tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68238233146934965942024-03-14T03:35:36.168-04:00The Wild and Wonderful World of Gingerssnaps A blog about the wild and wonderful adventures of one crazy lil' gal from West Virginia!gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-9317369847058008142017-05-10T09:16:00.001-04:002017-05-10T12:48:47.525-04:00World Lupus Day<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZHGvl2G2avs/WRMmVmPi07I/AAAAAAAACpI/yg9K5livcG0Efev45Lfr4CWvhcwJpQnFQCHM/s640/blogger-image-2106807089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZHGvl2G2avs/WRMmVmPi07I/AAAAAAAACpI/yg9K5livcG0Efev45Lfr4CWvhcwJpQnFQCHM/s640/blogger-image-2106807089.jpg"></a></div> </div><div><br></div><div>I have not been vocal about my most recent struggles. That is because I do not want sympathy. Apparently I have had Lupus for quite some time, but only in a perfect storm of conditions, has it reared its ugly head and all the symptoms occuring at once in a giant flare, have made it possible for a diagnosis. I have been diagnosed with Acute Cutaneous Lupus Erythematosus with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus. Go big or go home, right?</div><div><br></div><div>Translation=I am super photosensitive to sunlight, tanning beds and fluroescent lights with UV rays. So I now have to wear long sleeves in the sun, big floppy hats and lots of sunscreen. No more retail management under fluroescent lights all day. No more spending all summer at the beach uncovered. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2w7olZ68U6A/WRMnjxeEHvI/AAAAAAAACpU/PuSMFFWixNg4pDiLVka4EwSEnQfszl4xgCHM/s640/blogger-image--849906267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2w7olZ68U6A/WRMnjxeEHvI/AAAAAAAACpU/PuSMFFWixNg4pDiLVka4EwSEnQfszl4xgCHM/s640/blogger-image--849906267.jpg"></a></div> </div><div>My body's immune system attacks its own tissues and as the disease progresses it can attack the organs. This affects all of my joints, as the tissue around them become severly inflammed. It is difficult to walk at times, and some days I have to ice my hands and wrists for a few hours before bed for them to work the next day. Too much sun or expose to UV light? I had hives continually for almost 9 months. Fatigue is a big part of my disease. I now have a reason to take naps! Disease control!! I now have to be careful to not overschedule myself, as it can take several days to recover. Constant headaches are also part of SLE. There are many other symptoms, and many other severe complications. I have had to learn to take better care of myself, to listen to my body , and to slow down. I am still coming to terms with the fact that I have a disease that will never go away. I am finding my new normal. It is a daunting process.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IUPNGR5f230/WRMmpCtp8iI/AAAAAAAACpM/m_LM9yqio60Bj8d8xjwQRylq2lt3Kk3mgCHM/s640/blogger-image-1260745941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IUPNGR5f230/WRMmpCtp8iI/AAAAAAAACpM/m_LM9yqio60Bj8d8xjwQRylq2lt3Kk3mgCHM/s640/blogger-image-1260745941.jpg"></a></div> </div><div><br></div><div>I have been silent long enough. I don't look like there is anything wrong with me. That is because there is not anything 'wrong' with me. I have a disease, I am not my disease! I refuse to let it define me. </div><div><br></div><div>I am posting this because today is World Lupus Day. May is Lupus Awareness Month! If you are living with any form of lupus, please feel free to leave a comment with your story or struggles! You are not alone! I . I understand not wanting to talk about this awful disease. But I cannot wait to hear from others that are dealing with this life altering auto-immune disease, like me, that do want to talk about it and spread awareness! </div><div><br></div><div>I know I am not alone! Can't wait to hear from you! 💜💜💜</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QRbTUKYWZXE/WRNEbmZsZ5I/AAAAAAAACpo/O5iDxFxUnOA1G0BhLgz1nJZSIX0L2KoWgCHM/s640/blogger-image-1397361740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QRbTUKYWZXE/WRNEbmZsZ5I/AAAAAAAACpo/O5iDxFxUnOA1G0BhLgz1nJZSIX0L2KoWgCHM/s640/blogger-image-1397361740.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Today I am taking the first annual Gingerssnaps Ride for Lupus Awareness!</div><div>Because I can, while I can. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xDV9mWcYN4M/WRNEZcr3rfI/AAAAAAAACpk/27BNhuB2zIEH5uIXd9-dGJU5I4E2xAXOwCHM/s640/blogger-image--249870985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xDV9mWcYN4M/WRNEZcr3rfI/AAAAAAAACpk/27BNhuB2zIEH5uIXd9-dGJU5I4E2xAXOwCHM/s640/blogger-image--249870985.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>#purplewarrior #lupus #lupusawareness #lupusawarenessmonth #SLE #ACLE #worldlupusday #boatloadofsunscreen</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0S11JX0-XNY/WRMmII2DHSI/AAAAAAAACpE/kUufX4MTJj0mJW-9Pf48mkoPc6arfHaoACHM/s640/blogger-image--395477096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0S11JX0-XNY/WRMmII2DHSI/AAAAAAAACpE/kUufX4MTJj0mJW-9Pf48mkoPc6arfHaoACHM/s640/blogger-image--395477096.jpg"></a></div><br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-68478013027782168242016-10-14T09:10:00.001-04:002016-10-14T09:19:56.160-04:00My Missing Piece<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The door is open, the lid is off</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">My soul is laid bare to the rush of memories</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The last birthday, the last embrace</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The sweetest and final kisses you laid upon my face</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Our last hours spent, the passage of time</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Far too quickly it all went</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The last days played out as destined by fate</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The onslaught of a reckoning would not abate</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The reaper by my side, awaiting the inevitable</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Me recounting your precious memories for you</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">All the while turning the table</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Mother becomes the child, the child the mother</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Big shoes to fill, however uncomfortable</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The void is coming, the time is drawing near</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">A life without my mother is my biggest fear</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Everything in it's own good time they say</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">It was hell watching you slowly slip away</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Time slowed down, yet the day was over so fast</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">And before I knew it, before my eyes and holding my hand, you passed</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">You carried me inside of you, and were there when I was born</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">You walked beside me, raised me right</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Taught me to always love the lord </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">To do unto others and live your life as an example</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Most of all, in example and in teaching</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">You taught me that in love, to always practice what your preaching.</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">You were there when I came into this world</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">And so I knew it just wouldn't be right </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">If I wasn't there holding your hand when God extinguished your light</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Immediately I assumed my new mantle with grace</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Filling mother's shoes would take a lot of time and grace</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">I don't know if I ever can be as great as the woman who created me, if I can ever take her place</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">All I can do is try, to fill the role you spent my entire life training me for</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">How to live a full and happy life when you are there no more</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Allegory suits me this day</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">However this emptiness, this endless aching void </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Is something I cannot write away</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">However I try to spin it, its been a hard week, </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Seems as if my eyes are set to a constant leak</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Marked days are the worst, and today happens to be one</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Your last birthday on earth, five years ago, you turned sixty one</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Today you would have been sixty six, and flowers I will take to your grave and fix</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">No amount of tears shed nor prayers in vain, will ever bring you my way again</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">Putting the puzzle pieces together again, it all seems wrong</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">The one piece I need to glue it all together is gone</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">It all seems wrong and will forever</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69);"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';">This broken life I walk without you mother</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText';"></span>Love you forever, miss you always!</p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><br></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Iltn5qLphSM/WADbepcvXeI/AAAAAAAACnI/3VS9YaCU2Zs/s640/blogger-image-77867630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Iltn5qLphSM/WADbepcvXeI/AAAAAAAACnI/3VS9YaCU2Zs/s640/blogger-image-77867630.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><br></p><p style="text-align: start; margin: 0px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22px;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0DP_SVdqSY0/UTFqnLI7Z-I/AAAAAAAAAyg/r43Hog-bFsQ37hPQAAyk0T1hSzXSmW05w/s1600/png%2B2.png" imageanchor="1" style="text-align: center; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0DP_SVdqSY0/UTFqnLI7Z-I/AAAAAAAAAyg/r43Hog-bFsQ37hPQAAyk0T1hSzXSmW05w/s320/png%2B2.png" width="320"></font></a></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 22px;"><br></p>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-1745109151008929512016-03-21T23:57:00.001-04:002016-06-18T09:16:28.890-04:00Remembering... I remember when I was little, your house was my favorite place to be. I was your cherished granddaughter. As I grew, we were so close that Pawpaw called me your third daughter. Mom, you and I went everywhere together. We shared a rare three generational closeness that many don't have the luxury of experiencing. A bond my daughter will never know. <div><br></div><div>One of</div><div>my oldest memories is of you and Pawpaw returning from a motorcycle trip and bringing me a blow up chair and my favorite teddy bear in all the world, Jellybean. Who now belongs to my daughter.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember waking up to the smell of Gunnoe's sausage and biscuits on the mornings after nights spent at your house. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember you teaching me how to make your peculiar pineapple, lettuce, cheddar cheese and miracle whip salads to accompany your homemade spaghetti. I was so excited when you taught me how to make them, and you made me feel so trustworthy when the salads were entrusted to my hands. You told me they were perfect, even though they were</div><div>Not as pretty as yours.</div><div><br></div><div>You always made me feel beautiful, and so loved. You showed me an excellent example of a hard working, godly woman, who cherished her God and family</div><div>before all else.</div><div> </div><div>You showed me how to be a tireless worker bee as well as a leader. You were always there at all of my youth group functions, serving as an advisor and in the kitchen. You worked tirelessly for me and all of the girls. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember you in the audience at each and every band concert, dance recital, and rainbow meeting, always cheering me on.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember calling you while I was in college and asking you for your hot dog chili recipe, and learning that the mainingredient was love. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember writing an essay in the seventh grade about my hero. It was about you. You were so proud of that essay!</div><div><br></div><div>I remember being at the hospital with you and the family when Pawpaw died, and the hours spent caring for him in the years and days before his hospitalization and eventual death. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember in the days after his passing, writing out all the thank you cards for you to all the lovely people who provided cards, gifts and food after he passed. I remember the discussion about how you felt that it was not appropriate to wear your wedding rings anymore because you were not married and didn't feel that it was right.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember serving in the women's social service organization with you and mom, dad and grandpa, it was a family</div><div>affair. I cannot stomach the thought of going back with out you all there. Only Dad and I are left.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember the pictures in my baby book of you holding me for the first time, and of you holding my daughter for the first time. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember you and mom babysitting and helping to raise my daughter for the first few years of her life.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember the way you smell. I could never forget.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember the way that your arms felt around me. I remember the way you always kissed me on the lips, and how dainty your lips always seemed to me.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember the way you always tucked</div><div>Me in at night when I spent</div><div>The night at your house.</div><div><br></div><div>I remember that you were the only other person in the world who felt my mother's death as deeply as I did. One of our three had died. I miss being able to talk to you about her.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss the last person on earth that could tell me stories of my life. And of my mother's.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss the times that you would visit, after you moved in out of state with your youngest daughter. I miss our days spent shopping, having slumber parties, girl time, playing babies, picking up my daughter from school, and lunching with all of your girlfriends.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss being able</div><div>to call you on the phone. I miss phone calls on my birthday. I miss being able to cry to you about losing my mother. I miss the last direct link to my maternal lineage. I miss your laughter, and your silliness. I miss your green eyes. </div><div><br></div><div>I look down at my finger everyday and I miss the hand that your wedding and anniversary rings belong on. </div><div><br></div><div>I miss holding hands while walking through the mall with you until just a couple of years ago.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss your never ending smile, your eternal happiness, and the way your eyes would light up when I entered a room. </div><div><br></div><div>I miss seeing the joy on your face that my daughter brought you. The last baby that you helped raise.</div><div><br></div><div>I miss and love you Nana! </div><div><br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-23741183838188830282016-02-17T14:54:00.005-05:002016-02-17T15:51:03.560-05:00For the Love of....My Junkie Friend<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d0EcbIcrwKA/VsTU5yoA_qI/AAAAAAAACjU/VUE9dBBSC30/s640/blogger-image--789704785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d0EcbIcrwKA/VsTU5yoA_qI/AAAAAAAACjU/VUE9dBBSC30/s640/blogger-image--789704785.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>I suppose that I have been in shock for the better part of the last two weeks. I have been meaning to write this letter to you. I know that you are watching, waiting. I have been at a loss for words. Words usually never escape me, but they have fled and left me wanting. Wanting to put down on paper all the many things I want, no, need to say to you. Things you need to hear in the hopes you can see yourself through my eyes, as you are, and as you can be, that scared little girl who is still running away from all the things that have plagued her in life. I need you to see that brave, strong girl who has survived so much adversity in her life thus far. I need you to see that the hardest part is over, the barely surviving is over. You have to be strong a while longer, but I promise if you stay strong just a little bit longer, that it will be worth it. It will all be worth it in the end. Your dreams can come true. You and only you have the power to make that happen.<br>
<br>
I remember you when you were young. Twelve years old to be exact. You were young and impressionable. You were assigned as my little sis in our fraternal service youth organization. You were almost six years younger than me. You adored me, and looked up to me. You always wanted for me to be proud of you. And I was. I was your biggest cheerleader when you were filled with self doubt, that voice always in the back of your head rooting for you. Always cheering you on to do your best, and to work harder. To get the result you have to put in the work.<br>
<br>
I listened to little girl dreams, about boys, marriage and babies. I watched the heartbreak when the other girls would not pick you for their best friend, and silly boys passed you by in favor of thinner, more fashionable girls, as young boys often do. I watched as your health problems made you different from other girls, and how you related to grown ups better than children your own age. I watched you struggle with finding your niche' and the constant search for acceptance. I watched as your mother's heart broke at your heartbreak over not having an active father figure in your life. I watched you struggle with self imposed demons. Never being good enough, loved enough, thin enough, pretty enough, popular enough, and just being enough. Our self imposed standards are the toughest we will ever have to live up to. All I could do was love you and be there for you. I want you to know that I love you still. Even now.<br>
<br>
After I went off to college and began getting on with the whole growing up business, we still kept in touch. So it has been for the last twenty or so years. We would get together off and on, with and without our mothers, for lunch, dinner, or random youth group slumber parties. I would enjoy hearing about your life, and you of mine. You kept me sane on a number of occasions when I was going through a rough patch, and needed to vent. We have always been there for each other when we needed each other the most. You and your sweet momma were at my mothers wake, even though she had just gotten out of the hospital. Our families meant that much to each other. That is what we do. We are there for each other. <br>
<br>
I have heard all about your past and how Mr. Right never seemed to come along. Plenty of Mr.'s did though, Mr. Abusive, Mr. Controlling, Mr. Possessive, Mr. Drama-King, Mr. Drug King, Mr. Self-Absorbed, Mr. Right Now, and Mr. Enabler. You have been chasing the fairy tale for far too long my friend. You are exhausted. You are tired. You are putting your all into being there for someone else. Fairy tales don't always happen as we imagine them. Isn't it time to love yourself best? To be there for yourself first? Isn't it time to treat yourself right? Nobody else is going to do it unless you show them. Stop settling for less than you deserve. Stop selling my friend short. She deserves better. She is an amazing person with a heart the size of Texas, surely she can learn to love herself!<br>
<br>
I know that one of your biggest fears turned reality was when you could not have a child. That was one of your biggest dreams. I know the heartbreak of infertility firsthand. You threw yourself into partying and getting high to dull the pain. It also dulled the pain of having to deal with reality, and the deep seated issues that remain, just under the surface. You got sober and quit drugs cold turkey when your mother's declining health continued to worsen and you got away from the abusive relationship that you had been in for far too long. You pulled your big girl boots on and climbed right out of a big 'ol pile of adversity. All by yourself. Lookit baby! You did that!<br>
<br>
There was a brief interlude when you began dating a decent guy. He was certainly older than you, but he was good for you. Your relationship had its issues, as all do, and went your separate ways. You loved his kids like they were your own, even though they were closer to you in age. This left you raw, and conducive to the suggestive Mr.'s agin. Who were all to happy to lead you right back down your former path.<br>
<br>
So imagine when, out of left field, you got your heart's desire! How very happy I was for you! You were pregnant! You were going to be a single, unwed mother? Baby's daddy is still stuck in another relationship? So what, we're having a baby! Babies are one of life's greatest blessings. We talked of how he was your little miracle baby. Your boy, your son. How funny it was to say those words. You were becoming a mother! We talked of making the best of any situation! You showed me all of your plans and his nursery. We talked about your hopes and dreams for his future, and yours. Anything was possible! I was there right before he was born, in the hospital. I laid my hands and head on your belly and felt your miracle. I was there shortly after he was born once you came home. I was there for his first Christmas. We had lunch several times, and caught up! I was so happy that things were turning around for you. Life was finally looking up! <br>
<br>
The next time I saw you, the stress of being the sole caretaker of your mother, and your baby son had begun to take it's toll. I came to visit, and you slept while I held your sleeping wee munchkin. Baby's daddy had split, and was stringing you along. You were talking to someone new. You were exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. You were trying to be all things to all the people in your life. Too many people. You were suffering from post partum depression. You promised me that you would go to the doctor and get help. You had no support system. You were stretched too thin. and still searching for love and acceptance. You were starting to party again, and to turn back to your old habits. <br>
<br>
I saw you again in June at our statewide youth group meeting, to have your baby dedicated to a life of service. You had lost a lot of weight and you looked tired and stressed, but happy. We took silly selfies and had a good time. You had met a new guy, a genuinely nice guy, and really liked him. We parted with the promise to have lunch in the near future.<br>
<br>
<br>
Oh the tangled webs we weave, when we practice to deceive.<br>
<br>
The next time we spoke on the phone, it was in the fall, and your little man needed to have surgery. The nice guy had disappeared, and little man appeared to be the focus. Getting him the surgery he needed, and taking him to a specialty children's hospital in Ohio. This would be the last time I ever spoke to my friend.<br>
<br>
In the interim, your brother sent me a friend request on Facebook. We chatted for a minute and he told me that you were a mess. I knew that you two were not as close as you used to be, but I had no idea of the reality of the situation.<br>
<br>
Two weeks ago, you texted me with a request to have lunch. You had big news and wanted to tell me in person. I had no idea what an afternoon I was in for. I picked you up at a local hotel that you and the father of your son were holed up in until you moved out of state in a few days. You and baby's daddy were giving it another go 'round, and you had moved out of your mom's house. I knew immediately when you got into my car, that there was something very wrong with you. In twenty three plus years of knowing you, I know your mannerisms and speech patterns like the back of my hand. I had never been around anyone who used drugs on a regular basis. I had never been around a junkie before. My mind didn't want to make sense of it. I knew immediately.<br>
<br>
I was determined that you needed a real, warm meal and a true friend. You had lost one hundred plus pounds in record time, and I gather that you were not currently employed. So I took you to a restaurant, not a fast food joint, and fed you while you told me all about what was going on. Because that's what we do. We love no matter what.<br>
<br>
Apparently you started using drugs again in August. Your family had tried to help you, but you thought they were trying to tell you what to do and boss you around. You and the babies daddy were trying to make it work again. For the umpteen thousandth time. You told me that you were going to slowly quit the drugs, and that moving to Maryland would help you get away from all of your contacts and enablers. You sat there and told me that you were going to give up your baby. Your dream come true, your life, was being given to the daddy's sister to raise until you could get clean. Apparently she and her husband are successful, and are unable to have children. You told me that you trusted her. I told you that I thougt that was a smart decision because you were in no way, shape or form able to take care of or provide for a child.When you are high on drugs, there is no possible way that you can provide the love, care and attention that a one year old baby needs. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than what you are giving him right now. He deserves a chance in life, and all the love and support that requires. I told you that every time that you held a needle full of death in your hand, I wanted you to see my face telling you that you were choosing meth over your baby, your dream. Because that is the sad, unfortunate nightmare of it all, isn't it sweetheart? You are choosing Meth over the fairytale, over your miracle baby.<br>
<br>
As I sat listening to you pour out your story to me, my heart was breaking. You told me you knew that you had disappointed everyone in your life, that you knew you were disappointing me too and that you were sorry. Sensing that you were still fighting that old demon of trying to please everybody else, and make everybody else proud of you, of never being enough, I looked into your drug ravaged face and told you the truth. The god's honest awful truth. I cried. Many times, with you during our lunch. You didn't notice it, but the waiter looked at you with disgust. People in that restaurant were staring at you. It did not bother me because I was trying to save your life. I was trying to say something, anything, that would maybe be the one thing that would get through to you. How far you have fallen, how deep Meth has it's clutches into you, are apparent to everyone but you. I hope my attempts were not in vain.<br>
<br>
I told you that I was not disappointed. I was brokenhearted. I was brokenhearted that a year after you promised me that you would get help, you had not. And it has oh so obviously gotten worse. You hid this from me. From many. Your demons have snowballed into you not caring if you lived or died, giving your son away, seeing him occasionally and 'playing' at being a mother, still chasing a man, trying to please a man, judging your self worth by having a man, abusing your mind and your body, and screwing up my friend's life. Your demons have gotten ahold of you. A ghost nor the devil himself would have shocked me more than the shell of my former friend sitting across that booth from me. No greater rattle me to my core, shock than the Junkie that was sitting across the booth from me.<br>
<br>
The Junkie who sat across from me and tried to downplay how bad drugs were. How deep the addiction ran. The Junkie who sat right there in that booth in a family restaurant, and feature benefitted me on why she chose shooting up meth instead of heroin. I felt like I was being sold a new car over a used up, worn out one. The same girl who once looked me in the eye and was proud to call me friend, now scarcely could hold my gaze. She even went so far as to make up a story as to how she had never looked anybody in the eye. Well I call bullshit. You used to look me in the eye, searching for love and acceptance of a big sister, and you always received it. I told you I called bullshit. I reminded you of that beautiful girl who had a happy face, bright shining eyes, and an infectious laugh. She is no more. You have replaced her with a downtrodden, shot full of meth, can't meet my gaze, shifty, fidgety, nervous, scared, weak individual who continually every day, gives away all of her power. You have given away all of your power over your own life. You have given away your baby and have an incurable disease. What is it going to take for you to wake up? I am angry at what you have done to yourself. Stop it already! Haven't you been through enough?<br>
<br>
You sat in that booth and told me of how you were going to detox yourself slowly instead of seeking an intensive inpatient treatment facility, because it wasn't your style. You didn't like the way they tried to get you to read a bunch of stuff. Excuse me, do you even hear yourself, I wanted to shout! I watched you fidgit and not be able to hold you hands still, even when you concentrated after I mentioned that little fact. You head was constantly in motion, and as we sat there, you began picking at your face. An imaginary scab that did not exist. I urged you repeatedly to go to a facility. Meth has changed your genetic makeup. You need help to get off of the poison. I sat there and pointed out all the things that you were not aware of about your own appearance. I pointed out the harsh truth that your addiction is now a very apparent and noticable condition. I advised you, that having hired employees in my former career, that nobody would hire you in your current condition least of all to work in the medical field. You couldn't sit still for thirty seconds. Nobody will hire a junkie, especially when patients lives would be in your care. <br>
<br>
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you listened, but did not hear a thing I said about getting the help you need. I am heartbroken for you, my friend. At what you has done to yourself. I am heartbroken that I may be attending your funeral sometime in the near future, unless you decide to take back your life. Take back your power, your baby, and find your way out to get help. I am not writing this to be mean, I said everything contained herein, to you at lunch, as you well know...if you can even remember.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mTXIeNGboCo/VsTU4BK1Z8I/AAAAAAAACjQ/xM8n1ZC_k3A/s640/blogger-image-1891346982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mTXIeNGboCo/VsTU4BK1Z8I/AAAAAAAACjQ/xM8n1ZC_k3A/s640/blogger-image-1891346982.jpg"></a></div> <br>
<br>
I am writing this because I love you. I want to remind you that you are worth it. I want you to get the help you so desperately need. I want you to decide that you are going to be strong, and stand up for yourself like you never have before. You have several medical conditions, and need to reclaim your life before this toxic choice kills you. It is a decision you make every day, so today make a different decision and reach out for help! I want you to make that decision to seek help and call a family member, or call one of the numbers listed below for help! You have nowhere to go but up! You have nothing else to lose...except for your life. Call now!<br>
<br>
Meth Addiction + Depression= You need help my friend. You cannot do this alone! Please call!<br>
<br>
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<tr><td><span style="font-family: "arial";">WV Drug Abuse Information & Referral.................<a dir="ltr" href="tel:1-800-662-4357" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="telephone" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">1-800-662-4357</a></span></td><td><div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br></span></div>
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<tr><td><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> National Meth Hotline..................</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We're Ready. Are You? Call </span><a href="tel:+1-866-697-1481"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(866) 697-1481</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> Now</span></span></div>
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<br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-72845962893930331552016-01-14T22:49:00.001-05:002016-01-15T10:48:22.410-05:00Making a Difference In The Life of a ChildI love children. I love all children. If I make a difference in the life of one child, mine or another, my life was not lived in vain. I have loved this motto for as long as I can remember. I have loved children for as long as I can remember.<div><br></div><div> I have three children, the youngest being seven and a half. I read a story that brought me to tears a few days ago. There is a little boy who is almost eight, the same age as my daughter. His name is Dorian. He wants to be famous. He wants to be famous all the way to China. China is where they have "that bridge"...(the Great Wall of China.)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eK90VvbRorw/VphxIpd6nHI/AAAAAAAACh0/EEoqZOFd4g0/s640/blogger-image-2053570304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eK90VvbRorw/VphxIpd6nHI/AAAAAAAACh0/EEoqZOFd4g0/s640/blogger-image-2053570304.jpg"></a></div> </div><div><br></div><div>Most people don't ever make a difference in this world. Most people don't know how they can make a difference in this world. At eight years old, I definitely did not know how to become famous or make a difference in this world, spread my message, or to touch lives as our sweet Dorian has at the tender age of eight. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kiXc_qDxDVg/VpkUvtlvnvI/AAAAAAAACik/nJyZav8oX9w/s640/blogger-image-1788175108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kiXc_qDxDVg/VpkUvtlvnvI/AAAAAAAACik/nJyZav8oX9w/s640/blogger-image-1788175108.jpg"></a></div> </div></div></div><div>You see, Dorian has a finite amount of time to accomplish his dream. Dorian has cancer. He has r<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">habdomyosarcoma, a rare pediatric cancer. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> It has spread to his brain. He has been sick for half of his young life. There is nothing more the doctors can do for him. Dorian's dream has an expiration date which is labeled unknown and too soon. Dorian has seen and experienced things in his eight years that most of us will never experience. He knows the pain of battling cancer. He has had to deal with his impending mortality, and face the fact that he will never get to grow up. He has had to watch his parents and loved ones grieve because he will be gone too soon. I cannot fathom the depths of their grief while having to stay strong for their baby, their little boy. He knows things that no eight year old should know about, let alone have to experience. Dorian is a very strong and brave little boy. Dorian wants to be famous. He wants to be famous all the way to China.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div> <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ES7hjON4u0E/VphxKK6cuPI/AAAAAAAACh8/BGrGfGI1v78/s640/blogger-image--1435245744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ES7hjON4u0E/VphxKK6cuPI/AAAAAAAACh8/BGrGfGI1v78/s640/blogger-image--1435245744.jpg"></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></div><div>Dorian and his parents have found a way to make Dorian famous all the way to China. They have started an online movement called #DSTRONG all across the internet on social media sites. They have asked everyone to take a selfie with a sign saying #DSTRONG and the place that you are in the world. This movement has spread like wildfire across the world, getting all the way to China and many far reaching places. #DSTRONG is a message of hope, love, compassion, and determination in helping Dorian accomplish his dreams in the short time that he has left. Celebrities have posted pictures for him, he has reached many exotic places, and his reach has spread to all corners of the world! His message of hope and accomplishing his dream gives me chills. So take a minute out of your busy days today, on January 15, 2016 , to make a sign, take a selfie, and post it to all of your social media with the hashtag #DSTRONG. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MV9PH632gv4/VphxGqO6_JI/AAAAAAAAChs/oCGlDD8GVlE/s640/blogger-image-1174641459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MV9PH632gv4/VphxGqO6_JI/AAAAAAAAChs/oCGlDD8GVlE/s640/blogger-image-1174641459.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Because today Dorian is alive. Today Dorian is spreading his message of hope. Because today you can help make a difference in the life of a child. Because somehow if we all can help this small brave soldier make a difference, accomplish his dream, spread his message of hope, then we have all made a difference in the life of a child. And his parents. And love and hope wins.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y7TN2EvfAQU/VpkUxd5VnpI/AAAAAAAACis/30twDcvcXxo/s640/blogger-image--1630124747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y7TN2EvfAQU/VpkUxd5VnpI/AAAAAAAACis/30twDcvcXxo/s640/blogger-image--1630124747.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>So today let's do this! Let's blow up the internet #DSTRONG style! </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vmqUFjXv2FE/Vph1SPn4gpI/AAAAAAAACiU/9mPOj2oThyI/s640/blogger-image-1390880673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vmqUFjXv2FE/Vph1SPn4gpI/AAAAAAAACiU/9mPOj2oThyI/s640/blogger-image-1390880673.jpg"></a></div> </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-COrOkXtESxk/VphyaYs-_hI/AAAAAAAACiI/QiVsSWd_kpE/s640/blogger-image-1287580833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-COrOkXtESxk/VphyaYs-_hI/AAAAAAAACiI/QiVsSWd_kpE/s640/blogger-image-1287580833.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-62187938163533299852016-01-03T10:39:00.001-05:002016-01-03T10:45:59.683-05:00Home<div>I had one of those dreams last night with all of my dead in it. It was in my Nana's old house that we all basically grew up in. The house that was always my home away from home. The house that was always filled with love, where I spent so many waking hours. </div><div><br></div><div>The dream was set sometime after my Pawpaw had died, but my Mom and Nana were there. My Aunt and Uncle and their spouses were there too, as well as my Daddy. My Momma, and her sister and brother were heatedly discussing what to sell to get the most money for my Nana. There was no detail as to why she needed money, although I assume it was because my grandfather had died or she was very sick. My Nana wasn't paying attention to the very opinionated discussion, she was smiling and as happy as a lark having her three babies home under one roof. </div><div><br></div><div>My Nana was a wife and a mother first and foremost, and what she prided herself on being. Her family was the single most important thing in her life.</div><div><br></div><div> I remember some details that were out of place, that did not belong. My Nana was sick. Although not the kind of sick she died from. A different sick, that made her bloated and puffy. The landlord had ripped out all of the bricks in the fireplace after 45 years, and there was an attached condo on the other side of the fireplace. My grandparents owned their home. There was no condo on the other side of the fireplace, but the outside corner of the house, that had a small foliage pathway leading around from the driveway and back door. Even with the odd differences, it was my Nana's house.</div><div><br></div><div>It was a lovely dream. It felt like home. I was home. I miss my Mom. I miss my Nana. My dream took me back to a place that is forever lost to me in the here and now, except for in my memories. </div><div><br></div><div>My oldest daughter, Sisse the Eldest, always used to say she missed home, even though she didn't know where that was. She was always searching for someplace that felt like home to her. My husband and her mother divorced before she was one, and lived with Daddy from the age of four. </div><div><br></div><div>Only now do I understand what she was searching for, for all the years of her childhood. I tried to be a fun, safe place, full of love for her, but I could never be her 'home.'</div><div><br></div><div>It was such a nice, odd, lovely, remembrance of that which I have been so fortunate to have been blessed with in this life. And that I will miss in the here and now forever. I was blessed to go home again, if only for a dream. </div><div><br></div><div><a href="http://youtu.be/_Hz7Jf0OYUQ">http://youtu.be/_Hz7Jf0OYUQ</a> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--FV4xZesDbU/VolBmtzn2OI/AAAAAAAAChU/i7ExfSZfRX8/s640/blogger-image--824384126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--FV4xZesDbU/VolBmtzn2OI/AAAAAAAAChU/i7ExfSZfRX8/s640/blogger-image--824384126.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-49607596369028689512015-12-31T00:55:00.001-05:002015-12-31T08:02:01.303-05:00Looking Back...What is in a year? 2015 has been an incredible and incredibly tough year for my family. Words have escaped me for the majority of this year. We have been very blessed and weathered some very tough storms. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p7QDch2jfuk/VoTOEdlKSMI/AAAAAAAACg0/kTa9uSbsvTc/s640/blogger-image-1205374918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p7QDch2jfuk/VoTOEdlKSMI/AAAAAAAACg0/kTa9uSbsvTc/s640/blogger-image-1205374918.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div>At the beginning of 2015, as Homeroom mommy for my daughters 1st grade class, we had a teacher we adored, and a spectacular Valenine's Day/Spring Party at her elementary school. The second week in March, I was shopping with my best friend when I got the call from my Aunt that my Nana was dying. My Nana spoke with me on the phone and told me, "Ginger, I love you. Goodbye. Now don't you cry! Tell everyone up there I said goodbye!" <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vVmpOH62NBs/VoTOAzCQbTI/AAAAAAAACgk/cl0bjOIXvPA/s640/blogger-image-2142319870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vVmpOH62NBs/VoTOAzCQbTI/AAAAAAAACgk/cl0bjOIXvPA/s640/blogger-image-2142319870.jpg"></a></div><br><div><br></div><div>A week later she passed away. We drove to Charlotte, NC, where she lived with my aunt. She waited on my daughter and I to arrive. She passed Sunday morning 3-22-15, after here was one big last family gathering in her honor. The next generation learned how we treat and care for our dying. The torch was passed. She died peacefully the next morning after we had all given her permission to go. I wrote her Eulogy, gathered the pictures for her display boards for the funeral home, and went to do her makeup at the funeral home. My brother did not speak to my father or to my family at the wake or funeral. I went to thank him for coming and he walked to the other side of the chapel. He disowned us a year after my mother passed away. I was the good big sister and sent unanswered text messages to him, updating him on Nana's rapidly declining progress. Never once did I get a thank you. I have not done a single thing to him. He cannot accept responsibility for his own actions, and so I assume blames me for a fight between my father and Himself. He was not raised that way. Narcissism and addiction are two very ugly beasts.</div><div><br></div><div>Nana was the last in my direct maternal lineage, and the last link to my mother. Losing her was especially hard. I often, since her death, find myself a a loss for words. The world is a lot less sparkly without her and her ornery twinkling eyes in it. Her death in March has been followed by nine months of firsts without her.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5AzA2nDdl3c/VoTN731HLLI/AAAAAAAACgM/LrZUNI9G2t4/s640/blogger-image--676562376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5AzA2nDdl3c/VoTN731HLLI/AAAAAAAACgM/LrZUNI9G2t4/s640/blogger-image--676562376.jpg"></a></div> </div><div>In June we went to the beach with my Daddy, for our annual family beach trip to the OBX. Next up was BuschGardens, Great Wolf Lodge, and Kings Island where my daughter fell in love with the big kid roller coasters. Just like her Mommy. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1Xu_CRAOy1E/VoTN4emqqFI/AAAAAAAACf8/y6bnud84OEc/s640/blogger-image--1330088745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1Xu_CRAOy1E/VoTN4emqqFI/AAAAAAAACf8/y6bnud84OEc/s640/blogger-image--1330088745.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Next up was a road trip to sunny Florida on our first ever family trip without anyone else coming along. We met and visited with family <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">while we were there. The seven year old made her first beach bff and pen pal. They have written back and forth several times since then.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-w9PkfrDd6bw/VoTN6BBS5WI/AAAAAAAACgE/t4SCTfkN17U/s640/blogger-image--1499683405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-w9PkfrDd6bw/VoTN6BBS5WI/AAAAAAAACgE/t4SCTfkN17U/s640/blogger-image--1499683405.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>In August, my daughter missed the first two days of school due to a stomach virus. Her first day back, I received a call from my husband that he got chased by dogs, and injured at work. We found out later, that he had completely ruptured his Achilles Tendon and would require surgery. Because of the reduced blood flow to the bottom of the foot, it was a difficult wound to heal and surgery to recover from. This has since turned into a two surgery, four month long ordeal, soon to be five months. I sent my seven year old back to school, only to find myself taking care of a mostly immobile forty one year old. A week after my forty first birthday and a month before his. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-utNFySUz4hA/VoTOCmO-N9I/AAAAAAAACgs/NtMGEjWXpYQ/s640/blogger-image-822741405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-utNFySUz4hA/VoTOCmO-N9I/AAAAAAAACgs/NtMGEjWXpYQ/s640/blogger-image-822741405.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div> At the three month mark we began worrying that my husband would no longer have a job, after his protected leave was up. We lost our health insurance. The Worker's Comp only payed a portion of his salary. Then a plastic surgeon scared the bejesus out of us, advising us of the worst case scenario, when referred for wound care options. Infectious Disease Doctor is not something you ever want to hear. Especially when it</div><div>Is regarding the love of your life, your soul mate! We made plans for his possible demise, went through all the motions and emotions, only to learn that the plastics guy freaked us out for no reason. The second opinion told us everyyhing was okay. There is nothing in the world that can prepare you for the news that your hubbie may have the same thing that killed your mother. Thank the lird for answered prayers! It has been a long five months. Laid up Hubbie means Mommy is doing everything. Has to take care of everything. Has to fix everything. Has to do and be everything. I am tired.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1k2xFIEPDtM/VoTN_cGASbI/AAAAAAAACgc/ZqgNiByUWsE/s640/blogger-image-289593060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1k2xFIEPDtM/VoTN_cGASbI/AAAAAAAACgc/ZqgNiByUWsE/s640/blogger-image-289593060.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>We had my daughter's annual Halloween party, and I have read to her second grade class six times. It brings me such joy to read to her class! Second grade has been a bit of a challenge. An attitude challenge. My happy go lucky little girl found herself with a strict teacher and there was a big adjustment period. There has been bullying this year as well. It was successfully handled. But this too happened.</div><div><br></div><div>Fall soccer practices and games and the orchestrating of the first ever soccer banquet hapened. I was also the team photographer.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hx0fSSDrKCc/VoTNzDl8IhI/AAAAAAAACfk/TfGGihcQCnU/s640/blogger-image--541376786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hx0fSSDrKCc/VoTNzDl8IhI/AAAAAAAACfk/TfGGihcQCnU/s640/blogger-image--541376786.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> am again Homeroom mommy for second grade, and loving every minute of it. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2Tul5hx-dc0/VoTOH9svZuI/AAAAAAAAChE/tAkob0C9f1Q/s640/blogger-image--2015725939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2Tul5hx-dc0/VoTOH9svZuI/AAAAAAAAChE/tAkob0C9f1Q/s640/blogger-image--2015725939.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I have volunteered at the school as much as I could, and we had a spectacular Halloween Dance, First ever movie night, and an awesome Christmas party!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zgfs8hRxC0w/VoTN0l8u9FI/AAAAAAAACfs/qflSLgNL588/s640/blogger-image-122667119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zgfs8hRxC0w/VoTN0l8u9FI/AAAAAAAACfs/qflSLgNL588/s640/blogger-image-122667119.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>We also hit the Gritts WV Pumpkin Park and The Pumpkin house this fall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-knwKYSDTEfs/VoTNtZMQp3I/AAAAAAAACfM/48quEoQ3sa0/s640/blogger-image-831238359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-knwKYSDTEfs/VoTNtZMQp3I/AAAAAAAACfM/48quEoQ3sa0/s640/blogger-image-831238359.jpg"></a></div><br></div>My Daddy and I made it to WVU for football, <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QrcFAsrn0XA/VoTNrYoexeI/AAAAAAAACfE/UMRUo8yvq8Y/s640/blogger-image-937740766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QrcFAsrn0XA/VoTNrYoexeI/AAAAAAAACfE/UMRUo8yvq8Y/s640/blogger-image-937740766.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And the hubbie and I celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary with Uncork and Create painting and wine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2N4N-XGgM7s/VoTOGFWsbXI/AAAAAAAACg8/4DIpy22xg2M/s640/blogger-image--1421134687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2N4N-XGgM7s/VoTOGFWsbXI/AAAAAAAACg8/4DIpy22xg2M/s640/blogger-image--1421134687.jpg"></a></div><br></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> I never thought I would find myself working at the mall again, but after twenty years, I have foud myself in the throws of retail mall middle management. Less than a month before Christmas.</span></div><div><br></div><div>I am a very fortunate, spoiled girl and am definitely blessed with those who love me. My Daddy is still alive, as are my husband and child, my big kids, and my in laws and grand parents in law, and my multitude of lifelong best friends. </div><div><br></div><div>I have joined several writing groups this year and made many new online friends that I wouldn't trade for the world. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ixW-jqFHUVk/VoTN2iR-FTI/AAAAAAAACf0/ovuRPnCZ2U4/s640/blogger-image--905346311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ixW-jqFHUVk/VoTN2iR-FTI/AAAAAAAACf0/ovuRPnCZ2U4/s640/blogger-image--905346311.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CJquhod-hoQ/VoTNvIqXOUI/AAAAAAAACfU/XOJtsq5DzJM/s640/blogger-image--1172155103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CJquhod-hoQ/VoTNvIqXOUI/AAAAAAAACfU/XOJtsq5DzJM/s640/blogger-image--1172155103.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZjlvQP71l-A/VoTN9izoqbI/AAAAAAAACgU/gzdOkt-tYe0/s640/blogger-image-1739940822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZjlvQP71l-A/VoTN9izoqbI/AAAAAAAACgU/gzdOkt-tYe0/s640/blogger-image-1739940822.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-A3Uc4Cq-L3o/VoTNxL9V0YI/AAAAAAAACfc/TZhvEqSdK58/s640/blogger-image-1701387398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-A3Uc4Cq-L3o/VoTNxL9V0YI/AAAAAAAACfc/TZhvEqSdK58/s640/blogger-image-1701387398.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I have more blessings than I can count, and along with the blessings come the bad. I found out at a young age that it's all how you handle what life throws at you. There will be bumps, twists, and turns and lots of unexpected things in his life. It is all how you handle the obstacles and trying times. I always try to talk positively on my blog and pages, but just because I choose to focus on the good and positive does not mean the bad isn't happening,it is that I choose not to focus on the bad. </div><div><br></div><div>Two phrases I live by are</div><div>1- Everything happens for a reason and</div><div>2-This too shall pass</div><div><br></div><div>It has been a rocky 2015, but I am looking forward to </div><div>All the good 2016 holds in store for us all!</div><div><br></div><div>Happy New Year! See you in 2016!</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-97jZMtDVQZQ/Vh0YFkh8r5I/AAAAAAAACbg/inZiyupLsV4/s640/blogger-image--1721080985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-97jZMtDVQZQ/Vh0YFkh8r5I/AAAAAAAACbg/inZiyupLsV4/s640/blogger-image--1721080985.jpg"></font></a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-6616474686500452902015-10-13T21:53:00.000-04:002016-06-18T09:14:48.671-04:00A Love LetterEvery morning I drive across the same bridge into our twin city, to take my baby to school...and every morning I am in awe of the beautiful sunrise. And I say to myself, Darn, I missed it again! I wish I could take a photograph and capture this moment in time to share with you.<br>
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So this morning, I drove to the little roadside park beside the river, after I dropped my daughter off, and I captured it for you. I am sharing this glorious and beautifully breathtaking piece of my world with you. Because you make me happy! You make me smile. Every single day. I want to share my world with you! What I cannot put down with pen to paper, what I long to tell you but I cannot express in words, what I want to show you when there are no words than can possibly express the joy my heart feels, that can best be captured in a picture. A frozen moment in time. Because I am ever grateful for your care and consideration in choosing me. Thank you for being mine. As a friend across the pond says, I love you in this world between the wires. I love you for loving me, and for always being there for me. For picking me up with your words, for sharing your world with me in pictures when I cannot physically be with you, and for being a part of my life. Thank you. </div>
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I am forever grateful for my betwen the wires around the world friends. I am thankful that you have welcomed me into your lives. I cannot ever thank you enough. But I can write you pictures. Forever. </div>
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-70934032038266467322015-10-12T20:20:00.000-04:002016-06-18T09:14:20.782-04:00Walking Through FireToday I want to tell you a story about a friend of mine. A friend and her family. I went to school with a girl, her name is Heather. She already had children when she met the love of her life John. They got married recently. John found his family, and they found John. Welcome to their almost not so happy ever after.<br>
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John had to have surgery to remove a tumor on his back. His recovery took longer than expected. He resigned from work, because he was not expected, by the doctors, to be able to return to his very physical job. He made a full recovery and tried to get his job back, but they had filled the position. He not only lost a job that he loved and excelled at, but his ability to provide for his family. Heather and John used up all of their savings. They became unable to maintain their household on a single salary. They lost their home. They moved in with friends. They got by with the help of their family and friends.<br>
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John is the happy go lucky one in his family. No one would ever suspect John to suffer from depression. Not only has John suffered from depression, but he has suffered from suicidal thoughts. People always assume that individuals with mental health or substance abuse issues are the only ones that are at risk for having suicidal tendencies. That is what Heather thought. Heather was wrong. John became difficult to be around. He was even harder to live with. She had no idea what he was struggling with. Heather did not give up on him. She was not aware of the full extent of what he was going through. Heather loved him no matter what. Against all odds. You walk through the fire together.<br>
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There are two endings to this story. The first is that John didn't want to talk about his depression, nor his grief, embarrassment or shame at not being able to support his new family. He kept his feelings hidden and suffered in silence. He became so depressed that he started to feel like ending it all would be a better solution for his family. He made the decision to end his life. Heather's dreams were dashed, her new happy ever after over, and the love of her life gone with barely a beginning. <br>
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The second is that John didn't want to talk about his depression, nor his grief, embarrassment or shame, at not being able to support his new family. He kept his feeling hidden and suffered in silence. He became so depressed that he started to feel like ending it all would be better for his family. John realized that he needed to get help. He realized that the way he was feeling was bad, and nothing was worth ending his life. She was worth it. He was worth it. They were worth it. John chose life. John chose Heather. He made the call that ended up saving his life. He sought help and got a new job. They are in a new home all their own. Life is back to a new and healthier normal. Back to the happily ever after they both so richly deserve.<br>
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You walk through the fire together.<br>
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Which way will you choose? <br>
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John chose his family. John chose life. John chose to reach out and get help. Will you?<br>
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September was National Suicide Prevention Month. John was a life saved in September.<br>
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If you know anyone who suffers from depression or may be suicidal, jot down the following. It can save a life. It saved John's. Don't suffer in silence. Get help.<br>
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*Thanks to John and Heather for sharing their story. John hopes that sharing his story will help others realize that they are not alone.*<br>
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-87275544155233862062015-10-02T21:56:00.000-04:002015-10-02T22:39:01.769-04:00There Is A Storm Coming....<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LGRQczaXRlY/Vg84Ugk8nLI/AAAAAAAACYk/8KJomRY8xuA/s640/blogger-image--1886565565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LGRQczaXRlY/Vg84Ugk8nLI/AAAAAAAACYk/8KJomRY8xuA/s640/blogger-image--1886565565.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>It's almost your birthday again Momma. October was always your month. The weather has changed from summer and there is a chill in the air, and in my heart. There is a storm coming. One that I cannot fend off alone.<br><br><div>As I go through the motions of eating, I cannot enjoy my dinner this night. In the wake of the taste of grief, everything tastes bland and lifeless. I close my eyes to try to savor the sweetness. It is no use. Everything is bitter. I feign happiness for my sweet, innocent daughter. But there is no happiness for these tired eyes on this night.<br>
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There will be no calling her grandmother to brag on her latest achievement at school, nor any inviting to tomorrow's soccer game. There will be no laughing at horrible school picture faces or the resounding cacophony of my child's voice bouncing off of the walls of Granny's house. Your home is no longer. It remains, but is falling into disrepair much like the unkempt weeds that grow across your gravestone, both too long unvisited. The house and your grave both hold hollow echoes of you and a cherished time gone by.<br>
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A time that held the greatest love of all, as the late Whitney Houston sang. A love I will cherish all of my days and one that I could never forget. A heartbreak that my heart cannot ever truly begin to heal. A loss so tragic that somedays, on the raw days, my mind still cannot begin to fully comprehend.<br>
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But comprehend I do. I have no choice. The chill sweeps outward from inside. A cold, suffocating wave envelops me as the tears run unchecked down my face. The realization has set in that my memories are all that I have. There will never be any shiny new ones. This is the fourth year that I have replayed the same worn memories over and again in my head. There will never be any more memories than what I have at this exact moment. I am heartbroken. Yet I have a lifetime full of memories, but it is not enough. It is never enough. I want more. I want more of you. But there is no you anymore, only what I carry in my heart and my mind.</div><div><br>
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I close my eyes and remember. One at a time I take out my cherished memories and replay them in my mind's eye. Mommy and Daddy kissing, the last hug on our visit before your final hospital stay, you imploring me to never let my three year old, now seven, forget you. Birthday shopping with you that last year to bring you into the technological age, and your birth date on a sticker from our last ever shopping trip on my computer tablet, a mere six weeks before your journey was at it's end. Precariously sealed in time with scotch tape, my attempt at preservation. Preservation of the proof of a precious memory. Something physical from that last birthday with you. Something that marks a specific moment in time and says that she was here. You were here together. You were with me this day.<br>
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On a day that I long to hear your voice, I close my eyes and try to replay it in my head. Only this time, I cannot recall your voice immediately. My eyes fly open, my breathing becomes labored, and I start to panic. The tears fall unabashedly down my face, as I try to remember your laughter, and I cannot. Time stands still. I can hear my heartbeat in my throat, as I desperately play memory after memory in my head. I can almost hear your voice. But I cannot find your laughter. It is on the edge of my remembering, just out of my grasp. No, no, no my inner voice screams, you cannot have lost her laughter. It's in there, just remember. We have to find the laughter! I cannot lose another piece of her. I am hysterical on the inside as my grief ridden brain desperately searches for the laughter, her laughter. My mother's laughter.<br>
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The emotional storm rages as I desperately search my mental archives for the laughter. I find it, and as I replay the memory in my mind, there is no sound. It is as if the sound has altogether been stripped from my memory. I continuously wipe the tears from my eyes and face in an attempt to keep my daughter from seeing the storm raging within me, that is leaking out of my eyes.<br>
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Another piece of her lost today as another little piece of me died. I have lost my mother's laughter. "It was all you had of her, how could you lose it!", my mind screams at me. "But it's been so long since I have heard it..."another piece cries. I am so very weary. So tired of all of the grief. So tired of the maelstrom of swirling emotions. Grief, guilt, loss, sadness, depression, exhaustion, bravery, strength, selfishness, and loneliness. Tired of feigning excuses tonight for the little one so as not to have to explain myself, and stir up her grief as well as my own. Trying to control this storm that always rages within me just below the surface, threatening to break free. <br>
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There is always something constantly reminding me of you; a familiar smell, a rainbow or a butterfly, or your favorite colors. Eating dinner on your favorite color purple plate, just to feel closer to you when I feel the storm coming.</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Zf6V7ZuftOo/Vg84Rb71t-I/AAAAAAAACYU/wsHIsFI1V4Y/s640/blogger-image-979959217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Zf6V7ZuftOo/Vg84Rb71t-I/AAAAAAAACYU/wsHIsFI1V4Y/s640/blogger-image-979959217.jpg"></a></div><br><br>
I miss you Momma. Just like storms that reach their shore, they rage awhile and then they are no more, so is my grief. At least kept at bay for a little while.<br>
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Good night Momma, I love you!<br>
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-Your cherished daughter<br>
<br></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-57865140273441708202015-09-11T21:28:00.001-04:002015-09-11T21:28:59.291-04:00Lividity<div>I must say I never post rants of any kind. That being said......Tonight I AM LIVID that the the 4 major networks teamed up to air the 'Think It Up' Public Education Initiative. To beg for money from the public that already pays </div><div>MORE than enough taxes to fund an excellent public education system, but has yet to allocate billions more on EDUCATION, our kids, their future, and the future of our country, rather than on political agenda. Shame on whoever was behind the idea to mass beg the public for more money for education, and completely ignore the fact that it was the 14th anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on our country in history. I am sadly disappointed to turn on any of the 4 major networks and find Justin Beiber leading the country away from our promise to 'Never Forget'! I have been looking forward to the 9-11 specials all day long, to watch the first time with my 7yo daughter... to share this all important day and it's meaning with her, only to find our country having the wool pulled over our eyes... And blindly being led away from the truth. </div><div>We should 'never forget' because the threat is very real and has moved even further into our country. The enemy is among us. Hate and discrimination is being promulgated, turning us against our own countrymen. I am disgusted and feel that this is sacrilege akin to treading upon our flag. It is blatant disregard of this all important marked day. It is trampling on the memory of all those that lost their lives in the attacks on 9-11-2001. It is disrespectful to all of the survivors, the families of the lost, the heroes of that day and the days that followed, and all those that were affected or touched by this tragedy</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Q9mGF79E980/VfN_2bQ866I/AAAAAAAACUw/xZ_mbxe70KE/s640/blogger-image--766589676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Q9mGF79E980/VfN_2bQ866I/AAAAAAAACUw/xZ_mbxe70KE/s640/blogger-image--766589676.jpg"></a></div></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-33738391806862744582015-09-01T09:47:00.001-04:002015-09-01T11:30:56.390-04:00The Waiting GameThe last time that I was in this waiting room, was with my mother, months before her death. Countless hours spent over forty plus hospitalizations in this very hospital. Many surgeries for mom and dad, cancer, two open heart surgeries, digit removal surgeries, and surgeries to debreed and clean out infected wounds due to diabetes. I have lived through female surgery to remove an ovary and a fallopian tube, given birth, and had my uterus cleaned, scraped, and burned. I have had the middle of my remaining fallopian tube cut out and tied on both sides to prevent more pregnancies and miscarriages due to female problems. I almost bled to death two weeks after my mother died, which was two weeks before Christmas. I can handle anything, but what is killing me, is that I cannot handle this for him.<div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sE9oLi5fnW8/VeW6n43l5XI/AAAAAAAACUQ/q1_n37UTUzo/s640/blogger-image-777528717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sE9oLi5fnW8/VeW6n43l5XI/AAAAAAAACUQ/q1_n37UTUzo/s640/blogger-image-777528717.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I have quite the pedigree in personal hospital time and hospital waiting room time and etiquette. I know that surgeries often run longer than estimated, that anesthesia can take longer than expected to take affect, I am aware of every possible time extender and complication. I was raised in a home of medical professionals. I know what to expect. I know when to worry. Knowledge is not power in this case. My heart and my nerves are not listening to my calm, cool and collected brain.<div><br></div><div>I have never been on this end of the waiting. I have been the granddaughter, daughter, niece, daughter in law, granddaughter in law and friend.<div>I have never been the wife. </div><div><br></div><div>I have never had to endure the ticking as a wife before. Countless seconds turn into minutes with each tick of the second hand. Endless waiting for the surgeon to come out and talk to me, to let me know my world is still intact. Each second an eternity past when the surgeon told us he would be out to speak with us. Agony... The waiting. </div><div><br></div><div>Tick, tick, tick...forty-five minutes past the estimated two hours. My brain has kicked into overdrive. There must be some difficulty or complication. I am struggling to hold back the tears, drawing quiet strength from my father beside me.</div><div><br></div><div>His last words to me were if you should need help with the life insurance, call my boss. She can help you. Tears, streaming down my face held in check until these words crack my carefully constructed shield of bravery. I am reduced to tears by the man I love most in all the world, as he tried to prepare me for the worst possible outcome of his surgery. He was more nervous than I have ever seen him, as he waited for the surgery that however minor, will make him whole once again. Allow him to return to life and work and walking.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TYCwoYZ0W6M/VeW0ixrvbHI/AAAAAAAACUA/b3ASa_RpwEw/s640/blogger-image-130109641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TYCwoYZ0W6M/VeW0ixrvbHI/AAAAAAAACUA/b3ASa_RpwEw/s640/blogger-image-130109641.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Wy haven't they come out yet? Did something go wrong? De he have an unforseen allergy to add to his list of many? All of the worst case scenarios play out in my mind, all the what if's while we, us, and our family hangs in the balance, playing the waiting game.</div></div></div></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-83548767816625266722015-08-22T14:32:00.000-04:002015-08-22T14:32:14.909-04:00Fixing My PipesMy landlord had scheduled an appointment during our vacaton, to rip out our bathroom floors, move the sink and cabinet, and the toilet, in order to fix the bathroom pipes and rebuild the floor that had sustained water damage due to a leak.<br />
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Turns out he needed to come in the week before our vacation because the problem suddenly worsened. I was not pleased that the appointment was moved up.</div>
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The landlord and his contractor came in, started the job, and made every effort at expediently finishing everything in one day. They were there from daylight until dark, and got everything finished except the trim work, which he would finish while we were away. I was thankful that it was taken care of quickly. </div>
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We went to Florida, came back, the rest of the summer passed and it wasn't until one day while I was searching for something under that bathroom cabinet, that I made a horrifying realization.<br />
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I digress. </div>
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When informed that the landlord would be coming in the next day, not on vaction as scheduled, I was in a rush to pick up and clean my house. I was more worried about picking up the playroom and baskets of laundry, than I was the bathroom they would be working in.</div>
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I picked up dirty clothes and dusted, and moved the things off of the sink in the master bath, but never once did I think to clean out the cabinet under the sink. Where they had to move the cabinet and sink out into the bedroom, they had to either, A-remove the contents of the cabinet, or B- the contents fell out and they had to be picked up.</div>
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Why, you ask, would this be so awful that I refuse to ever look my landlord in the face again and to avoid him at all costs?</div>
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Because I forgot what I had hidden away in that bathroom cabinet. I forgot that my husband left the boxes of our new bedroom toys in the master bath floor, and one day when my child needed to use the potty, I hurriedly stuffed the boxes away under the counter from her innocent eyes.</div>
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Yes, I forgot to clean out my sex toy</div>
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boxes before the landlord had to move that cabinet. So either he had to take them out, or pick them up when the cabinet was moved, because everything that was under that sink previously, boxes and all, were organized in a nice little bag. AND I NEVER ORGANIZED THEM! </div>
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Let's take this a step further if you will. The contents of the boxes were haphazardly stashed in the master bath mirror that does not latch all the way. The mirror that is directly o<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">ver the cabinet, that covered the trap door in the floor to under the house, which gave them access to the pipes. </span></div>
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Picture with me, this image that I cannot get out of my head. </div>
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They start banging on the linoleum on the floor, to pull it up, which jolts the mirrored cabinet door open, and dildos come raining down onto their heads. They replace the toys. They resume working, having to pound on the floor to get the trap door open, which jars the mirror open, and causes the dildos to come crashing down on their heads again. They replace them. They then spend countless hours pounding and banging and fixing my pipes, while being pummeled, banged, and pounded from above with the very instruments that frequently fix my, ahem, pipes. The following lyrics have been playing on repeat in my head; It's Raining men, hallelujah, it's raining men......or plastic parts of men! The irony is not lost on me. </div>
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The horrifying realization that I spoke of earlier? It comes from the realization that two someone elses on the planet unequivically know your exact level of kink. Have seen , and have in all likelihood, touched, and have been pummeled by your kinky toys as well.<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-5089017959611983052015-08-15T20:44:00.001-04:002015-08-16T07:29:04.512-04:00The Commando Cook Episode #1<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>My hubbie, the chef who was born to cook, has had a wee accident rendering him unable to bear weight on his left foot for an unspecified amount of time. Not only is he unable to work for the moment, but unable to cook as well. Sooooo... I am left with a daunting task, cooking. It is unenjoyable to me. To eat is glorious, to have to cook is the ninth circle of hell for me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Since our family is depending on me to avoid starvation, I find myself forced to explore the kitchen. And all the foods. I said to myself, "Okay self, we have to do this, have to figure it out. I have avoided learning how to cook since forever, and now the time has come to woman up. So since I am involuntarily forced, you know not winning the lottery and all, allowing for the hiring of an actual chef who <i>enjoys</i> tasting this, a pinch more of that, I might as well make it enjoyable! Or at least get a cutsey pic in my sweet apron!" Says the girl who has burned grilled cheese, almost killed my toddler and myself by leaving the gas stove on while taking a nap, and who has caught butter on fire.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So it is here we find ourselves dear 'Snappers! In this mostly foreign universe, the kitchen! <i>Waaaay </i>out of my comfort zone! I need liquid courage, some Framboise Lambic! But no, then I would probably screw up dinner, because of my bad case of <i>Look! Squirrel!</i> No grown up drinks for me! This whole deal makes me uncomfortable!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QaRNEu_h6D0/VdAM-08oixI/AAAAAAAACSw/0iNDNS1wnDM/s640/blogger-image--1008320567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QaRNEu_h6D0/VdAM-08oixI/AAAAAAAACSw/0iNDNS1wnDM/s640/blogger-image--1008320567.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Why couldn't I just <i>bake</i> my way through the next few months? Or make kid sandwich, fruit and veggie cartoon characters or scenes? I seriously rock at those! I make a mean set of apple-peanut butter-marshmallow teeth! I regularly make marshmallows pops, and witches brooms too! Why oh why must I learn to cook <i>actual food???</i></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><i><br></i></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><i><br></i></font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YaH_alEaLUs/Vc_psXpX3RI/AAAAAAAACSY/SmZscuYtR2Q/s640/blogger-image--1355611323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YaH_alEaLUs/Vc_psXpX3RI/AAAAAAAACSY/SmZscuYtR2Q/s640/blogger-image--1355611323.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Well piffle! Let's get on with it then! On tonight's menu is chicken noodles/soup. I am following the directions... I am </span><i>actually</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> cooking! </span><i>And... I am cooking commando. Screw skivvies! Least I will be comfortable while I try not to screw up this cooking thing! </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Woot woot!</span></div></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I am happy to report that tonight, the second of four nights of me running the kitchen, that I fed five people.........</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i>AND THEY LIKED IT!!!!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ajiWlYvSoco/Vc_ptnzoaJI/AAAAAAAACSg/qpelDk9g7Ww/s640/blogger-image--423588698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ajiWlYvSoco/Vc_ptnzoaJI/AAAAAAAACSg/qpelDk9g7Ww/s640/blogger-image--423588698.jpg"></a></div></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i><br></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i>It's a miracle! I can make tacos, omelets, spaghetti or pasta with meat sauce, and anything that comes in a box. Outside of that, I am pretty much useless in the kitchen.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i><br></i></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The first night, I made tacos, and they were good.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The second night, I made spaghetti.I inadvertently used the pour not sprinkle side of the giganto size sea salt, and guess what? The seven and forty one year old choked it down. Love their hearts! There was enough salt in the pasta to create another ocean! And usually I make good pasta.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The third day I made a box dinner of creamy chicken alfredo. The noodles were like shoe leather before it's worn in. The sauce was goopy and sticky. It was disgusting. My husband ate it, but I had a nice salad. I couldn't stomach the yuck! </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Bless his heart!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Today I made homemade chicken and noodles/soup. And it was good! Really good! And you know whats even better? I didn't kill hubbie the dearest, my bff, her kid, or his best friend! And they liked it! They actually liked it! </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">And I got a super cute selfie to commemorate the occasion! </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"> Our first Redneck Dinner Party that I cooked! Aaawww! Rainbow Fiesta Wear in the yard with the besties! Because... crutches and porch stairs. And mismatched chairs, glasses, skeeters and a half gallon of Sailor Jerry! Woop woop! Cheers! </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">And here is my cute commando cheffing selfing!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_3MpOMM78HM/Vc_pqY6JaHI/AAAAAAAACSQ/JRv6RTw3Tn4/s640/blogger-image--988908177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_3MpOMM78HM/Vc_pqY6JaHI/AAAAAAAACSQ/JRv6RTw3Tn4/s640/blogger-image--988908177.jpg"></a></div></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">* stay tuned for more episodes of the Commando Cook, coming soon, because I am stuck in the kitchen for my forseeable future*</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hugs and Kisses, </font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"> Ginger</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-48278982874494707782015-06-26T11:57:00.001-04:002015-06-26T16:02:20.927-04:00Reflections from the Road I am headed to the beach with my six year old and my father. Vacation therapy. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kjlyKBP6kxU/VY2Ga6BHM_I/AAAAAAAACPk/5iPAdSV-Pfw/s640/blogger-image-926969696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kjlyKBP6kxU/VY2Ga6BHM_I/AAAAAAAACPk/5iPAdSV-Pfw/s640/blogger-image-926969696.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>This has become our ritual as the years pass since we lost my mother. In her death, I have found a new best friend and confidante. We are closer than we have ever been. I am still his cherished and spoiled little girl, as is my daughter. She is close with her Grandpa, and they also share a special bond. One that only they have. She is her Grandpa's girl. Just like I have always been my Daddy's girl.<div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LMOCfJCmRXY/VY2IsVP5O_I/AAAAAAAACQI/X7oM_Eyi5KI/s640/blogger-image--1720924985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--xVI1-d9Ij0/VY2vsEoJmGI/AAAAAAAACQ4/KImVeB46FNk/s640/blogger-image-1267643839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--xVI1-d9Ij0/VY2vsEoJmGI/AAAAAAAACQ4/KImVeB46FNk/s640/blogger-image-1267643839.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div><div>As has become our tradition, my Daddy drives and I am lulled to sleep by the constant wave like twists and turns of the West Virginia Turnpike. The constant curves rock me like when I was a child, in the car with my Mommy and Daddy, and little brother headed to the beach. The beautiful and majestic mountains that I love turn into the scenic overlooks of Virginia.Virginia runs into the flatter land of North Carolina, which eventually turns into the long stretch of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Hatteras, we are almost there! I always feel safe and secure when we are with him.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-726-c2-mswE/VY2F7Ww08oI/AAAAAAAACPE/pJOm57jUi14/s640/blogger-image-1086385509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-726-c2-mswE/VY2F7Ww08oI/AAAAAAAACPE/pJOm57jUi14/s640/blogger-image-1086385509.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>This was the destination of our first beach trip after we lost my mother. This will be our fourth trip with my father to this paradise. It is the place where I broke my leg, where my baby learned to swim, a place to relax, to slow down and enjoy each other, to heal, to figure out life without my mother, and to enjoy our island away from home. I have so many fond memories and pictures of this culturally rich little island. I hold it and them close to my heart.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9xTeERH_DIc/VY2GBJGWhiI/AAAAAAAACPU/KHOfT7DRrkY/s640/blogger-image-79885016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9xTeERH_DIc/VY2GBJGWhiI/AAAAAAAACPU/KHOfT7DRrkY/s640/blogger-image-79885016.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>So again, just for this week, every year, we can escape and play like children in the sand and surf, or at the pool. We can fly kites without abandon, and build the sandcastles of our dreams. My father is helping to teach my little one just like he taught me all those years ago our family's beach traditions. We are also helping to teach her the importance of family, working hard so that you can play harder, and to always stay a kid at heart! She has also learned that we are very blessed to be able to share these beach trips with my Daddy, because not everybody gets to go to the beach every year, and life is fleeting. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sDJYElnLn_k/VY2vqP_CXFI/AAAAAAAACQw/I-zQWl2ZKw0/s640/blogger-image-193103115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sDJYElnLn_k/VY2vqP_CXFI/AAAAAAAACQw/I-zQWl2ZKw0/s640/blogger-image-193103115.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>We are also blessed with a husband and father, the calibre of my Daddy, that graciously shares us every summer. To my husband, I am forever grateful for his constant understanding of our needs.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JC75eR1MVto/VY2IyGCfGNI/AAAAAAAACQY/isATtxRrKSA/s640/blogger-image-459916612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JC75eR1MVto/VY2IyGCfGNI/AAAAAAAACQY/isATtxRrKSA/s640/blogger-image-459916612.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>These vacations to the Outer Banks of North Carolina have meant so much to us all. They have allowed us all to appreciate family more in the here and now, and to let my father and daughter(and me) develop memories that will last a lifetime. Children bring such joy, and our vacations are so fun and filled with joy and love. Grandpa and his little conspirator against Mommy. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EnpY_S7HZm4/VY2GE7TS6jI/AAAAAAAACPc/afZUWrm0Qss/s640/blogger-image--980999024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EnpY_S7HZm4/VY2GE7TS6jI/AAAAAAAACPc/afZUWrm0Qss/s640/blogger-image--980999024.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>So we are off to the land of pirates, treasure hunting, seafood, long pool mornings, longer beach afternoons, Blackbeard, Teach's Hole, </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-z51EeQvp3tk/VY2vt7j9QnI/AAAAAAAACRA/8kvWbeQAFUc/s640/blogger-image--253649567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-z51EeQvp3tk/VY2vt7j9QnI/AAAAAAAACRA/8kvWbeQAFUc/s640/blogger-image--253649567.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Vx3gfRL4wcY/VY2GfB14t8I/AAAAAAAACPs/sHH5DaT4iJw/s640/blogger-image-505327729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Vx3gfRL4wcY/VY2GfB14t8I/AAAAAAAACPs/sHH5DaT4iJw/s640/blogger-image-505327729.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><div>Ocracoke Island and the ferry, the sandy beaches, the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zzsRA7UcMmU/VY2Iu02-9FI/AAAAAAAACQQ/J6cXEIt7VkQ/s640/blogger-image--1306771624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zzsRA7UcMmU/VY2Iu02-9FI/AAAAAAAACQQ/J6cXEIt7VkQ/s640/blogger-image--1306771624.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>the Bodie Island Lighthouse, the Ocracoke Lighthouse,</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uNFjo7Jdjew/VY2F-xgcoWI/AAAAAAAACPM/0xjHk_VQ8lM/s640/blogger-image-787946588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uNFjo7Jdjew/VY2F-xgcoWI/AAAAAAAACPM/0xjHk_VQ8lM/s640/blogger-image-787946588.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div> Rodanthe, Waves, Salvo, Avon, Buxton, The Chicomaco Life Saving StationMuseum, The Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum, sandcastles, kite flying, The Wright Brothers Museum,</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-adWRILk4YEA/VY2vyG5k7DI/AAAAAAAACRQ/8qlManyoNDI/s640/blogger-image-279920061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-adWRILk4YEA/VY2vyG5k7DI/AAAAAAAACRQ/8qlManyoNDI/s640/blogger-image-279920061.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>and new and wonderful memories.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-A7BxJxt1TnY/VY2vwO1sVgI/AAAAAAAACRI/YS1H2CmHDVM/s640/blogger-image--1650950656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-A7BxJxt1TnY/VY2vwO1sVgI/AAAAAAAACRI/YS1H2CmHDVM/s640/blogger-image--1650950656.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>So life goes on. Life changes, but it goes on. You appreciate the here and now, and look back fondly. And every year, I look back as I take this drive with my father and daughter to our favorite beach. As I am lulled into a sleepy, dream like state by all the gentle curves, I look back on all that was, where we are now, and how far we have come. I remenisce, shed a few tears in rememberance as I reflect on life and loss, and am humbled by the man that is my father, the beautiful girl who is my daughter, and the strength I have witnessed in both of them. I am beyond blessed to have the love of these two amazing individuals, and the close bond we all share.</div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XYZTfyUkmzo/VY2GjGoieZI/AAAAAAAACP0/9d_x_O2z0JI/s640/blogger-image-1153801564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XYZTfyUkmzo/VY2GjGoieZI/AAAAAAAACP0/9d_x_O2z0JI/s640/blogger-image-1153801564.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-87657392696298231352015-06-04T13:38:00.002-04:002015-06-16T22:34:53.109-04:00Dear Mr Presumptuous Swim Team DadDear Mr. Presumptuous Swim Team Dad,<br>
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I have a few things that I would like to cover with you regarding my child. <br>
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A-She is six years old and very impressionable. Swim team should be a positive experience. It is suppose to be fun! She does not need an adult, the parent of a fellow swimmer telling her," that's okay, you can work harder next time." That statement implies that she did not work her butt off this time. She was proud of herself. Who do you think you are to tear her down? Great job! Way to go! You did it! would all be acceptable responses to cheering for or congratulating my child. Do not ever take it upon yourself again to bring your over zealous need for winning to my child's world. Fuck up your own kid. M'kay cupcake?<br>
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B-It is her coach's responsibility and her coach's responsibility alone to 'coach' my child. Unless I decide otherwise.<br>
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C-It is her coach's responsibility to teach her proper stroke technique, or mine. Not yours. Do not make that mistake again. Unless I, in my infinite wisdom, ask for your expert opinion. Which will never happen. Even if hell freezes over. Wow! Can you imagine that? Not even then.<br>
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D-Never mistake my politeness as an invitation to openly denounce my child's performance in front of her teammates, the opposing team, and all of the parents, grandparents and cheerers on,and then take it upon yourself to 'coach' her publicly immediately after her race. You are a lucky man that my husband has the patience of a saint. And that I was at the ribbon writing table, writing ribbons. Single her out again, I guarantee it will not be overlooked.<br>
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E- Never mistake this pretty face for a stupid one. I, nor my child, needs saving from our less than desirable quantity of coach to kid instructional time, by involving you, to personally single my kid out for coaching. All by yourself. Are you sensing a lot of 'I' statements in here thus far? Good, your catching on! <br>
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You are not Michael Phelps. PERIOD<br>
Obviously you feel the need to offer your un-solicited assistance to a vulnerable little girl who may have been doing the breast stroke a little less than perfect. I would strongly advise you to keep your opinions, techniques, and snide comments to yourself from here on out. Are we clear?<br>
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You may have been trying to make a genuine attempt to help my child, but for reasons A-E stated above, you are not qualified nor welcome. I have three words for you in three versions;<br>
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Time, place, appropriateness<br>
Not the coach<br>
Go Fuck Yourself<br>
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Sincerely,<br>
Pissed Off Mama Bear<br>
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***Those of you who have a six year old that plays any sport know, that criticism, at the ripe old age of six, is taken to heart. It can shape a child's love for or hatred of the entire sport. I stated above that they are so very impressionable at this age, you have to be so very careful in what is said to children. We need positive role models, than encourage rather than tear down. Not perfectionist, hard core parents that are no real help to the child.<br>
<br>
First and foremost, we always tell our daughter to have fun. We also teach her that winning is not everything. That being said, I would also like to state that at the six year old level of swimming, in our league, no marks are taken off for technique, improper stroke, flipping over during backstroke, etc. At six, they are learning. Thank goodness for my husband and I reaffirming her awesome effort, or she may have gotten down on herself and wanted to quit today.<br>
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So why this man took it upon himself to publicly ridicule and attempt to humiliate my child is beyond me. I am very careful not to say anything to her, to upset her delicate six year old sensibilities. What makes him think that he has that right?***<br>
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-33490202334658949432015-05-26T12:37:00.000-04:002015-06-06T17:32:08.926-04:00Out Loud; The Empowerment Suit<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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Embracing my confidence out loud. That is what I have been doing this past weekend! It was Memorial Day weekend, the weekend that we remember our fallen heroes, and those that have served our great country. I, have also been on another adventure!<br />
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I am sometimes a pear, sometimes an apple, and sometimes I just have a spare tire. Bathing suit season, and shopping for the like are at best times, finding a cute material or one aspect of a bathing suit. Not an entire cute suit. Not for anything above a size 14. So called 'Mommy Bathing Suits'. Suits that cover everything, for girls of a certain size, that include skirts to hide the lumps and bumps,and mumu-tanks like tops to cover our mom-bod bellies. Bellies that grew humans. We need to respect, love and embrace our mom-bods more.<br />
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So my husband is determined that I am not buying a skirted bottom half anymore! He is done with the dress tanks, that grow exponentially with every wear and washing. He is in love with these pinup girl high-waisted, two pieces inspired by none other than our righteous plus size pinup sister, Tess Holiday(the hottest plus size swimsuit model in the industry.)<br />
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He is determined that I need to fully embrace my sex kitten side and scream female empowerment at the pool this summer. He thinks I am hot and loves me just the way I am. He loves my plus size bubble butt, and my tummy that carried and nurtured our child. He also worked in the fashion industry for a while. He is my personal shopper! I am a lucky gal!<br />
So we found the perfect suit. We bought two different style tops. Here is the first one!<br />
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I was so nervous trying them on, but I was excited too. Excited to not have to hide under a mumu polka dot momma caftan for once. Excited to wear a cute bathing suit again! Calling all sex kittens! Because you either have to mentally embrace the suit and loving the skin that your in, or hide under a towel all day!</div>
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Now mind you, I am the most self confidant lil old gal on the planet. I am an attractive woman, and have great boobs. But these almost bikini like swimsuits are making me a tad bit nervous. I feel like I am screaming 'Look at me' and I have been in mommy mode for almost eight years. Nothing like popping on a strappy number or putting the girls on display in a bikini top, while embracing the high waisted bikini bottom to scream to the masses 'I love myself, mom belly and all, and I don't want or need you approval!' Especially after trying to disguise the mom belly for the last many years. My mother's voice is echoing in my head..."Dress for your body style...."<br />
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After my initial nervousness, I dropped my skirt, stuck my boobs out, arched my back, and strutted to the pool. Nothing like owning it. It felt so good to feel so good about myself in a bathing suit! I totally rocked that suit. It was very empowering to wear what I wanted to the pool along with the other hundred moms that were there. I got some looks, some eyeglasses down the nose, but I smiled and had an absolute blast with my family! Worry about a little old thing like a bathing suit? Never!<br />
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So I must say after yesterday's success at the local swimming pool with suit top number one, today I am putting on the more revealing of the tops and going balls out. Nothing like re-embracing a bikini at 40, after not having worn one(except for solo sunbathing in college) since I was six, my daughter's age now. I only hope she can continue to gain positive lessons in self love, self confidence, and bravery by my new bathing suit choices and my decision to wear my plus size-bikini, my empowerment suit! I hope that other moms are inspired by my choice of bathing suit, and feel empowered to wear swimsuits that empower them as well. I hope my bathing suit choice helped just one woman see that she too can step outside the mold and expectations of mommy bathing suit stereotype. The mom bod so to speak, needs to be embraced in all it's beauty! Stretch marks, cellulite, broken veins and all. In all shapes. In all sizes. Love the body you have been given!</div>
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People won't remember your body, but they will remember your fierce confidence!<br />
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And your cute suit!<br />
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Well here goes!(as she sucks in her gut, wishes for a Xanax, and loads up the car....)Onward to empwower the Memorial Day Pool Masses!<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-20501846700189541572015-05-08T15:39:00.000-04:002015-05-09T06:51:32.101-04:00School Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-akyHZdM6Q3k/VU06rDD2CPI/AAAAAAAACHE/ZMgumbNO9Yc/s640/blogger-image-1660450757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-akyHZdM6Q3k/VU06rDD2CPI/AAAAAAAACHE/ZMgumbNO9Yc/s640/blogger-image-1660450757.jpg"></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I have been wanting to write. The words have been trapped inside me, threatening to burst forth. I have cried every day this week. Missing them. Remembering them. I have had the desire to explode all these feelings onto paper. It takes a lot of energy, your whole being to process grief. But I just haven't had the energy as of late. Until now.<div><br>
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I sit in my kitchen staring at my daughter's school picture, eyes closed, imagining my Mother's arms around me the last time she hugged me, and all the harsh realizations come flooding out. They explode out of me. The floodgate is open. They will never see her again. They will never see her play soccer. They will never be able to wrap their arms around her and see the wonder of her growing up. They will never see the wonder of my beautiful daughter, looking, sounding and acting like them. Like all the females in our family. I am now all alone. My village is broken, and gone. I am broken. My dad and I are the only ones left. My husband and my six year old baby complete my family. There are my in laws, and they are great, but its not the same. It will never be the same, ever again.<br>
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I grew up with my parents and grandparents attending every single school function that I ever participated in. Band concerts, Rainbow Girls, dance recitals, swimming, football games when the marching band played, band camp performances, summer camps, school plays and musicals. They were all there. Always. They will never be there for her. She will never know what it is like to have my Mom, or my Nana cheer her on. She will never see their loving faces in the crowd.<div><br>
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I am a master at compartmentalizing. I thought I was okay with my Nana's death. We were there, she lived a long full life. She was ready. It was her time. I told her to go. I told her it was okay, as if she needed my permission. My six year old handled my eighty-seven year old grandmother's death like a seasoned pastor at her bedside. She told Nana stories, snuggled up to her, and told her it was okay to go and meet Jesus. She learned how we treat our dying. The great grandkids were there for the learning, and the passing of the torch. They all sat on her bed, held her hand, and talked to her, just as if she wasn't knocking on deaths door. I watched the passing of the torch to the next generation that weekend. That day was precious. It was my Nana's last attendance at a big family gathering. It was for her. She passed quietly the next morning, before I could get to her from the hotel. </div><div><br>
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She waited for me to drive to North Carolina from West Virginia, with my husband and my child. She waited for me and my daughter. She wanted to see her girls one last time. The last granddaughter she raised, and the last baby(great granddaughter) that she helped to raise, whom she adored. She needed us to tell her it was okay to go, that we would be okay. We had just been to see her less than two months before I got the call. My Auntie B, with whom she lived, called me and told me that it would be any day, possibly any hour now. She let me talk to her one last time. She woke up and had a moment of clarity from her medicine induced, dementia fueled ,mumbling, confused haze to tell me, her "third daughter" one last thing.</div><div><br>
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"I love you. Goodbye. Tell everybody up there(WV) I said bye, now don't you cry!"</div><div><br>
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I, of course lost it, right there in Kohl's, where I was Easter dress shopping with my best friend. I went to the car and bawled my eyes out. I knew right then, that it was the last time I would ever talk to my grandmother. Since I had just visited, my Auntie B excused my presence at her bedside vigil. She said I was there when Nana needed me to be. To make some last, lasting memories with Nana. And she was right. I had visited seven times over the last year, to make sure my precious baby had some good memories of her Nana.</div><div><br>
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It is such a surreal experience when your grandmother tells you goodbye, and you know, I mean you just know deep down in the depths of your soul, that she really means it. And it was important for her to tell me. When the woman who helped raise you, that called you her third daughter because you were so close, the only other woman who knew firsthand the earth shattering, life changing pain of losing her daughter, my mother...and who was there for me, and I her, through it all, is gone? Well as my Daddy would say, it's a game changer. It's a life changer. A life altering, no going back now, you are the new MATRIARCH of this branch of the family, it's shocking.<div><br>
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When your world changes so very much in such a short period of time, you retreat and take care of you. You take care of your broken, fragile, mental state, and that grief process that is hitting your baby? Well you shut it down, compartmentalize, and take care of her first. Like I said before, I am a master at compartmentalizing, and a very strong woman. I come from a long line of strong women, who I was fortunate enough to be best friends with as well. We were a threesome, my mom, my Nana and I. And it rattles and shakes you to the very foundation of your soul, when your village starts dying around you. Self preservation kicks in, and you take baby steps to recreate and band aid your shattered world. Then there is another year of firsts to survive. And you have to go through every single one. Mother's Day, Birthdays, Anniversaries, Christmas, Thanksgiving, first day of school for the new year, New Years, Valentines Day, the day of their death, etc. A whole year of firsts, in a whole new existence you have to figure out without them. All the while, life goes on. Without them. And then you start to pick up the pieces, and figure it out.</div><div><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4NnT_co58ds/VU08ZCy5YFI/AAAAAAAACHw/1285x6x42MY/s640/blogger-image--1882321231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4NnT_co58ds/VU08ZCy5YFI/AAAAAAAACHw/1285x6x42MY/s640/blogger-image--1882321231.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bTGqLbeN53U/VU097z7elHI/AAAAAAAACIE/8LJESAS3WTE/s640/blogger-image-664928271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bTGqLbeN53U/VU097z7elHI/AAAAAAAACIE/8LJESAS3WTE/s640/blogger-image-664928271.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br>
And then you sit at your kitchen table and see your beautiful daughter's newest school picture, and realize that your baby will never really know these two beautiful exemplary women that shaped you and made you who you are today. They were your everything. She was their everything, as were you. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xqvI3FryxV4/VU3msTRei4I/AAAAAAAACJU/wGBVoRdf9zo/s640/blogger-image--268921744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xqvI3FryxV4/VU3msTRei4I/AAAAAAAACJU/wGBVoRdf9zo/s640/blogger-image--268921744.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>You are all she has now. They are in you, and you must never let her forget them. You promised them. No matter how painful, no matter how many tears. She will know them through all the pictures and stories you tell. She will understand how much you loved them through the amount of your tears and depth of your grief. She will cry and grieve with you! You will get through it together. She will know them through you. You are her mother. You will be everything to her that they were to you. You have big shoes to fill. And more memories rush in, a lifetime full of memories.<br>
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And your heart breaks all over again.</div></div></div>gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-25827491070581634022015-04-09T13:13:00.000-04:002015-04-09T13:13:22.901-04:00Dear Daughter...A Guest Post<b style="font-weight: normal;"><div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-723a219b-9f24-6b7f-f627-0e3b4b36c729" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Today I have a snapper who has asked me to share this beautifully written piece about stepmothers and their children on her behalf. So we have a guest post! I am a stepmother, so this hits near and dear to my heart. Get your tissues ready, this is both poignant and beautiful. Hope you enjoy! And be sure and comment to encourage this brave lady to start her very own blog, so we can follow her!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Dear Daughter,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Thank you for making me smile, and for lighting my world with your hugs and kisses and your calls for me when I leave your sight. Thank you for every silly secret, every laugh, and every moment that you have given me that I never thought I would want or need or grow to cherish. Thank you for loving me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I feel like I know you, but at the same time like you’re a stranger. You’re only three, almost four, although you deny to your bones that you’ll ever be anything but “THREE”. It’s your favorite number. Elsa is your favorite person, kitties are your favorite pets, and Clifford and George are tied for your favorite imaginary animals. Your favorite book is the Man in the Moon, and your favorite food is spaghetti. You also love chicken sandwiches. Your favorite color was pink until last month, then suddenly it was yellow. When I asked you why it changed, your answer broke my heart just a little bit. Because Mommy loves it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Sometimes you mistakenly call me Mommy, occasionally you call me by my first name, but mostly you call me Stepmommy. I’ve been here since before you could talk. I helped potty train you. I helped teach you your numbers and letters. I’m teaching you to read. I’m teaching you to count. I taught you how to say please, thank you, you’re welcome, and excuse me. I taught you how to climb. I’m teaching you how to walk confidently, to speak your mind, and to respect yourself. But I’m not really Mommy. You’ve informed me of this. I’m “Just Stepmommy.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t fault you for that. How could I? I know in my heart that there’s no way you’d know the difference if someone hadn’t told you. I’m the one that’s loved your Daddy since you can remember. I’m the one who’s kissed the booboos and sang the lullabies and served the breakfasts lunches and dinners and dispensed the medicine and tucked in the sheets and cleaned up the sick and answered the questions since before you could speak. I’ve been here more than half your life. Why would I be “Just Stepmommy”? Why is there a hierarchy of matriarchy in your young mind? It’s not because you don’t love me. It’s not because you don’t like me. The shine in your eyes and the squeal in your voice when you see me in the mornings or greet me after work belie that theory. Someone told it to you, and that’s not your fault.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But I know you love me. And hopefully, you know I love you. What I see when I look at you is a stranger, but a stranger that I would do anything to protect and to nurture. You are my sunshine and my days are all clouds when you and your brother are not home. But you are both strangers. I hold your hand, and feel beyond fortunate that these little, tiny, perfectly formed fingers nestle so snuggly in my palm. And for a moment, I am happy. And then, I wonder what those little fingers felt like the first day they felt another hand? How fragile you must have been in your first days here on earth! How you must have needed someone to hold you, to feed you, to clothe and bathe and protect you. You still need those things, but from a distance, because I’m teaching you to be your own little woman, to be self-reliant, to be “Strong and Super”, instead of “Cute and Pretty”. (You are cute and pretty. Cuter and prettier than any other little girl I’ve ever laid eyes upon.) And when I watch you while you sleep, so little, but legs and arms so long, you remind me of a foal, I watch as you turn in your sleep, and kick your long little legs just like your Daddy does in his sleep, and I wonder, did you kick before you were born? What would we be if we had ever shared that closeness?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Every time you recount a trip to the doctor, I listen intently, carefully, hanging on each word. And I ask myself, were you really sick, or were you craving attention? If you really were sick, did you ask for me when you felt so bad? Did you even want me? Did you even think of me? Or am I really “Just Stepmommy”? Just a passable stand-in while the real deal enjoys her free nights? But I listen, and I ask the right questions to move the story along. And I congratulate you on your bravery against all the shots and all the doctors in the world. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We talk at night, and you tell me stories about monsters and bears, and how your Daddy will always save you, and I smile, and I contribute, and I listen to every word. You tell me things I don’t understand, and things that sound like what they shouldn’t. I help you with the words you can’t remember, can’t pronounce, and together we tell awesome stories. I read to you, and I speak to you clearly, hoping that every sleepless night I’ve spent at the computer researching speech development and therapy was for something. I make new games each week to practice our letters and our sounds and our words. We’ve made it to two syllables, and some favorite three syllable words are only slightly butchered. Your speech is improved so much in the last year, and I am so very very proud of you. But I wonder, if I had been along for the all along, would you have been so far behind at nearly 3? You’re almost 4 now, and we’ve gone from grunts and points to nonsense stories and only a quarter of the words are made up. I hope I’m doing well. I hope you’re learning and growing. I hope you’ll be smart.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I take you out, to the library, to see my grandmother, we take walks around the neighborhood, and when you speak to strangers, I translate. I rephrase. I correct. I make sure that you heard every word the way it normally sounds so hopefully eventually you pick it up in the ways that my coaching fails you. And I wonder, is there something more I could do?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You go into dazes, you refuse to look me in the eyes, even when you’re telling me a story. All I want in this world at those moments is for you to make eye contact, to stop looking at the floor, to stop looking at the wall, to stop averting your gaze, and for a while I wondered, do you only do it to me? But I’ve watched. It’s always. And then I wonder, if I had the right to take you to a doctor, would they confirm my worst nightmares? But I remember, I do not have that right. All I can do is hope and coach and try to teach and all I can do is expose you to the elements and hope you come away from it with something meaningful. Those are my only rights because I am “Just Stepmommy.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You tell me that you love your Mommy, that you miss her, that you’re waiting for her to come home. And every week, when she fails to do that for long enough for you to forget, you cry when she takes you away from us. Away from me. I don’t tell you this, but I cry, too. When you and your brother are gone with your Real Mommies, I lie in my bed and I cry for you. Because I miss you. I’m in love with you little monsters, you little animals, you little angels. I love you so much that my heart breaks for you every week when you are, figuratively, ripped away from my side. I’ve grown so attached to you two in the last year, that sometimes I wonder if it’s not superficial. If it’s not too early to acknowledge it. But you two are a part of me that burns with excitement and pride when I watch you be yourselves, and burns with searing pain when I realize that there is no little girl or boy to share my meals, or prattle on about something I do not understand.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Sometimes I think about having my own children, I fantasize about sleepless nights that are all my own, that I don’t share with someone else. I dream about the logistics of daily care and the burden of diapers and feeding and carrying and teaching. I long for the opportunity to satiate that desire to be someone’s one and only. And I hate myself for wanting it. And sometimes, in the deepest darkest most guilty parts of my heart, I resent you for that. Your love put that desire in me where it never was before. Your smile drew me into a form of love that I never knew. Your absence showed me the hole that never was supposed to be uncovered in my heart. And your youth and need and chokehold on your father’s heart prevents me from having any real hope that I will ever be whole. You break me, and every week, as soon as I learn to love my lot in life, as soon as I accept that I am and always will be “Just Stepmommy”, you’re taken away from me again, and then I’m just nothing. Just alone in a house that needs cleaned again with no little monsters to mess it up for days. Alone in a home with quiet walls and doors and empty rooms. Alone in a place littered with toys and no one to play with them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then I wonder, how much must your Real Mommy hurt when you’re with me? This woman who stepped into your life with no explanation, no excuse, and, almost instantly, won your adoration and affection, your smiles and your kisses, your giggles and your shrieks, your accidental “Mommy” words? How could she ever forgive me for filling a role she was supposed to be the only one to fill? If I were in her shoes, I would hate the Stepmommy for that. And I would try to be nice, and I would try to listen to the stories, and I would try to accept the fact that, through nobody’s fault, things are just how they are. But I can understand why maybe, just this once, she slipped up and said to her little princess with a mind like a sponge, who is learning to speak and address people and understand the complex world and relationships around her, that I am “Just Stepmommy”. And, while it breaks my heart, I can understand it. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My dearest, darling daughter, I hope you never have to read this letter, I hope that everything is always as good as it is now or better. But if you do, what I want you to know is this: To you, I may be “Just Stepmommy”, but to me, you are not “Just my Stepdaughter”, you are my Daughter yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever after that.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Love, Stepmommy</span></div>
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<br />An anonymous post written by a beautiful lady. Thank you for selecting me to share it with the world!<br />
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</b><br />gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-58527553185999952062015-03-18T10:13:00.000-04:002015-03-18T10:17:20.823-04:00Afraid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am afraid.<br />
I am afraid to call. <br />
I am afraid of what I will hear. <br />
I am afraid of losing her. <br />
I am afraid to confront my grief.<br />
I am afraid of being alone. <br />
I am afraid of asking someone to be with me because I will have to explain. <br />
I am afraid she won't make it until the weekend, when I can go to her.<br />
I am afraid she will go before I get to her, but maybe it's better if I don't. <br />
I am afraid that my last visit with her, was my very last. <br />
I am afraid to tell my baby, she's already lost my mom at the tender age of 3.<br />
I am afraid. <br />
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I am afraid.<br />
I am afraid of waiting any longer to call. <br />
I am afraid of waiting. <br />
I am afraid of waking them up, when they all desperately need sleep. <br />
I am desperately afraid to lose the woman who helped me pick up the pieces after my mom died.<br />
I am afraid I will forget.<br />
I am afraid I will not be able to convey her wonderful life and legacy of love in her eulogy.<br />
I am afraid that I don't want to let her go.<br />
I am afraid of life with out her in it.<br />
I am afraid of losing the last person in my direct lineage that has been there for every single moment of my life.<br />
I am afraid.<br />
<br />
I am afraid.<br />
I am afraid of losing my second mother.<br />
I am afraid of losing the last person who knows all the moments of my deceased mother's life.<br />
I am afraid of losing my last grandparent.<br />
I am afraid of losing one of my very best friends.<br />
I am afraid of having one less person who loves me unconditionally in the world.<br />
I am afraid of losing the last living piece of my mother.<br />
I am afraid to lose one of the last living pieces of my childhood.<br />
I am afraid that all the dead relatives she is seeing are real.<br />
I am afraid for her, as is she, that when she goes to bed that it will be the last time she lays her <br />
head down to sleep in this world.<br />
I am afraid that when I spoke to her yesterday, that it will be the last time.<br />
I am afraid that when she told me goodbye yesterday, that she meant it.<br />
I am afraid that she knows.<br />
I am afraid to lose my Nana.<br />
I am afraid.<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-70404008028109786622015-03-09T13:34:00.000-04:002015-03-10T11:33:27.177-04:00Thank You Brave SoldierEveryday I wake up in my nice, warm, cozy bed. Every day I take for granted the freedoms I am afforded by the brave men and women who serve our country. Every. Single. Day. I enjoy the right to exercise my religious freedom free from persecution, write whatever I choose on this very public forum, and I choose where to buy my groceries, never having to stand in a line for state provided allotments of food. I get to choose where my child goes to school and how big my family will grow. I take full advantage of my unlimited supply of hot, running water and electricity.<br />
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Around the world, not everyone has the luxury of these freedoms. Freedom is not free. There are those who must endure grueling training, fight the battles, spend months overseas deployed away from their mothers, fathers, spouses, children, and families to fight for the everyday freedoms we all take for granted. These are the everyday heroes that do it all for us, so that we may enjoy life as a free country. They give of themselves freely, and donate time out of their lives.....for us. You have never met most of them, they are a faceless force. A force to be reckoned with. I am glad they are on my side, fighting for me. Braving the horrors they are faced with and must endure. Dedicating their selves to our country, for me. And you, and for countless millions that will never get the opportunity or take the time to say thank you to these brave heroes, the men and women of our armed forces. I, for one, want to say thank you. I am taking the time and this opportunity, right here and right now to say thank you for your service..<br />
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I watched the following video, posted by my friend Tammy Redden, the mother of an American soldier. I cried as I watched. I felt her pain, fear, and the joy at the returning of her baby, Sgt. Brandon Redden, from Afghanistan. I can only try to imagine the long months of waiting to hear from him overseas, waiting to wrap her arms around him once more, as the holidays passed, one by one, without him. I am ever grateful to the families that are left behind, and their strength for letting your sons and daughters go. Thank you for supporting our men and women, your men and women, in the armed forces!<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10204921504170798&pnref=story">Sgt Brandon Redden's Return from Afghanistan</a><br />
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Sergeant Brandon Redden, enlisted in the United States Army during his senior year of high school. He went to basic training in July of 2011. After completing basic training at Ft. Benning, Ga. he was stationed at Ft. Hood in Texas. He was deployed in June of 2014 to Afghanistan. He just returned to the United States at the end of February. While he was in Afghanistan, he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant. <br />
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He is in the Infantry, Third Cavalry Division, Apache Troop. Before leaving Afghanistan, he was awarded the Combat Infantryman's badge. My hero is 21.<br />
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Here is what that medal looks like.</div>
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I remember when the shootings took place at Fort Hood, where this young man was stationed. I cannot imagine how his mother felt that day. I cannot imagine the horror. I prayed for him that day. Along with all the others that lost their lives, and those who came out unscathed. I prayed for him and all of our troops while he was deployed. </div>
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I do not have the pleasure of knowing this young man as an adult, but I remember him when he was a child. I love his mother, him because he is her son, and because he is an American soldier. Fighting for me, protecting me, keeping the freedoms I know and love intact. I respect this young man, and many, many others who have the courage to say, "yes" to the call. </div>
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I am an unknown American. I am unknown to these service people that defend our great nation, but one of thousands that continually pray for their safety while serving our country.</div>
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Thank you Sgt. Brandon Redden, for your time, your dedication, and your sacrifice. It has not gone unnoticed.</div>
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Thank you to my friend Tammy Redden, his mother, and his entire family, for providing such an excellent support system at home for this young soldier. You all fight the silent battle.</div>
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Welcome Home!</div>
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<br />gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-34533144591768032392015-02-20T11:58:00.001-05:002015-02-20T11:58:48.343-05:00My Journey in Compassion...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Wikipedia's definition of compassion is as follows;</b><br />
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<b>Compassion</b> is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotion" title="Emotion">emotion</a> that one feels in response to the suffering of others that motivates a desire to help.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compassion#cite_note-1"><span>[</span>1<span>]</span></a></sup><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-sjsl_2-0"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compassion#cite_note-sjsl-2"><span>[</span>2<span>]</span></a></sup><br />
Compassion is really the act of going out of your way to help physical, spiritual, or emotional hurts or pains of another. Compassion is often regarded as having an emotional aspect to it, though when based on cerebral notions such as fairness, justice and interdependence, it may be considered rational in nature and its application understood as an activity based on sound judgment. There is also an aspect of compassion which regards a quantitative dimension, such that individual's compassion is often given a property of "depth," "vigour," or "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passion_(emotion)" title="Passion (emotion)">passion</a>." The etymology of "compassion" is Latin, meaning "co-suffering." More involved than simple <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empathy" title="Empathy">empathy</a>, compassion commonly gives rise to an active <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desire_(emotion)" title="Desire (emotion)">desire</a> to alleviate another's suffering.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-sjsl_2-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compassion#cite_note-sjsl-2"><span>[</span>2<span>]</span></a></sup><br />
Compassion is often, though not inevitably, the key component in what manifests in the social context as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altruism" title="Altruism">altruism</a>.<sup class="noprint Inline-Template Template-Fact" style="white-space: nowrap;">[<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Citation_needed" title="Wikipedia:Citation needed"><span title="This claim needs references to reliable sources. (November 2013)">citation needed</span></a></i>]</sup> In <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ethics" title="Ethics">ethical</a> terms, the expressions down the ages of the so-called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Rule" title="Golden Rule">Golden Rule</a> often embodies by implication the principle of compassion: <i>Do to others what you would have them do to you</i><br />
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Compassion for me has been a part of my daily life as long as I can remember. I was raised in a social service youth organization that bespoke compassion as one of it's greatest teachings. My mother and grandmother were very caring, compassionate people. We were always going to visit the sick in hospitals and nursing homes, just to bring them a smile, a laugh, a card, some human touch to make their situation better or bearable. To bring a little sunshine to their day.<br />
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I had a privileged upbringing. Along with that came the lesson of social service and giving back. I was not raised privileged and pretentious, I was raised to appreciate what I had, and that there those less fortunate and also those that were suffering or struggling. I was taught to try to be the sunshine in everybody's day. To be caring, kind, and compassionate. To leave people a little happier, more cared for, or appreciated than before I came. I was taught to share the gift of myself with others. Sometimes all we need as humans, is the touch of another to know someone cares. Sometimes all we need is a little time spent to reaffirm our faith in people. Sometimes we all need a butt in a chair beside us, simply holding our hand. A little caring, sharing and laughter help feed the soul!<br />
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I learned by example from my mother, father, Nana and Pawpaw how to be compassionate. I was not aware that when someone's loved one passed away, going to their side, taking them food, holding them while they cried, being by their side at the wake and funeral were acts of compassion, it's just what we did. I learned that when my Granny and Pawpaw passed that you would do anything to take away the hurting, the pain from your loved ones if you could...even though you were hurting yourself. You help pick out the clothes, you write the thank you cards, you are just there, supporting them silently as they go through the journey of grief. When friend's grandparents and parents pass away, you are just there by their side, no matter the miles, because you know just by being there, you will bring a little relief to make their suffering bearable, even if just for a dinner, a visit, an hour.<br />
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In my youth group, when you were elected president of your local assembly as well as when you were elected to be the district president, you got to choose a project. A social service project that you raised money for, a charity for which you had all the members volunteer, a social service project that in some way allowed the members to give back to their community. Some collected winter coats for children, some donated all the money from saved pop tabs to local women's shelters, some raised money for the Heart Association, I chose to collect toys and candy canes to take to the Shriner's Crippled Children's Hospital in Lexington, Ky. We traveled to the hospital the week before Christmas and delivered the toys and got to meet and hang out with many of the children. The smiles, hugs, and laughter that filled the room that day I will never forget! At least for one afternoon, for a few hours, the girls from my district assembly and I brightened the day of each and every one of the sick children in that hospital. We brought more than presents that day, the gift of ourselves. Most of those children spent Christmas that year in that hospital, some never made it home again. <br />
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When my mother was sick and eventually passed away, what I gave to her came back to me a thousand fold. I was in awe of the sweet calls, food, visits, play dates, friends, cards, gifts, messages, and general outpouring of love and compassion that was shown and given to me. <br />
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When one is a loving, giving, compassionate person, it sometimes comes back to bite you on the booty! People will refuse your offers of kindness, and they will take advantage of your compassionate nature. Don't let them block your sunshine! Gracefully bow out and know that you did your best!<br />
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Sometimes when we need compassion from others the most, is when people will surprise you. Some will just simply be there for you in whatever ways you need, silently standing by you through your loss, guilt, disappointment, or shame and the ones you thought would always be there for you, will remain silent and far away. There are many lessons learned through and in compassion. Being on the receiving end can really open your eyes to the goodness and on the flip side the imperfection in people. Everybody has bad times, bad days, bad situations, and conversely good compassionate people have lapses in, well, being compassionate. <br />
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You never know what struggles someone is facing. You never know what battles someone has fought and won. Always try to put yourself in someone else's shoes. Be the one who tries to understand. Not just for those who are less fortunate than you. You can show compassion in every facet of your daily life. Is there a new mom at the PTO meeting? Scoot over and invite her to sit with you. Is there a new face in the pickup group after school? Say hello! Is there a mom with three kids struggling to get the door? Hold the door for her! Is there a set of new parents in church with a chatty baby? Tell them that you are glad they are in church, and comment on how cute the baby is! Know someone struggling with infertility? Share your story and/or a hug. Know a person who has just lost a a parent? Share your story and let them know that you know their pain and suffering! Offer prayers,a shoulder, some food, or to handle the influx of visitors after the funeral, to help them disappear for a few hours to get their mind off the tragedy. <br />
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There are a million ways to be compassionate!<br />
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Always be the most compassionate you can be. The world is hard and ugly, and sometimes people are too. Just put your compassionate panties on and carry on! Don't let anyone bring you down or make you want to change your sweet giving nature! Give of yourself freely and often. It feels good to brighten someone else's day! Even in the face of naysayers, be good anyway! Do good anyway.<br />
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Be a listener, be a friend, be someone who hugs even though they don't understand, show some love, share yourself, be there, show you care, and always honor the golden rule.<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-1667901613568986662015-01-07T11:49:00.003-05:002015-01-07T11:49:59.440-05:00My Super Secret BlogHappy New Year Snappers! Welcome to 2015! This new year means different things to different people. To me it is my first year in my forties, beginning a fourth year with out my mother, and the year my baby is in the first grade. The year(my fortieth) that I have vowed to live completely out loud, be myself one hundred percent, and make no apologies.<br />
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This past year, I took a step back from the blogging world, and decided to breathe. I decided that I am tired of 'blogging on eggshells' so to speak, so I set up a super secret blog. Anyone in my real life that is close to me, knows all about my blog. Therein lies the problem. So I have a completely anonymous super secret blog. Or two. These are a place where I can go to write about my frustrations, my peeves, and to let it all out.<br />
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Why do you need a secret blog you ask? Because my husband, my kids, my in-laws, my husband's entire ginormous family, my extended families(there are several by marriage), my friends, other bloggers and people I have never even met, occasionally read my blog. We all break out our brand spanking new blogs for the first time, proud to call ourselves bloggers. We start writing for various reasons, for an escape, a release, because we like to write, because it gives us stay at home moms a hobby or something to make us feel 'heard'. You become part of a silent sisterhood of bloggers. Our blogs pick up steam, we aspire to be the next 'BIG" blog, and dream of one day getting published. We design our blog's look, participate in or sponsor blog hops, write guest posts for other blogs, create our buttons, invest in one or more self help blog advice books, or bloggers how to guides, set up our Facebook fan pages, our blog's Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Bloglovin, and various and sundry other social media tie-in sites, get everything all set up and running smoothly, some even get published, make some bloggy friends, ... and BAM! Then it happens, writer's block. <br />
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Then we pick ourselves up and start writing again. Eventually we rediscover our voices. We get back into the rhythm of blogging. Then again, over time, we begin to find what once was so much fun, becomes monotonous again. We find ourselves slaves to the numbers, where the numbers are more important than what we actually have to say. How many views did this post get, how many comments did I get last week, so on and so forth until we lose sight of why we first started blogging. <br />
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Why did you start blogging? I started blogging after I became a stay at home mom, and to spend time with my sick mother(who passed four months after I started my blog in July of 2011). I used to entertain classrooms full of people on a daily basis, and now there was an audience of my mother, myself, and my two year old. So I needed to talk, to write, to vent. To get the "ME" out. I used to tell my funny kid stories to my classes, and now I tell them to my blog. I have always been a social person, and the slower pace of my newfound life took a lot of getting used to. I wrote because it was my outlet, my release. Then after my mother died, I started a blog about Grief, <a href="http://griefchronicles.blogspot.com/">The Grief Chronicles</a><br />
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The other part of setting up a secret blog is that there is more than one side of me. I am by nature a people pleaser. I am the peacemaker of the family. I was raised a lady, and remain a lady. That being said, I also have a wicked sense of humor, a naughty side, and have been know to have quite the potty mouth when I step out without my child. We each have many roles in life. When you are setting up a blog, you must choose which persona you present to the public. For this blog, for example, I have chosen to be the cool mom, homeroom contact-person-ie 'mom', dutiful, fun loving, happy go lucky wife and mother, who gives you a peek into my at times airheaded, fun, crazy, less than perfect, wild and wonderful life. I do not choose to share all the other sides of me publicly on this blog. And trust me, there are many. So when I feel like not keeping my mouth shut, and writing a scathing, bitchy piece, I go to my super secret non-censored blog and voila! I feel all better!<br />
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Does it bother me that it is not wildly popular like this blog?(Well, to me 50,000+ is wildly popular in these here West by God Virginia hills) Nope, not at all! That means I don't have to promote it! And let's all be honest, it takes a lot of self promoting and time to rack up the numbers! SO I recommend that everyone has a super secret blog! I love mine! A blog free of scheduled in advance writing times, scheduled this and scheduled that! And only a handful of people who know of it's existence! A blog for just me! That being said, I love you guys! And you can't get rid of me!<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-23602766015765219652014-12-23T14:12:00.001-05:002014-12-23T14:12:20.489-05:00My Traumatic Bathroom Catastrophe #169Hiya Snappers! Merry Christmas Eve Eve everyone! Hope everyone is ready for the holidays! I myself still have 3 more things to get, and a few things left to wrap. Then I am ready! I thought I would share my funny story with you all today. I have been super busy with life, homeroom momm-ing, PTO volunteering, coordinating volunteer readers for classrooms at my child's school, traveling, Christmas partying in northern Virginia, sightseeing in DC for the first time, seeing my almost 87 year old Nana to present her with her 50 year membership pin to the Order of the Eastern Star at my Uncle's installation as Master of his local lodge in Pineville, North Carolina, visiting family, shopping, playdating, cookie-ing, gingerbread housing, Frozen party at schooling, and a half billion various and sundry other things that occur in the daily life of a stay at home mom! SO here goes the story about one of those such occurrences! Hope you get a laugh at my expense! You are welcome! Merry Christmas!<br />
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I am in the shower. I , of course, cannot shower alone. There are multiple 6 year old interruptions. First she talks to me. Then she pulls back the shower curtain. After telling her not to do that again, she then tries sticking something in the shower for me to see. I have obviously forgotten, what it is like to have my child at home with me all day long, since starting the first grade in August. I am thrown off from my normal shower routine and timeline. I am busy thinking of all of the things I have to do today. I take my razor and lift my arm to shave my underarm, and when I go to make the first swipe across my pit, the razor flies past my pit and shaves of two big, long, ugly strips of skin from my chin. It hurt! A lot! I try and pretend that my chin is not bleeding. As I feel it oozing down my chinny, chin chin,(or as Lil Pumkin Do says, "My Shinny, shin shin!") I open my eyes and peer down into the bottom of the tub. Yep. There is an amazing amount of blood pooling around the drain, slowly swirling with the water. It looks like a macabre candy cane design. Then in a strange, removed from the situation, as if in an opening scene from a Stephen King movie kind of way, I realize in horror, that that is my blood. TWO DAYS before Christmas festivities begin! Oh my WOW! Well, just...SHIT!<br />
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I cannot believe that I have just done this. Right before Christmas! When there are so many pictures to be taken! ACK! So I then realize I only have to wash my face, because I obviously am having an airheaded day that does not need to involve using a razor kind of way, day! So hairy legs and pits, yeah, we'll just go with it! Le sigh! So I wash my face, and it burns like hellfire! As I rinse my face, I can distinctly feel where there once used to be pieces of me that are now gone! Ooww! It burns! As I watch the last of the blood swirl down the drain, I touch my face, trying to gauge how fast my chin is bleeding, to see if I need stitches or not. I think we are okay to just swathe my face in band aids, and wait until the bleeding stops! I cannot believe I did this. I amaze myself at times. SO I peek at my chin in the mirror. Yep, just like I thought, no covering that one up! So I whip out the Mickey Mouse band aids, and go to town. Ironically enough, one of the band aids says BAM! Oh so appropriate! And hilarious. This is a goldmine in bad jokes waiting to happen! So I am just going to roll with it! So much for pretty perfect makeup for holiday photos! Good excuse to go makeup free, or opt out! Hah! Not happening! I am that annoying picture taker at EVERY family gathering. Not likely that I will be allowed to opt out! <br />
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So by the evening, it finally scabbed over. I now have to remember not to touch my chin. Because it hurts. So here are a few not so random selfies, because I just had to share this with you all! At least it wasn"t my eye this time! Hahaha!<br />
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I hope everyone has a beautiful holiday, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannakuh, Happy Kwanzaa, or whatever holiday you celebrate or don't! Love you guys! Merry Merry!<br />
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gingerssnapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754274779403650715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6823823314693496594.post-81781621836728153242014-10-27T11:38:00.003-04:002014-10-27T12:18:38.852-04:00My Dream Pumpkin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ever since I was little, in the fall, my parents took my brother and I to pick out pumpkins for carving. It was a yearly Halloween ritual for our family. Like a lot of families, we each got to choose a pumpkin. There were rules to choosing our pumpkins. It had to be the right size for carving. Not too big and not too small. You wanted to pick out a pumpkin with a smooth face for carving, but tall enough for a face. Every year I dreamed of getting a giant, perfectly round monstrosity of a pumpkin. My dream pumpkin would have no flaws, be round and perfectly symmetrical, and the most beautiful shade of orange you have ever seen! Each year I longingly looked for my perfect dream pumpkin, while picking out a smaller version for carving. I kept my pumpkin dreams to myself. One day, once I had found my soul mate, had a daughter, or three, had a house with a porch for a big 'ol pumpkin, I would have my dream pumpkin!<br />
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I grew up. I then picked out more medium-ish pumpkins for my annual single girls Halloween party, year after year. I still secretly longed for my great big, fat pumpkin, even though I subconsciously relegated myself to never having my dream pumpkin. I admired them from afar, those big, fat, orange, round beauties that I secretly wished I was lucky enough to possess. One day I vowed, I would have my dream pumpkin! I kept telling myself that when I was married, settled down, and had a family...then I would have my dream pumpkin. Every year on the front porch of our home, our giant pumpkin would be proudly displayed. One day!<br />
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So I settled down, found my soul mate, got married, joined our families and the pumpkin hunting tradition was revived for Sissy the Eldest and Mr. T. We picked out pumpkins for carving every year, and I found myself reciting the same rule as my parents before me, 'Not too big, not too small!" My pumpkin dreams got pushed to the side once again, although this time in exchange for affordable family pumpkin memories. Big punkins' are 'spensive y'all!<br />
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When we had Lil Punkin Doo, again we picked out pumpkins for carving each year, and the same size restrictions were in place. Seeing the sheer joy on all of our kids faces, from a simple, fun, family activity like picking out their own pumpkins and carving them is priceless! Hearing them scream when pumpkin guts touch their little hands is also priceless by the way! Just in case you were wondering!<br />
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This past weekend, we took Lil Punkin Doo to Gritt's Fun Farm in WV for the day. They have slides, corn pits, tractor rides, corn maizes, photo ops, hay bale climbing, and a big glorious pick your own pumpkin patch. At the end of the day at Gritt's, it was time to pick our pumpkins. My LPD picked a tall long faced pumpkin, and just like that, I turned around and there it was. The pumpkin of my dreams. She was fat, the perfect shade of orange, the exact size and dimensions I had always dreamed of! She was perfectly symmetrical, and had a big, thick stalk on the top. Beautiful. I suggested her to LPD and she said no, that she wanted a tall pumpkin. So after we found her perfect vision of a pumpkin, I turned to Hubbie the Dearest and asked if I could have my dream pumpkin. He said yes! I told him it was my dream pumpkin, and he said yes!!! So while I was soaking in the fact that I was about to score my dream pumpkin, happy as the day HTD proposed, he advised me I had better hurry up and get it, because there was another family looking at the pumpkins right beside my pumpkin!<br />
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I left LPD with HTD, and practically ran back to my pumpkin. The little family was picking up the pumpkin beside mine. Pschew! I thought I had lost her! Before they had a chance to try and steal her from me, I bent over and grabbed ahold of her thick glorious stem, and lifted her. And thud. Back down to the ground she went. My baby is heavier than I had imagined. So I reached down, put a little back into it, and lifted her with both arms into our wagon. Wow. Funny how I never imagined my dream pumpkin ever weighing more than a normal sized pumpkin!<br />
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So HTD went to get the car, and I stood in line and pulled the wagon with LPD, and our two dream pumpkins to the wash and weigh station. I lugged my beauty onto the scale at the weigh station, and it turns out she weighed 31.7 pounds. LPD's weighed 17.2. 49 pounds o' punkin, plus my kid, plus the wagon. My forearms are going to be killing me tomorrow was all the negative I could think, in my pumpkin finding, elated state. I am now the proud owner of my perfect pumpkin. After lugging our 50 pounds of pumpkins around the pumpkin patch and into our car, I was exhausted. But I had my dream pumpkin.<br />
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We waited until the next day to clean out and carve our pumpkins. Lil Punkin Doo drew her face, and I carved it into her pumpkin. She then decided that she was going to draw the face for my pumpkin too. I was happy to let her draw the face for my dream pumpkin. I proudly drew it on and carved it out. It may look like a many eyed, stop sign nosed, scary toothed face or a tutorial in shapes, but I am so very proud to have my daughter(my creation) create the face for my dream pumpkin, that I am close to bursting with happiness. And it now sits proudly displayed on my front porch, right beside hers, just like I always dreamed. Totally worth the hours of carving and achy back, shoulders, and arms!<br />
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It is a good thing to hold onto your dreams, no matter how big or small, no matter how long it takes, because soul mates, families, daughters, dream pumpkins, and dreams really do come true!<br />
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Happy Halloween Snappers! <br />
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