into the Christmas spirit. For others, it’s a chance to take on the Minnesota roads for the first time. For me, the new snow wiped away the painful week I’d experienced. A snowy Saturday morning allowed me to curl up with coffee and a blanket. My mind was still paralyzed by the draining week that included a very sick child, a demanding work week and evening commitments. The snow provided a fog that numbed my reality at the perfect time.
It looks like the snow is here to stay and winter is upon us. It could be so easy for me to slip into an unhealthy mental state. Yet, my imagination will allow me to mentally escape the cold that burdens my soul each year. Let the writing begin.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Small Miracles: My Running Shoes
Eleven years ago, I could never imagine life as it is today. But I do know that the evening that my youngest son Eli finally came into the world he was my miracle baby. And I’ve reminded him of this every day of his life. In fact when I ask Eli, “who are you?” He’ll answer each time, “Your miracle baby, Mama.” I told you about the miracle of my son Eli many times before so today, my son’s birthday, I’ll celebrate some of small miracles that have molded me as a person. It’s so easy for us as human beings to celebrate the big things in life…but it’s the daily events that make us who we are as people. For the next few blog entries I’ll share with you a few of my favorites.
Small Miracles: My Running Shoes
While unemployed, our family made huge life changes as we barely had enough money to pay the mortgage, health insurance, Eli’s diabetes supplies and very basic living expenses. It was a rude awakening to all of us. I’d never balanced my check book in my adult life because money was never in short supply. Jon had always been a good provider and conscious of spending, yet I’d learned to live “high off the hog” with my own earnings. I also had no problem providing our boys with the best of everything. I’d unconsciously passed along my desire for the finer things and brand snobbery to them. Looking back, surely it was my way to ease the guilt I felt from a workaholic lifestyle and far too much work travel.
So just like that…it was gone. The money. The travel. Trips to the mall. Louis Vuitton, Burberry and Nordstrom. Poof…it vanished in a second. As I sat in my lonely home while unemployed the material items that once ruled my world haunted me. Left me feeling empty and sad. I’d worked so hard to gather these things. Yet now, they meant nothing.
What I didn’t realize was how happy I became by the little things in life. Learning how to cook…well attempting to learn how to cook and spending time alone to discover the person deep inside that I used to be and running to deal with my stress. The happy, loving, shy person who laughed at life was back. Like an onion, the layers of attitude and arrogance peeled away. The person God intended me to be was there. And I know now that God intended me to find her again.
But the miracle came when my oldest son Owen was rubbing his swollen feat one afternoon. I could tell that he was in pain. “Honey, what’s the matter?” I asked. “My feet hurt, Mom,” he said quietly. I’d just bought him a pair a few months ago and he’d already grown out of them. He knew that the purchase of those shoes was difficult on our budget. He wasn’t going to tell me he needed another pair. I’d been running for months with a pair of shoes with holes in the bottom of the sole. “Mom, I don’t need new shoes…you do,” he said sadly. My heart sunk. “Yes you do, honey. We’ll be okay,” I told him.
That afternoon we went to the discount store to purchase him some inexpensive shoes. I could tell he still felt badly about the purchase. That evening he sat next to on the couch and gave me a huge hug. “Mom, I love you,” he said. Then he pulled out a bank of quarters. “Mom, I’ve been saving change for a few years. I think there is enough here to buy you a new pair of running shoes,” he said. My eyes welled with tears. “Let’s buy your shoes tomorrow,” he hugged harder. “Thank you, honey. We will,” I wept quietly. Just one small example of the act of kindness can feel like a miracle for a lifetime.
Small Miracles: My Running Shoes
While unemployed, our family made huge life changes as we barely had enough money to pay the mortgage, health insurance, Eli’s diabetes supplies and very basic living expenses. It was a rude awakening to all of us. I’d never balanced my check book in my adult life because money was never in short supply. Jon had always been a good provider and conscious of spending, yet I’d learned to live “high off the hog” with my own earnings. I also had no problem providing our boys with the best of everything. I’d unconsciously passed along my desire for the finer things and brand snobbery to them. Looking back, surely it was my way to ease the guilt I felt from a workaholic lifestyle and far too much work travel.
So just like that…it was gone. The money. The travel. Trips to the mall. Louis Vuitton, Burberry and Nordstrom. Poof…it vanished in a second. As I sat in my lonely home while unemployed the material items that once ruled my world haunted me. Left me feeling empty and sad. I’d worked so hard to gather these things. Yet now, they meant nothing.
What I didn’t realize was how happy I became by the little things in life. Learning how to cook…well attempting to learn how to cook and spending time alone to discover the person deep inside that I used to be and running to deal with my stress. The happy, loving, shy person who laughed at life was back. Like an onion, the layers of attitude and arrogance peeled away. The person God intended me to be was there. And I know now that God intended me to find her again.
But the miracle came when my oldest son Owen was rubbing his swollen feat one afternoon. I could tell that he was in pain. “Honey, what’s the matter?” I asked. “My feet hurt, Mom,” he said quietly. I’d just bought him a pair a few months ago and he’d already grown out of them. He knew that the purchase of those shoes was difficult on our budget. He wasn’t going to tell me he needed another pair. I’d been running for months with a pair of shoes with holes in the bottom of the sole. “Mom, I don’t need new shoes…you do,” he said sadly. My heart sunk. “Yes you do, honey. We’ll be okay,” I told him.
That afternoon we went to the discount store to purchase him some inexpensive shoes. I could tell he still felt badly about the purchase. That evening he sat next to on the couch and gave me a huge hug. “Mom, I love you,” he said. Then he pulled out a bank of quarters. “Mom, I’ve been saving change for a few years. I think there is enough here to buy you a new pair of running shoes,” he said. My eyes welled with tears. “Let’s buy your shoes tomorrow,” he hugged harder. “Thank you, honey. We will,” I wept quietly. Just one small example of the act of kindness can feel like a miracle for a lifetime.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Welcome Bosco. Newest member of the Grayson Family.
For several years my husband Jon has begged me to have another child. He is the best Dad in the entire world and loves his boys more than anything. I and numerous doctors, on the other hand didn’t think it was such a good idea for me to carry another child. It took several attempts and a long, long time for me to have my youngest son Eli, so I just couldn’t handle the likely disappointment of trying to have another child. Instead Jon felt we should adopt a child from another country. A wonderful child that could have a happy life in America with a family who would love him or her with all of their heart. And we would have. Yet, something in my heart told me to wait.
I know now that ‘the something’ was an illness that would consume our lives. And it did. When Eli was eight, he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. It was a disease that would turn our family upside down and consume most of our free time for years to come. And, for Eli’s entire life. I took a year off of work, thanks to the poor economy and a great severance package from my employer. This time provided me with the opportunity to learn the ‘ins and outs’ of parenting a child with T1. I was able to take the months off of work to train to become a nutritionist, biochemist and psychiatrist…at least for my son. My own psyche was more than bit messed up…but that’s another story for another day.
After a beautiful year off of work, I was able to learn how to care for my diabetic son and obtain a life changing insulin pump. The pump is a beautiful invention. Thank you Medtronic for all you do for my son!!! The pump gave me the confidence I needed to go back to work full time. Even though the midnight and three am blood sugar checks did not go away, I felt that my son was safe and the pump gave him and me the independence that we needed to go on with life.
Two and one half years later, I read about a remarkable organization that trained dogs to become DAD’s, Diabetic Alert Dogs. Strangely, Jon and Eli met a DAD pug when they were visiting family in San Francisco this summer. When they mentioned the Pug, I immediately researched the possibility of obtaining a DAD for Eli. We adore Pugs. So yesterday, for Eli’s birthday, we purchashed a lovely black pug for him. His name is Bosco Amica “Brave Friend”. He is a spunky little eight week old Pug with lots of energy and personality. We will love him as one of the family. Most importantly, we will train him methodically for the next two years to learn how to alert us when Eli has hypoglycemia, life threatening low blood sugar. Through scent training Bosco will become familiar with Eli’s ‘highs and lows’ and alert him to test his blood sugar. If Eli is unresponsive he will bark. It will take some time to train Bosco, but he will be an integral part of our family for years to come.
Although we never had that third child that Jon wanted so badly, we will have an incredibly happy life with a new baby, our DAD pug. Welcome dear Bosco to our family. We will love you dearly and you will love us even more!!!
I know now that ‘the something’ was an illness that would consume our lives. And it did. When Eli was eight, he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. It was a disease that would turn our family upside down and consume most of our free time for years to come. And, for Eli’s entire life. I took a year off of work, thanks to the poor economy and a great severance package from my employer. This time provided me with the opportunity to learn the ‘ins and outs’ of parenting a child with T1. I was able to take the months off of work to train to become a nutritionist, biochemist and psychiatrist…at least for my son. My own psyche was more than bit messed up…but that’s another story for another day.
After a beautiful year off of work, I was able to learn how to care for my diabetic son and obtain a life changing insulin pump. The pump is a beautiful invention. Thank you Medtronic for all you do for my son!!! The pump gave me the confidence I needed to go back to work full time. Even though the midnight and three am blood sugar checks did not go away, I felt that my son was safe and the pump gave him and me the independence that we needed to go on with life.
Two and one half years later, I read about a remarkable organization that trained dogs to become DAD’s, Diabetic Alert Dogs. Strangely, Jon and Eli met a DAD pug when they were visiting family in San Francisco this summer. When they mentioned the Pug, I immediately researched the possibility of obtaining a DAD for Eli. We adore Pugs. So yesterday, for Eli’s birthday, we purchashed a lovely black pug for him. His name is Bosco Amica “Brave Friend”. He is a spunky little eight week old Pug with lots of energy and personality. We will love him as one of the family. Most importantly, we will train him methodically for the next two years to learn how to alert us when Eli has hypoglycemia, life threatening low blood sugar. Through scent training Bosco will become familiar with Eli’s ‘highs and lows’ and alert him to test his blood sugar. If Eli is unresponsive he will bark. It will take some time to train Bosco, but he will be an integral part of our family for years to come.
Although we never had that third child that Jon wanted so badly, we will have an incredibly happy life with a new baby, our DAD pug. Welcome dear Bosco to our family. We will love you dearly and you will love us even more!!!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Carnival Man
I entered my first Flash Fiction writing contest today. Wish me luck. Below is my story.
The hot sun beat on the back of my neck as I held his hand. Sweaty from head to toe, the July heat approached 95 degrees. My long wet pony tail tickled the back of my neck as we swung arms back and forth. It was a rare opportunity to spend a Sunday afternoon with my six year old son. He begged me to take him to the small carnival located in the city park.
“Honey, carnivals are full of germs,” I explained earlier that morning. The last place I wanted to take my sick son. As we neared the carnival I tightened my grip on his hand. My heart panged still aching from the loss of my husband six months ago.
“Mama, look!” yelled my son. “It’s a bungee jumper just for kids. Please can I go on it?” he asked. My heart pounded as I looked at the make-shift attraction. It wasn’t the cords or the rusty metal contraption that pulled the children up and squeaked on the way down that scared me. It was my son’s weak heart that sent chills down my spine.
“Looks dangerous,” I said, clearly not wanting him to embark on a ride that would surely make his blood pressure rise. I slowly walked my son to the ticket booth to investigate.
“How old do you have to be to use the bungee?” I asked the scraggly haired teenage girl at the window.
“Old enough to walk,” she said sarcastically unaware of my fear as a mother. I sighed and looked at my son. His sad eyes plead.
“I’m not sure about this,” I told him now pulling my arm in desperation. Tears began to well in his big brown eyes. It was difficult to think that this may be his last carnival. ’Let go,’ I thought. ‘Let go and let him live.’ I smiled at him and paid the young lady.
Moments seemed to take hours before my young man decided it was his turn. My stomach churned and I felt vomit slowly moving its way up my throat. ‘No,’ I thought to myself. Still holding onto his hand, we approached the front of the line. Tears now formed in my eyes as I wouldn’t let go of his small hand.
A middle age man, whose difficult life was written over his face, looked at the two of us and held out his hand to my small son. He was tall with sun bleached greasy hair and very thin. He was unshaven and unattractive with crooked yellow teeth.
I didn’t let go of his hand. How could I possibly take this risk and leave my son in the hands of a carnie? The tall man looked directly at me. His brown eyes pierced through me as he stared into my soul. He knew my pain. My heart beat and I could feel every breath now.
“Let him live,” said the carnival man with a small wise smile. “Let him live.” There was something familiar in those brown eyes; in that smile.
I immediately let go of my sick child’s hand and guided him to the strange man. Holding his hand now, the man led my son to the nearest bungee and strapped him tightly. “Go, little man,” he whispered to him. “Fly like an angel.”
As I watched my young bird, jump, twist and turn, a deep calm set in me. A calm I’d not felt in years. The carnival man gazed at me the entire time my beautiful son soared through the air. Tears now streaming down my face, I stared back. The strange carnival man had freed me. For five minutes I had no fear. I watched my son sail through the air like an angel. He was on God’s wings for those few moments.
He was unstrapped, lifted to the ground and ran towards me. We hugged tightly as my young man said quietly, “I was in the arms of Daddy.”
The hot sun beat on the back of my neck as I held his hand. Sweaty from head to toe, the July heat approached 95 degrees. My long wet pony tail tickled the back of my neck as we swung arms back and forth. It was a rare opportunity to spend a Sunday afternoon with my six year old son. He begged me to take him to the small carnival located in the city park.
“Honey, carnivals are full of germs,” I explained earlier that morning. The last place I wanted to take my sick son. As we neared the carnival I tightened my grip on his hand. My heart panged still aching from the loss of my husband six months ago.
“Mama, look!” yelled my son. “It’s a bungee jumper just for kids. Please can I go on it?” he asked. My heart pounded as I looked at the make-shift attraction. It wasn’t the cords or the rusty metal contraption that pulled the children up and squeaked on the way down that scared me. It was my son’s weak heart that sent chills down my spine.
“Looks dangerous,” I said, clearly not wanting him to embark on a ride that would surely make his blood pressure rise. I slowly walked my son to the ticket booth to investigate.
“How old do you have to be to use the bungee?” I asked the scraggly haired teenage girl at the window.
“Old enough to walk,” she said sarcastically unaware of my fear as a mother. I sighed and looked at my son. His sad eyes plead.
“I’m not sure about this,” I told him now pulling my arm in desperation. Tears began to well in his big brown eyes. It was difficult to think that this may be his last carnival. ’Let go,’ I thought. ‘Let go and let him live.’ I smiled at him and paid the young lady.
Moments seemed to take hours before my young man decided it was his turn. My stomach churned and I felt vomit slowly moving its way up my throat. ‘No,’ I thought to myself. Still holding onto his hand, we approached the front of the line. Tears now formed in my eyes as I wouldn’t let go of his small hand.
A middle age man, whose difficult life was written over his face, looked at the two of us and held out his hand to my small son. He was tall with sun bleached greasy hair and very thin. He was unshaven and unattractive with crooked yellow teeth.
I didn’t let go of his hand. How could I possibly take this risk and leave my son in the hands of a carnie? The tall man looked directly at me. His brown eyes pierced through me as he stared into my soul. He knew my pain. My heart beat and I could feel every breath now.
“Let him live,” said the carnival man with a small wise smile. “Let him live.” There was something familiar in those brown eyes; in that smile.
I immediately let go of my sick child’s hand and guided him to the strange man. Holding his hand now, the man led my son to the nearest bungee and strapped him tightly. “Go, little man,” he whispered to him. “Fly like an angel.”
As I watched my young bird, jump, twist and turn, a deep calm set in me. A calm I’d not felt in years. The carnival man gazed at me the entire time my beautiful son soared through the air. Tears now streaming down my face, I stared back. The strange carnival man had freed me. For five minutes I had no fear. I watched my son sail through the air like an angel. He was on God’s wings for those few moments.
He was unstrapped, lifted to the ground and ran towards me. We hugged tightly as my young man said quietly, “I was in the arms of Daddy.”
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Princess for a Day
When I was a young married lady at the young age of 23, I had my life’s plan all worked out. I was to be a grand career woman and would have one beautiful daughter by the age of 30. Well, I was able to accomplish more than a great career and I had my first child by 28, but he wasn’t a girl. He was a boy, Owen, and I loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was and still is…the most beautiful child in the world. After I had my first beautiful child, I knew that he needed a sibling. It just wouldn’t be fair to this extraordinary young man to not have someone to experience life with. At age 31, my second son Eli came along. Since then, I’ve had two beautiful boys and I wouldn’t change it for anything!!!
Since my two boys came along, I never had a desire to have a little girl. My two boys and husband were all that I needed. I wouldn’t change it for the world. My hubby, on the other hand, would have a dozen more children and would give ANYTHING for a little girl. But to his dismay, God has made the decision that I should only have two children. Although we’ve considered adopting a little girl for many years, we’ve just decided that our three men and one not so young lady were all that we need.
Life with two boys and a lovely man is all that I know. I married my wonderful husband right out of college and lived at home until my wedding day. All that said, nearly my entire adult life has been surrounded by men. And with my laid back nature…the men rule the roost. I don’t mind…. Yet sometimes, just sometimes…I wonder what life would be like in a household with another female.
There are days when I crave non masculine attention; wishing that my court of men would notice that I am different, a real lady. It’s hard to put my finger on what this all means…because I really don’t know any other way. One thing that I can say is that there is nothing pink, flowery or remotely feminine in my house. Sporting goods, pool table, video games and smelly shoes are scattered about my household. It doesn’t bother me. Again…I just don’t know any better.
When the invitation addressed to: Princess Kristy Grayson came in the mail I nearly held my breath. It was a beautiful invitation to a Princess Party for my lovely friend Jen’s four year old daughter Lillith. I was so touched that my friend completely understood that I had never attended a young ladies birthday party. I’ve never experienced wearing a crown and frilly clothes to an all girl party. I’d looked forward to the event for weeks.
The best part of preparing for the princess party was the shopping trip focused on a four year old girl. Believe it or not…I’ve never shopped for a young girl. It was heaven. I could barely refrain myself from purchasing a cart full of pink and purple goods. But I settled on a pink frilly princess dress, pink pumps that light up when one walks and a pink puppy veterinarian kit. Because every princess deserve a great career, right?
The party was amazing. All of us were wore lovely dresses, crowns, boas and lots of bling. We danced to eighties music and ate PB&J sandwiches. For three hours, I was in another world. A world that I’d never experienced. Since I wasn’t ready for the party to end, I proudly pranced around my home the rest of the day in my princess bling as if I were the Queen. And my boys just giggled. Someday…they’ll get it. One can only hope.
Since my two boys came along, I never had a desire to have a little girl. My two boys and husband were all that I needed. I wouldn’t change it for the world. My hubby, on the other hand, would have a dozen more children and would give ANYTHING for a little girl. But to his dismay, God has made the decision that I should only have two children. Although we’ve considered adopting a little girl for many years, we’ve just decided that our three men and one not so young lady were all that we need.
Life with two boys and a lovely man is all that I know. I married my wonderful husband right out of college and lived at home until my wedding day. All that said, nearly my entire adult life has been surrounded by men. And with my laid back nature…the men rule the roost. I don’t mind…. Yet sometimes, just sometimes…I wonder what life would be like in a household with another female.
There are days when I crave non masculine attention; wishing that my court of men would notice that I am different, a real lady. It’s hard to put my finger on what this all means…because I really don’t know any other way. One thing that I can say is that there is nothing pink, flowery or remotely feminine in my house. Sporting goods, pool table, video games and smelly shoes are scattered about my household. It doesn’t bother me. Again…I just don’t know any better.
When the invitation addressed to: Princess Kristy Grayson came in the mail I nearly held my breath. It was a beautiful invitation to a Princess Party for my lovely friend Jen’s four year old daughter Lillith. I was so touched that my friend completely understood that I had never attended a young ladies birthday party. I’ve never experienced wearing a crown and frilly clothes to an all girl party. I’d looked forward to the event for weeks.
The best part of preparing for the princess party was the shopping trip focused on a four year old girl. Believe it or not…I’ve never shopped for a young girl. It was heaven. I could barely refrain myself from purchasing a cart full of pink and purple goods. But I settled on a pink frilly princess dress, pink pumps that light up when one walks and a pink puppy veterinarian kit. Because every princess deserve a great career, right?
The party was amazing. All of us were wore lovely dresses, crowns, boas and lots of bling. We danced to eighties music and ate PB&J sandwiches. For three hours, I was in another world. A world that I’d never experienced. Since I wasn’t ready for the party to end, I proudly pranced around my home the rest of the day in my princess bling as if I were the Queen. And my boys just giggled. Someday…they’ll get it. One can only hope.
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