Sweet Angel


My heart is heavy today*.

I woke up this morning to learn that a dear friend, and radiant member of the BBB community, passed away suddenly. She had been battling against the repugnant monster that is anorexia, and it stole her life, way way too soon.

She was radiant in every sense of the word: encouraging, loving, faithful, kind, funny, and truly a warrior.

There is comfort knowing that she is in the sweet embrace of Jesus, without pain and in complete peace. My prayers are with her family in this devastating time.

This harrowing and tragic news really hit me hard. I couldn’t shake it. Not only because we were close, but also because it hit so close to home.

It was a grave reminder that anorexia kills.

It is not some punchline to a joke, or an easy dig on a podcast to get a cheap laugh.

It is a…

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Not Today

This can’t be what breaks me… I wrote the Sunday after I lost Noah. I wrote on Mother’s Day. I wrote two days after Natalie died. And now, now I feel like there’s nothing left to write. I feel tired, spent.

But, like I’ve said before, Wednesdays and Sundays- I’m going to write. Why should that stop just because I have nothing to say?

Life has gone on. Wednesday was the funeral and before I left the church, I picked up Natalie’s urn and hugged it to my chest. I rocked and swayed with it, telling her I loved her. I went home and cried myself to sleep.

Thursday I had therapy.

Friday I had my writing group.

Saturday I went back to work.

Today I helped clean out the condo. Packing her stuff up and leaving the building felt like I was losing her all over again. My throat closed up and tears burned my eyes.

What the hell is IN heroin that makes it SO addictive? So all consuming? So life ruining? It’s wrecked my life and I’m not even using it! Where do we go from here? How do we convince drug companies and the medical community to stop over prescribing excessive painkillers? How do we tell them to stop taking kickbacks? Tell them they’ll be rewarded with a good feeling for doing the right thing?

Then there’s the flip side.

A lot of my friends have chronic pain. I have chronic pain. We are not drug seekers. We are “please lessen the pain” seekers -however you can do that… I’m tired of getting looked at like I’m trying to scam the system or deceive a doctor and get treated like shit when I have a legitimate complaint.

I realize there are people who are just looking for pills but know what? You’re a doctor! Use your head! Update patient charts and track who’s taking what…

I know it’s not that simple.

I’m tired, frustrated and really in need of change.

Docs and Big Pharma


Now What?

That seems to be the question everyone has been asking. I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out myself. I’m going through the motions, like I’m sure many people are.

Yesterday, after the funeral, the bubble burst. (Yes, there HAD been a bubble!) I was in complete shock, then enraged followed by devastated… and yet, there was still hope. Sort of. I theorized that perhaps Natalie had staged her own death. It’s not THAT far out of the realm of possibility… I got to hand onto that thought for about 30 seconds before Tayla said “know what concerns me about that? That she could find a body that looks enough like her to put on the casket…”

They had her cremated. I knew they would but I didn’t realize when. I’m glad I didn’t know otherwise I never would have left. It was at the visitation that I’d asked when the cremation would take place and several people had said she’d be at the funeral. More than likely they’ll do it after the funeral service.

When I got to the church, I didn’t see her casket. “Where is she?” I asked. Someone told me she was at the front of the church, in the urn.

My blood went cold and my brain froze. No. That’s not right. Is it?

I walked into the sanctuary and made my way up to a small table that held her. The urn was beautiful. Soft pink roses etched and gold trim…

“Ha! I’m finally taller than you” I said to her.

I laughed to chuckled over my stupid joke before bursting into tears.

Don grabbed my elbow and led me to the first row of pews and I sat down.

As the service started, I needed my brother. I asked Tayla to switch spots with Justin and leaned my head onto his shoulder and cried some more.

“We are here today to remember and celebrate the life of…”

The blood rushed to my ears. My heart beat so fast I thought it was going to give out. “Don’t say it” I thought. I willed myself to not hear her name.

“Natalie Nicole Allen”

Son of a bitch! No! That’s not right! It’s not fair… it’s too soon. Like I’m some sort of expert on fairness and timing…

We sang a few songs, Jill (a friend of the family, really more like extended family) read a poem my mom wrote, the pastor read the back of the memorial handout, a couple more songs and then it was over.

It was time for cookies and coffee.

I felt like I was in a daze for most of it. I talked to a lot of people. I looked at the pictures on the boards and the slideshow that played in the background. Before people started to shuffle out, we played the song that Natalie requested (repeatedly) over the years be played at her funeral. “The Curtain Falls” by Kevin Spacey.

Once we got home, it hit me. Hard. I cried. And cried and started to scream and wail. I had to bury my face into a blanket because my grief was so loud. Sounds I’ve never heard myself make before were flowing, uninhibited.

I scared Tayla and she cried too. I got into the bed and she curled up next to me and we cried together. Until we fell asleep.

Then it was today. I’ve never felt so lifeless in my life. So heavy and depressed. I cried some more and again, thought my eyes were going to swell shut.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out the pamphlet and business card of the medical examiner. I thought momentarily about tossing them but decided against it. On a day when I have more energy, I will post it. I want people who use to see it. See what they will leave family and friends with… along with the gaping hole inside their loved ones.

I took a nap this afternoon and had my first dream in a week. It was indirect but it was about Natalie. I was dreaming in metaphors. I’ll tell you about it sometime.

For now, I guess the next step is to find out the autopsy results and hopefully talk to the police about what they found on her phone. See if we can find the son of a bitch that sold her that shit…

And to cry. Let it out and then, try to imagine a life without Natalie in it, in the way I’d grown accustomed to. She’s still around. I know she is. She’ll make herself known when she can. She has to.


Oh My God

I am exhausted. Completely and thoroughly. It’s not that I have so many emotions to cycle through but the main ones I am experiencing, are intense and repetitive.

The funeral was this afternoon…

There were so many flowers! People, cards and surprises. I’ll fill you in tomorrow but for right now, I can barely keep my eyes open.

For right  now, rest assured it was a full house. So many supportive people who did the above and beyond for us. People came in from out of town, out of state… we had a fantastic host in the form of a family friend/chemical health councilor who has worked with my mom, me and Natalie. He made sure people were drinking water, offering resources and was a good distraction for when I got tired of hearing myself cry.

Natalie’s ex husband (and friend) bent over backwards to help with the music, the photo display and other various projects.

A few of my friends showed up and stayed late, offering endless support. It meant the world to me.

I’m sure I’m forgetting something… a lot of somethings. They’ll come back and I will write again.

Visitation Day

First off, I want to say thank you. Thank you to everyone who has read/liked/commented/shared/called and or texted to tell me that my writing about Natalie is helping them deal with her death. Tonight my God brother, Ryan, asked if the blog was helping me. I had to smile. That’s why I’m writing it. I so happy(?), grateful, relieved etc. that other people are even just not offended! I need to write about it. I think it’d probably kill me to keep it all inside. Why I have the need to work through my own shit in a public forum is a little beyond me at this point but as long as people are reading? Why not keep on, keeping on? Moving along…

I woke up today to a phone call from Jessica. I answered (I know, right?!) and she said “I just needed to hear your voice.” Oh my God. That meant the world to me. Of course I’ll never replace Natalie, no one can. Nat was SO outgoing, adventurous, fun, energetic -not really my specialty, that to think I’d even be considered a runner up to her kinda blows my mind.

“How are you?” one of us asked. Such an automatic question. All throughout the visitation I heard it. Always followed by “sorry, that was stupid. I just don’t know what else to say…”

“I’m scared shitless that after Wednesday, after the funeral, people will go back to their everyday lives and she will start to fade” I confessed.

Jess burst into tears. “I know. Me too. I’m trying to grab onto anyone who knew her because I’m not ready to let go yet.”

“Me either” I said through my own tears.

It occurred to me that at some point in time, I’m going to say something along the lines of “has she been gone five years already?” and it made me sick. I don’t want to forget about her. Not the slightest length of distance between us and time. I know it’ll happen. It can’t help but happen, it’s just the way life is… so my anger flares again.

After talking to Jess, Tayla and I watched some Golden Girls before going to lunch to celebrate her 13th birthday. I apologized repeatedly and told her how shitty it was that all this was going on today. She waved me off, telling me it was ok. Silly me, I thought maybe she was ok with it.

Then it was time to get ready to go. She wouldn’t brush her hair or change into her dress. Her shoes were lost. “Why do I have to go? I don’t want to go” she whined.

“Nobody wants to go!” I snapped back.

I walked back into the bedroom for a bag to put some clothes into for later. I picked up the bag and a card fell out. It was a Mother’s Day card. From Natalie. Addressed to me, using the name only she had for me. I lost my shit. I collapsed onto the bed and cried. I was also kinda screaming. I don’t even know what the fuck I was doing but I was doing it a long time and it was loud.

Once we got to the visitation, to set up, I’d calmed down. More like I just wore myself out. Until I heard her voice. Her music was playing on a loop and it was like another shock. Another realization of something I’ll never hear again. I cracked. Justin and Sean (her ex husband) were there and I pulled up a chair to chat with them.

People started to trickle in and I was amazed at some of the people who showed up. Not because Natalie didn’t have hundreds of friends, she did. Big wink. (Sorry, movie reference) but because of how long it’d been since we’d been in touch with some of these people. There were former employees of my dads that came. Friends who lived out of state. Kids we grew up with in the neighborhood. It was pretty incredible.

I am truly blessed to have so many wonderfully supportive people in my life. A really good, long term friend of mine called and said “I’m debating on flying down there and holding your hand right now and also thinking maybe you want me to come later, after things have quieted down…”

“Thank you for asking. You know I’m a hugger. I’m big on affection AND I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the people/hugs/condolences…”

“Yeah, I remember when my dad died, it was a sea of casseroles and strangers wanting a hug. Right now it’s about Natalie. Later, when everyone’s gone home, it’ll be about you.” That was perfect. I didn’t have to feel like an asshole by telling her not to come because I don’t have time to be consoled, I need to stay busy, I’m going moment to moment here. I have a sense of relief and comfort knowing that she’ll be there for me when I’m ready. I know self care is important and right now I’m working on self preservation. I know tomorrow will be even more difficult to get through… but after tomorrow.

I left the visitation about an hour and a half in. Shar took Tayla to have SOME fun and made her a cake while I went to my support group. The hours for the visit were the same hours and day of the week as my group. She (Natalie) picked the worst possible time, on the worst possible day to have it. I know she didn’t personally schedule it but I’m blaming her anyway.

It was a very strange feeling to almost physically need my group. I had to be around people who didn’t know Natalie. People who were not grieving her loss as well. Some sort of normalcy. I was super late and I was welcomed in. “We’re glad to have ya” Kathie said and a wave of relief washed over me. I dropped myself into a chair and almost went an hour without thinking about Nat.

I feel like I’m contradicting myself. I don’t want to forget about her, I have to get away from the obsessive “what ifs” and the “if only”.

Tomorrow is the funeral. I don’t know what to expect nor if I’ll be able to withstand it.




Natalie Part 2

After I’d hung up with Justin, Don and I couldn’t get to the house fast enough. I don’t know what the urgency was about. If she’d been in a coma or had a concussion and there were still options… but there was nothing. I guess I felt like I had to rush because I was afraid everyone else was going to fall apart. I was scared I was going to fall apart. I spent the drive over holding my stomach and keeping my head out the window. I was sure I was going to be physically sick. My thoughts were scattered. Not chaotic but with lots of space in between. Everything had slowed way down. I was observing everything around me, using all of my senses. Bumper stickers, license plates, buildings, traffic lights, empty fields… how long has all of this been here? “Honk if you love Jesus, text if you want to meet him” what? Oh, I get it. Why aren’t we there yet? Why don’t people move?

When we pulled into the drive, I sat in the passenger seat with my feet out on the concrete. I took a couple of deep breaths before going inside. The first person to greet me was Enid, a close friend of the family and mother to Natalie’s bff, Jessica. She hugged me, hard.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Who found her?”

“Jessica” she told me.

She’d gone over Thursday morning and thought Natalie was sleeping. Until she tried to shake her. She was cold to the touch and turning purple at the fingertips.

“She called me because she didn’t know what to do, I told her to call the police.”

“Drugs then?” I’m not sure why I asked. Hope maybe. Hope that is was anything other than an overdose.


The dining room was full of people and more were on the way.

I hadn’t cried at this point. I was too angry.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Still at her place, I think. The medical examiner is there and he’s looking things over” someone said.

“I want to see her.”

A couple of minutes later, Jessica called to tell us the police and ME asked for us to come down. They needed to ask us some questions about her history and I wanted to see her before they took her away.

There seemed to be a mix of preferences when it came to seeing Natalie. I had to, Justin couldn’t. Once we got to the apartment complex Downtown, we had to wait. And wait. And wait.

During that time, we talked about the pros and cons of seeing her. A lot of people felt it was a bad idea. “You don’t want to remember her like that”.

When the ME came back, he got some background information and answered our questions. We asked about seeing her and he advised against it. My mom wanted to see her too but it wasn’t up to him, it was up to the police, who were doing their own investigation. After checking with the police, it was decided that only my parents were allowed in.

That’s when I started to break down. I’d wanted to ask them to take a picture of her for me but I knew it would sound (probably) more than a little odd and potentially upsetting so I stayed silent.

It wasn’t until today that I realized how bad I wanted to see her, on Thursday, in her apartment. Before they dissected her, filled her full of formaldehyde and buried her under a ton of makeup. Sometime later Thursday night I called my mom. “Were her eyes open or closed?”

“Closed” she said.

“Did it look like she was sleeping?”

“Yeah, kind of. She looked peaceful. No sign of a struggle, just like she leaned back and floated away.”

That’s how I wanted to see her. I’m confused because Jessica says she is haunted by the image, seeing her like that… maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all. Maybe it was because the ME covered her with a blanket before my parents got upstairs. I don’t know.

Sunday night I found out we could see her Monday. For whatever reason, the funeral home doesn’t do the hair and makeup at the same place as the service is held… (I’m sure it makes sense to someone) but there was talk about me going to sit with her as they did her makeup, to help them get her look right. So, I drove to Minneapolis. I did so gladly. I volunteered. I don’t know why I had the desire so strongly to see her as soon as I could. I’m sure three hours didn’t change anything, except I wanted to spend time alone with her. Shar came with me and it was perfect. She stood close enough to me that I knew she was there yet far enough to where I didn’t feel crowded or any kind of intrusion.

I was scared to go up to the casket. I almost walked into the room but backed off at the last second. Even seeing the casket, open was too much. I started to cry but quickly collected myself and went into the room. The thudding got louder in my ears as I got closer to my sister. When I was standing right next to her, I looked down and went into shock. She didn’t look bad, per se but she didn’t look like Natalie- at all. She looked like a woman in her mid 50’s. The expression on her face was… not one she ever wore in life and her makeup was much too understated. Natalie was bold & brash. She lived out loud. When she entered a room, everyone knew it. But this… this person I stood above, was not Natalie. I searched her face and found her somewhere along the hairline. I touched her forehead as if I was checking for a fever. Her dress wasn’t right It wasn’t the one we’d picked out… We couldn’t use the dress we picked out because of the autopsy. The incisions would’ve been visible in the other outfit.

“God damn it, Natalie. Fuck you. Fuck you for making us see you like this!”

I wanted to tell the funeral director to put the other dress on her, forget about the autopsy cuts. I think it’s appropriate for her to have a big, ugly, fucking Y on her chest. I’ll even bring a sharpie and add an “wh” to the front of it.

Where were the answers? I mean the answers that made it all make sense… and not for the first time since Thursday, I was jealous. I wanted to just lay back and drift away… I didn’t want to deal with any of this. Why couldn’t she be in a coma? Why couldn’t she have gotten another chance? How come she gets off so easy?

I buried her many times before she died. I’ll have to bury her many more after she’s been cremated. Every birthday, hers and mine. Halloween and Christmas (every holiday but these in particular). Each time someone is telling a story and her name comes up, the smile turning to tears, she’ll go in the ground again. And for that, I am angry.

I lost it at Saver’s yesterday. We had to buy clothes for the funeral. Tayla needed a dress and she wasn’t with us. We picked out three and figured she could choose. After the cashier had if we found everything we were looking for, I asked her about the return policy.

“We do exchanges. Usually I tell people to try on before they buy…”

First of all, thanks for thinking I could even possibly get more than one limb into any of these options and two, are you fuckin kidding me? What I said was:

“Well, my stupid sister killed herself and we have to buy a funeral dress for our 13-year-old who will be spending a good chunk of her birthday in a mortuary.”

She suddenly got real interested in the register, the floor, my husband… but before we left, she told me to have a ‘great rest of my day’. Never have I ever wanted to punch someone more.

Then I remember how much pain she must’ve been in to keep doing this to herself. What was she running from? Why didn’t she tell anyone?

It was heartbreaking to find her list of gratitudes:

  1. My life
  2. My health
  3. My family and friends
  4. God

Another entry reveals her hopes to start a family of her own and dreams that God had better plans in store for her.

And so, I sign off with something my brother said. In talking about how to deal with people offering their condolences. “Whenever someone says I’m sorry for your loss, I just tell them the same thing. Because they lost her too. She touched so many lives… we’re all grieving.”


I wanted it to be a joke. A sick joke…

Time started to slow as soon as I saw my brother’s phone number pop up on my caller ID.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I answered.

“Uh, are you at home right now?” He asked

“No, I’m at the bank. Why?”

“Um, will you be home soon?”

“Is it Natalie? Is she ok?”

“No. No she’s not.”

“Is she in the hospital?”


My husband reaches out to me, motioning for me to tell him what’s going on.

“I think you know what I’m going to say, so I’m just not going to say it” Justin said.

“Is she dead?”

“Yeah. So if you could come to the house, we could use your support…”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I felt a numbness drape around me, engulf me. It was like putting on a wet coat, heavy and cold.

“She dead. My little sister is dead.” I said it out loud, repeating what my brother had said, to see if it made any more sense out loud than it did when barely whispered into my ear.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry honey. Here, take this folder, I know you have a lot to deal with, we can talk later. Don’t forget your bank card and ID” reminded the banker.

I looked down at the two plastic cards, confused as to how they fit into my wallet.

“I don’t remember how this works” I said, shaking the wallet close to his chest.

Don, my husband, puts all my stuff together and pulls up the car.

Five days’ prior, my family had an intervention for my sister. She’d been using drugs and alcohol for many years before she finally went into treatment. She was in an inpatient program for about three months, after that, she was in sober housing for another three months. When she graduated… she was looking so good. Healthy and happy. Everyone was so proud. I saw numerous Facebook posts where she was out and about with new, sober friends (and old sober friends) and I thought that everything was going well.

Then I saw her on Mother’s Day. She looked… different. But familiar. She gave me a beautiful necklace with the September birthstone to honor Noah David who was due on September 29th. We started watching a movie and not five minutes in, she was asleep. A deep sleep. She had her phone resting on her chest and when it went off, she didn’t even twitch. I thought maybe she was just really tired… I have those days, a lot of those days.

Short story long, she was using again. She admitted to relapsing and reassured us that she hadn’t like the feeling and wasn’t going to do it again. She was getting an additional sponsor and committing to the 90 meetings in 90 days. What could we say? She’d anticipated each move, question and request. She feed us sweet lies, giving us truth decay.

Four days later, she was dead.

I am devastated. Crushed. Heartbroken. I keep hearing how lonely she was… and I kick myself. Why didn’t I reach out more? Why didn’t she say anything? As for my part, I can tell myself that I was busy with my daughter. She’s turning 13, school’s almost over, we’re moving etc. but I’m wondering if it was because I didn’t fully trust her. I wanted to. Desperately. But after so many lies… So much disappointment… I wasn’t ready to go through it again. Maybe I didn’t give her enough support… I was taking care of myself. I have my own issues with addiction and I was terrified I would go down the rabbit hole after her…

Up until right now, I’ve been so incredibly angry. How could she be so selfish? How could she not know how much we loved her? Been so reckless? Thought so little of herself? It’s such a fucking waste of talent. Waste of life. She had so very much to give…

She had over 646 Facebook friends. She reached out to exactly, ZERO. The one friend she did have, heroin, killed her.

My brother says he wishes he spent more time with her. I don’t know if I do. I mean, I’d give anything to have another day with HER but that was the problem. She wasn’t her. Even when we did get together, her phone would interrupt our conversations. She couldn’t sit through an entire movie, excusing herself three or four times before finally leaving before the film ended. She was either going a thousand miles a minute or falling asleep while sitting up.

I feel some small sense of relief, knowing I don’t have to drop everything and run because Natalie needs me or the dread of more bad news… The worst has happened. The worst is over.

I know I’m still somewhat in denial because I keep asking why. Why did this happen? Why her? Why now? And I know all the answers. It was the logical conclusion based on how she was living her life. She had nearly 9 months of sobriety and lost her tolerance for drugs. She thought she’d built it back up, she took a risk and it took her life… but WHY? God, WHY?

Because she had a slip, I lose a sister? My daughter will never really get to know her aunt? Part of me is grieving the fact that Tayla isn’t grieving. Not that I want her to be sad or in pain but Christ, this is my sister… and, she didn’t know her well. Don and I thought she wasn’t the best influence and I was tired of Tayla getting excited to see aunt Natalie and then she’d be a no show.

Part of what pushed Natalie over the edge was shame. She knew how proud people were of her and she didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Not again. We tried to be gentle with her. We told her that a slip was not the end of the world. “Please, just go back to the meetings” we told her.

“I will” she promised.

I had so much anger… I still have some anger but it’s subsided. While going through some of her notebooks from treatment, I found a goodbye letter to opiates.

“Dear Opiates,

Why did you make me say goodbye? Let me count the ways. At first, you were always there for me. Always by my side. You saw me through the loss of my uncle and my grandmother in the same year. My divorce. You were my best friend, my lover, my confidant, my strategist, my family and my Higher Power all rolled into one. How much fun we had together in the beginning on so many new adventures. You made me feel free, you made me feel safe; invincible. You made me feel euphoric. I could do anything I wanted as long as you were there with me. But that was in the beginning… since I’ve known you, an unforeseeable and most devastating turn of events have taken place. Waking up in an ambulance after my overdose, only to find it had taken 45 minutes to resuscitate me… That time we went to jail for three days for having you along with our other friend, Mr. 38 Special in the car, in Frogtown, on Christmas, when we were trying to score more of you… The Grand Mal. But most of all, you’ve stolen me away from my life as I’ve known it. My circle of friends changed before my very eyes- lifelong friends whom I grew up with and known my whole life. They vanished and turned into a low caliber of people who wouldn’t piss on fire to put me out. My family, so concerned and so worried and so hurt all because of the shell of the person I’ve transformed into since we’ve been acquaintances. My finances- all of my money, gone. Thousands of dollars a week. Hundreds of dollars a day. Turning me out to hustle any one and any way I could, simply to keep you in my life another day. The people at the pawn shop thought I was a good customer. When I sold all my jewelry, my stereo, my laptop, my car rims, anything I could to keep you in my life another day. But now my darling, I have nothing else to give. I am ready to say goodbye to you and I must go on my own way. I simply cannot keep you in my life another day. I wish to bid goodbye to your entire family. I need you to tell them if they see me on the street, that I’ll be walking the other way. For you have 100 million other friends, one third of America is waiting for you. I’m going to let you go and I don’t want you coming back.

Sincerely, Formally yours,


How can I be angry after that? I’m sure there are ways but right now I’m just so full of grief. Sorrow has the monopoly on my emotions and I think I’ll let it sweep me away for just a little while before I go back to the business of productive living.

Then & Now


With a daughter on the verge of her 13th birthday, time has forced me to take a look at my life and take stock.

I’m remembering back to when I was a kid, young adult, all the things I thought people were needlessly worrying over…

Things that would NEVER be important to me. Things like:

My credit score. Who knew how BIG of a role THAT would play?!

Pets ruining even the possibility of a clean house/carpet… Surprise!

My “final wishes” or after the Terri Schiavo case, my living will. Who wants to think about that when you’re invincible?

Car maintenance and repair- BORING!

How to cook – that’s what pizza is for.

Voting- that kinda blew up in my face…

Being punctual. I’m trying REALLY hard to improve this one. Work with me! There are a million things to do people, while you’re waiting, do them! Go through your phone and delete old emails/texts/photos you don’t want. It’ll take you longer than you think!

The crazy people and state of Florida. What an incredible wealth of writing material! The F should stand for fucked!

The list of things I thought I’d ALWAYS care about was surprisingly short:

Clothes/makeup- I do not have to have name brand clothes or flawless makeup.

Boys- Once you’re married, why keep trying? KIDDING!

What others thought of me- it’s none of my business what others think. Honestly, I don’t spend much of my time thinking about what other people do or say so I was probably overthinking the amount of time and energy other people were putting into judging me. I may be wrong about that, but guess what? I don’t care!

So, that’s my list in it’s early stages. I know I shorted you (and myself) with Sunday’s post being so short… I plan on making it up, house hunting is exhausting though and I’m doing everything I can to maintain my sanity. I guess this may be more of a heads up… Until we figure out where we’re going and have possibly moved, the post are probably going to be shorter, more scattered. I’m still dedicated though. I appreciate everyone who reads, truly.


What I Learned From My Mother

Very brave, beautiful post.


Tammy Taylor. Carol Brady. Claire Dunphy. Marge Simpson. Claire Huxtable. Kate McCallister. Mrs. George.

When it comes to movie and TV moms, we have been #blessed with all kinds.

And these characters are all so lovable because we can see glimpses of our own mothers in each and every one.

Some more than others, (I’m lookin’ at you, Mrs. Regina George, self-proclaimed “cool mom”), but each reveal an aspect of every mother’s heart. Because at the end of the day, Mrs. George is really just desperately trying to relate to her kids, however questionable her tactics may be.

I’ve already expressed on here, numerous times, my complete admiration of my mother. She is my rock. My best friend. My role model. My biggest supporter. And I love her with my entire being.

But you already know that. So I’ll table the gushing. At least for this post. 🙂

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