I hate tornadoes.

Tornadoes are awful, awful, awful. They make one of the top three things I am the most scared of (followed by snakes and math, ha). Growing up in eastern Colorado, it was a given you were going to encounter a lot of them during the summer months. The town whistle would go off, you'd haul your ass into the southwest corner of the house, and wait. I can remember being asleep in my bed, my dad coming in and in one big fail swoop, taking me downstairs in the middle of the night because a tornado was coming. He would stand at the door with it cracked a little, listening for the tell-tale sounds of the tornado coming. If the wind would stop (which was NEVER good), he'd come back, remind us to pull blankets over our heads, and we'd pray.

I hate tornadoes.

A tornado once wiped out my girlfriend's home and farm. They lived twelve miles north of our town, and there wasn't any town whistle to go off, absolutely no warning. It just fell out of the sky and crumbled what little of the house they had in the first place. It caused the fridge to fall on her grandmother. It tossed their van into an irrigation sprinkler. And the irrigation sprinkler had been jerked into a curly q and and the van was stuffed in the middle. My girlfriend told us a few months later, someone in Kansas had sent back some homework of hers that had been thrown into their yard. Miles and miles away.

I hate tornadoes and I hate them ever more this week.

A tornado hit a small town south of where I grew up a few days ago. They believe the winds with the tornado were around 199 mph. The town whistle didn't have time to go off, it just dropped on this little town. I recognize a lot of names and faces. I can understand the destruction this would cause had it happened in my hometown.

If you'd like to help out this small community with a monetary donation, here are some links with information on how to:

"... Financial contributions are being accepted and can be sent to the following address:

Prowers County
301 S. Main Street, Suite 301
Lamar, CO 81052

The Mile High Chapter of the American Red Cross is also encouraging people to donate through their Web site at www.denver-redcross.org. You can also call the local Red Cross volunteer coordination line at 303-607-4757

You can also help through the Salvation Army. Click here for the Salvation Army Web site. You can also call the Intermountain Division of the Salvation Army at 303-861-4833 or toll free 800-357-0856.

9NEWS has also started a Heal Holly campaign. Click here tfind out more about how you can help Heal Holly."


Keep in mind, too, that this is a community that has been through a LOT in these past few months. The winter we had in eastern Colorado was horrendous. There were a lot of livestock lost, and again in this tornado, many ranchers lost even more of their already depleted herd.

Any help will help.

Labels: charity, holly colorado, tornado

Like I mentioned a couple of posts ago, I've become a little more health-aware. Translation, when I went to put on a pair of jeans, they were too tight, and like hell is that shit going to happen.

I mentioned wanting to do cardio, but not the muscle building stuff (but hey, if that happens, then fine). My husband offered to ask one of the trainer's at our club if he'd be willing to work with me. The trainer agreed, my husband took his business card and gave it to me sometime last week. It's just been sitting there, staring back at me, ever since.

I don't like the health club. I used to go years ago and met with a trainer. She was nice, but I hated all things health club. Plus, this health club is full of all people I know from my husband's work. I wasn't the althetic girl in school. I don't do physical fitness. I'd rather be outside, walking and jogging.

But, I've hit a plateau and I need help.

Every time my husband has gone to the health club this past week, The Trainer would say, "Your wife hasn't called me yet".

Finally, last night, The Trainer said, "I could just call her if that's easier ..." , to which my husband so dutifully replied:

"No. You don't want to do that, TRUST ME. When my wife is ready, she will call. She hates the health club. You need to let her make the first move. Just like if you see a squirrel in the park and you want to feed it. You don't go all gangbusters in and try and feed the squirrel. It will only scare that fucker off. If you want it to come to you, you must move slowly and make no sudden movements. She really, REALLY despises the health club.



So, bottom line: if you try to make my wife do something she doesn't want to do, it'll be like trying to get the Russians to give up Stalingrad. It ain't gonna happen. Let her call."

My first appointment is this afternoon at 3 pm. He said he'll check my flexibility. I told him that shouldn't take too long then ....
Wish me luck!

Labels: hdh-isms, health club, trainer

This is my front porch ...

Labels: love thursday, porch

I went to another burlesque show over St. Patty's Day weekend. I know, I know, total junkie for a fun night with the girlfriends, great music, and pasties on the ol' nip's, right? I'm telling you, I have missed my calling - but I digress ...

One of the gal's we were with had invited two strapping young men to the show, and they were sitting with us in the booth. Quite polite. Very sweet. Certainly handsome.

Turns out, they were two of three members of an incredibly awesome Colorado based band. They are currently opening for The Who. And when I opened my mail yesterday, opened up Rolling Stone and read "Top 10 Artists To Watch", there they were, staring right back.

Super cool!

Head on over to their Mypace and give a listen ...

Labels: local music, rose hill drive

A few years after my dad died, my mom had hope chests made herself, my brother and myself. They have our names on the front, and three sheaves of wheat on the top (to symbolize our mainstay crop of wheat as farmers and three for the Trinity).

It sits in my bedroom, off in a corner. I rarely look inside. The only time it gets opened, is if I happen to run across an old photo of him I don't want to lose, or something that reminds me of my dad.

Yesterday, after I put my son down for a nap and the house was quiet, I opened up the hope chest. I had no real purpose for doing so - I couldn't think of anything I really needed to look at again or see. I have been feeling a real strong desire to go home again, to get centered again in my life. And the closest way to do that now was by opening up my hope chest for the first time in a long time.

And just like the last time I looked, there was his high school letter sweater, his high school diploma (his dad was the School Board President and had signed it, just like my dad had done for me when I graduated), shirts he wore, baseball caps for his college team and my high school team, a few of the pens he always kept at his desk, his wedding ring and high school class ring, an old movie reel of him playing baseball in high school (I really need to figure out how to see this, too), a silk tie, a Rolodex card with contact information for me at college written in his handwriting, the last business check he wrote me (the carbon, anyway), among many little trinket things I had bought for him growing up (including a paperweight made of wood - I bought it at Summer Camp one year, and I had really no money left after that, I remember, but I know I wanted my dad to have it).

I also found a stack of letters and cards.

Those are always the hardest for me to read, and I rarely do. I have skipped over a few in the past, in fact, because they remind me of a really rough part of my life, and a really hard time I put my dad through. I have always felt horrible about this part of my life.

I have no regrets - after all, they were lessons that had to be learned and I learned them, but I've always wanted to apologize to him for any heartache I caused. I've always wished I could have just a few minutes (okay, a lot more that a few) to sit with him now and show him how far I've come, to show him I could turn the ship around and make something of myself ...

While purusing these letters, I found one I didn't remember seeing before. I skimmed it, thinking I must have written it after he died; instead, it was one I had given him during my first semester in college. I had spent a page and a half telling my dad how much I appreciated him, how much I loved him, certain memories I had of him, how thankful I was to him for his 'strength and good character', and how I wanted to make him proud in my life. I told him I was very sorry for the hurt I caused him, and I wanted to prove to him how good I could be.

I don't remember writing this letter. Almost everything that happened right before he died got stamped out, blotted out, and erased. Finding absolute proof that I had apologized and told him how much he meant to me gave me wings on my heart again. I said out loud complete with tears, "Oh my God, I said I was sorry. I have spent twelve years feeling guilty for never apologizing, and I DID. Oh, thank God ...." It made me wonder what he felt when he read that letter. It obviously meant something to my father, because he saved it somewhere. I would like to think it was in his nightstand next to bed.

So, tucked between a card I made when I was five and a letter he wrote me, was the answer I had been looking for all along.

I only had to look at the foot of my bed, but silly me - I should have known it was in my heart all along.

Last night at the show ....

HDW: I'd like a martini, extra dirty, extra olives.

Waiter: I'll make it so dirty you'll blush.

That's my kind of martini!!

HDH, ClizBiz and myself trucked on down the road a bit last night to catch The Del McCoury Band playing at a great venue up the street from my house.

If you're familiar at all with bluegrass music, you'll know that name. And if you know that name, you'll know what a dynamic group that is!

Must say, we were blown away! The venue itself is quite small and intimate, so the experience is quite personal. Their band truly fed off the energy of the crowd, and I believe we had one of the best shows on record.

Cliz, I'm thinking Rocky Grass .... what say you?

Labels: bluegrass, concert, music

I love stumbling across old photos.

This photo is of me and my first college roommate in 1994, in a small town in middle of Kansas. We had a lot in common. We were both music majors, both adopted. We had a great quirky sense-of-humor together. I adored her.





And then, in typical 18-year-old catty female behavior, we had a falling out. I moved into another room down the hall, and she stayed in our old room. A few weeks later, my dad died. And she found out she was pregnant. I moved away from school. She stayed to finish out the year, I believe, then moved away.



Ending a friendship was painful, but the way THAT friendship ended really bothered me for a lot of years, but we were both going through our own trials, we didn't fix what was broken, we didn't know how yet to reach out to the other during those times. We both hurt, but for entirely different reasons. I will always regret not being there for her more during that time in her life. I can respect, though, that I didn't have the insight or maturity to help like I would or could now.



Almost five years later, I sat down to write her an apology letter. I told her how badly I felt for what I'd done to her. It was silly, I said, and completely childish. I told her I didn't expect a letter in return, but wanted her to know that I hadn't meant what I'd said, and truly was hoping she, her husband and son were doing alright.



Some time passed, and I had a letter from her in my mailbox with a photo of their son on Santa's lap. In her letter, she accepted my apology and gave her own. She said, "We were young and immature. Please don't worry about it anymore!". I remember feeling a weight lift off my shoulders and my heart. We've stayed in touch since, sending our respective families Christmas cards and an occasional email during the year.


Life throws curves, and although it might steady out for a bit, the hits don't stop. I've learned to deal with them better. I take better care of my friendships. I have learned humility and the act of forgiveness. I learned, too, that in each curve, there's almost a new hand reaching out to help you up. Had it not been for that falling out, sadly, I wouldn't have met my second roommate - one who has been a champion in my life and someone I love dearly. She was the friend I needed to lean on when my dad died a few weeks later. She could hold me up, offer a hand, and good words.


I see this picture, and I see many things (other than those god awful ugly pants - my lord!). Most importantly, though, I've learned a lot, but I know I have a lot more to learn as I go ...


"I gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which I must stop and look fear in the face .... I say to myself, 'I've lived through this and can take the next thing that comes along' ....We must do the thing we think we cannot do." - Eleanor Roosevelt, former First Lady

Labels: friendship, love thursday, memories

I'm on a health kick lately. I've stopped drinking soda and haven't had any for a little over a month now (shocker! I'm a Pepsi-aholic). I'm drinking the right amount of water.

And I'm exercising more. I went for a walk yesterday and it felt really, really good to be outside. We weren't getting out at all during all the consecutive snowstorms we had from December to January. We've had 60-70 degree temps here lately, and I'm making use of the sunny days. I turned up the MP3 player and busted ass around the park.

In that spirit, I decided I'd watch what I'm eating, too. I decided to get one of these grills while at T@rget yesterday. I figured I could grill a few pieces of chicken and throw it into a salad, make my low-fat chicken salad, whatever. SO MANY OPTIONS! I was so excited about a silly little gadget.

I open up the box.

I look inside.

There's the grill, but .... it's been USED. And not very "gently", either. There is still FOOD crusted on the grill. Thereare grease splatters underneath, and the grease run off tray has some grease on it, plus a few water spots.

Um, yuck.

What the hell went through that person's mind?

"Hey, I'm going to MAKE a dinner on this bitch, kind of clean it off, and give it back to them without them EVER knowing!! I'm so sneaky!"

I mean, HONESTLY.

PS And if anyone has any good ideas for healthy recipes, I'm all ears. Shoot me an email at hotdoctorwife at yahoo dot com.

Labels: Figures, health, pisses me off

HotDoctorWife: What movie do you want to watch tonight?

HotDoctorHusband: What are our options?

HDW: We have ... either ... "The World's Fastest Indian" or "Fire", the movie about the lesbians in Pakistan.

HDH: Hmmm. How about we combine them both and call it, "The World's Fastest Lesbian?"

Labels: hdh-isms, movie night

Picture this ...

Some time in the early to mid 1980's and I'm in Elementary School. I don't remember what I had on (probably my super cool Statue of Liberty costume, that would figure), but what I do remember thinking I looked pretty righteous walking around town, begging for the candy on Halloween night. My parents would drive us around, dump us off at one end of the block and pick us up at the other.

This night, though, my dad waited until the very last to take us to our teacher's house. There were three single guys who had taken over a house on Nebraska Ave. and had made it into their bachelor pad.

And God, they were always pulling pranks. Once, they'd taken my aunt's red VW bug and put it up on cylinder blocks in the car wash. And this Halloween night, I remember my dad pulling up in front and laughing. My little brother and I didn't get the joke. And oh, are the signs SO CLEAR to me now ....

We walk up to a dark house on Halloween night. The lights are not on. I vaguely remember getting to the front step, turning around to tell my parents that nobody was home about the time the coldest water on EARTH was unleashed on us. And from the rooftop, I saw my three teachers, armed with garden hoses, spraying the trick or treater's and laughing their asses off.

I remember my little brother getting supremely pissed at the entire situation. He hadn't busted ass all night to get drenched. I remember him insisting they give us candy, to 'come down here now!'. I watched him attempt to bust into their house and get the candy his own damn self, soaked Halloween costume or not. I remember one of the teachers coming down, laughing hysterically, and handing us a lot of candy for our troubles.

This story came up last night, because one of the teachers I mentioned is now a coach for a men's college basketball team that played two nights ago during March Madness. They didn't win, and were a big underdog, which was really a huge bummer. I would have loved to have seen the upset.

But really, how remarkable to start out as a small town high school basketball/baseball coach, a PE and math teacher on the side and end up winning Coach of the Year for your Division, and playing in March Madness?

Pretty freaking cool.

Edit: My elementary school BFF is Lizard, and while we were chatting about how cool this all was, she reminded me a few more stories about Coach involving a dodgeball, a brick wall, and a kid with head tic who moved his head into the wrong position at the wrong time. Still laughing my ass off about that. And yes, I'm securing my spot in Hell, I'm sure. I'll save you a seat.

Labels: basketball, Halloween, memories

My family moved about seven miles straight down a country road when I was four. We built a house up on a hill. And about a half of a mile down, the little dirt road happened to go right by my cousin's house. I couldn't have asked for a better path to friendship.

My cousin and I are four months apart in age. She was really my first playmate. Our mom's would get together and make sweet iced tea, take lunches to their husband's in the field, and we'd tag along. We rode our bikes down that country road and met halfway at the irrigation pump. We'd make castles in the old lumber and brick piles, and take turns pounding on our respective siblings .

We went to Elementary School together. We shared the same piano teacher and endured endless piano recitals. We suffered through Junior High, too. Somewhere in there, her mom and dad (my dad's brother) got a divorce. I remember my uncle taking off and my dad being the one to drive down that dirt road to their house to fix broken pipes, and once, to take a fried mouse out of my aunt's dryer.

Not long after, my aunt (who at the time had a teaching degree) decided to become an Elementary School Principal. She studied, got her degree, and they moved a few hours south of where we'd grown up together. It broke my heart. To think of someone new living in their house? Awfully hard.

We stayed in touch some through High School. I thought it was awesome that she lived in a bigger town, had (gasp!) fast food joints and a whole new selection of cute boys. She suddenly had all these new friends and I felt a little left in the dust.

After my dad died (the winter after we graduated High School), I didn't have anywhere to go. I didn't want to live anymore with my mom; she was taking her grief out on me with her fists. My cousin called one day and asked if I'd be willing to move in with her at the apartment she had in a city a few hours away.

I think I started packing before I finished the phone call.

I'll always be indebted to her for that chance, too. I was stuck in a pair of concrete shoes and didn't want where to go or what to do at that time in my life. She opened a door for me, and I never looked back.

She lives in Texas now. We're both married with a child. When we talk on the phone (like yesterday afternoon), it turns into a two hour laugh-fest. I always hang up knowing we had tons more to say.




"We've been friends forever. I suppose that can't be true. There must have been a time before we became friends but I can't remember it. You are in my first memory and all my best memories ever since." ~ Linda MacFarlane

Labels: love thursday

Ooooh! Take the quiz ... it's fun!

Labels: Visual DNA

Aside from my absolute horror that I have a child almost ready to head off to preschool (I mean, when did he get this old? I swear I just had him!), I also am absolutely astounded at the process to GET your child into preschool.

When my son was a little over a year, my neighbor came to me with a packet of information from the preschool they took their girls to. She said, "You might want to start putting your name on the list now if they'll let you." Seriously - with a few years to spare?

The first house I grew up in was miles and miles from any town, let alone any school, and specifically a preschool. I can imagine my mom and dad scoffing at the idea of driving me twenty miles for an early education. When I busted my nose up on a cinder block at the age of three and had actually broken it, my parents opted not to take me to the hospital because the nearest one was almost thirty or more miles from our country home.

My education on the farm was fantastic, though. I wondered around the feedlot with my dad, feeding cattle, riding horses and playing with our big dog, Blitz. I followed behind my mom picking green beans in the garden. She had a giant coffee tin of buttons - all colors and sizes - and she'd help me sort them all. My mom painted the alphabet and the numbers up to ten on a wall in the basement, and I spent hours playing school and learning them myself. We read tons of books, listened to all kinds of music (every time I hear Dolly Parton's 'Jolene', I think of me dancing as a kid through the house).

With all of that said, it's hard for me to think that it took two years of work to get my son considered into a preschool. With the local community I live in booming with babies, there are waiting lists at virtually every place we looked at, even with our 'early' start.

I started investigating preschools. I started filling out applications (I mean, honestly!). When one place asked in their application what chores my son had around the house, I wrote: "He is the Master of Destruction - that is his job". I started making arrangements for school visits, trying to think of questions to ask, and feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

We applied at two schools. The first one being the place my neighbor suggested. The second one being one I'd found on my own, one that I thought my son would really do well with. I liked both places equally, and then hoped he'd just get into one.

So we waited.

Letter came from the first place about a month or so ago letting us know he'd be on the waiting list there. Translation: Sucks to be you.

I knew the second place would send out letters on March 12, and we'd likely receive the news on the 13th - which would be yesterday.

Mail truck came.

Big envelope (good sign) with a note handwritten on the front, "Welcome to 'NameofPreschool'!". I hate to admit it, but I squealed like a little girl and did a little dance. (ALL OVER PRESCHOOL!! Seriously!)

So ... one hurdle crossed. Now, we need to work on potty training and getting me through the "My baby is going to preschool" emotions that are bound to come along. He'll be ready for the next step, I don't doubt. I just hope I am, too.

Labels: preschool, the bug

We hosted HDHusband's family over the weekend. They came in for HDToddler's 3rd birthday party - came in on Friday night, left early this morning.

The birthday party we hosted on Saturday went really well. A bunch of kids hopped up on the sugary goodness that was the Batman cake, running around a jumping in the Thomas the Tank Engine ball pit my sister-in-law got for my son (thank you, I so want to keep track of the 100 balls that he's dumping out - ha). My seven-year-old nephew was hitting one of the neighbor girls. I heard, 'Hey, he thinks you are soooooo cute!!" a few times.

The presents were opened, and I missed most of it for some reason (really? where the hell was I?), so now I have absolutely no clue what goes with what. And beings that it was a Batman birthday party theme, everything is a Batman toy. I don't have a prayer.

In unrelated news, my mother-in-law (HDH's stepmom) always comes up with some random thing to say or opinion to give. Just sort of swerves in out of left field and leaves me speechess. We happened to be talking on Friday night about various kid's movies and how there's always some adult humor involved. My mother-in-law informed me that the movie "Over the Hedge" is really about mexican immigrants trying to cross the border.

I'm glad I could enlighten y'all.

You can thank me later.

Labels: bug's birthday, family

It's Love Thursday ... and today is The Bug's third birthday.

When the Bug was born (after thirty-six hours of labor, and only with eight or so hours of anesthesia), he came out blue and not breathing. He had that ridiculous meconium gook in his mouth and lungs, so they busted in the neo-natal team to bring my baby to life.

Those were the longest minutes of my life.

And those minutes felt like hours.

My husband was trying to help me calm down, reassure me, tell me medically what was going on, but none of that mattered. I needed to hear my baby cry. And then my baby let out a cry and announced his presence in this world, and it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

This picture is taken once they'd gotten him cleaned and wrapped up. His daddy brought him over to me and put him in my arms. My life began the minute I held my son for the first time:



Every time I see this photo, I think of this saying:

"Before you were conceived, I wanted you. Before you were born, I loved you. Before you were a minute old, I would have died for you. This is the miracle of life. " -Maureen Hawkins

How incredibly true.

My heart burst open that day and hasn't quit bursting since. I love my little man with all my heart and soul. He's growing up so fast. He loves all things Superhero, tells me to "WookWookWookWookWook at meeeeeeeeee!" and dances around in circles. Someday, playing baseball with his buddies will be cooler than hanging out with me. And girls will come along and I'll die when he gets his heart broken.

But for now, my Bug swings his arms over my shoulders, unannounced, and says, "I vuv you, mommy!" ... and it's again the best sound in the world I could ask for.

I love you, Bug.

Happy Birthday.

Labels: bug's birthday

And what is that, you might ask?

That's a Bacon Donut.

And yes, I made a point of pointing this out to Dark Damian, who considers Bacon one of his four major food groups.

My other bacon-junkie friend is ElJefe (otherwise known as the ChickenStonerFarmer Friend). I called him immediately to report that you could essentially have The Dream Donut. And our conversation regressed from donuts, to a show he watched about the end times, to masturbation sleeves for men, to friends we don't talk to anymore, to pot. I love my conversations with him.

We also went to a little work shin-dig at the museum on Saturday night. This is me, right before heading out:



They opened up the Ben Franklin exhibit for us to see, and although it looked awfully interesting, I spent most of the time chatting with a resident who was operating on the young woman in this local news story.

We came home, had another couple over for a bottle of wine, dessert and a movie. And as I was crawling into bed at 12:30 a.m., my son started crying out for me ... and that was life until about 4:30 a.m. He'd moan and then scream out every twenty minutes, I'd get him quieted down, crawl back into bed, and he'd wake up again. Had I stayed up just a few more hours, I would have been up for 24. That's not fun. And neither are ear infections that won't go away. (Also, giving him medicine is about as easy as nailing JELLO to a damn tree)

Yesterday, I spent the day sleeping. HDHusband took over and I crawled back into bed. Because the big birthday weekend with family from out-of-town is a mere few days away, I will be busting ass this week getting everything together.

How was YOUR weekend??

Labels: monday, weekend

No, really.

I am a huge fan of perfumes and colognes. Love, love, love them. I have so many for different occasions, different moods. I absolutely LOVE perfumes.

But after my childhood friend Lizard clued me in to a new website, I feel compelled to share with all of you what sort of perfumes and such we've uncovered:

Are you in the mood to smell like earthworm?

How about a funeral home?

Maybe you think the chicks will dig ya if you smell like a horse stable?

Are you trying to stand apart from the crowd? Then you should certainly try this cologne out ...

I like that if you want to smell like this, it comes in a 'calming lotion', as well.

Honestly, any smell you can conjure up in your head, and you'll find it on this site: sushi, paint, vinyl, beet root, holy water, and glue - among many other choices.

Knock yourself out.

Maybe, literally.

Labels: funny find, perfumes

I have one nephew, otherwise known as Little P. He is not little anymore, of course. We celebrated his seventh birthday in December, and I found myself pretty misty-eyed. I have no idea how time flew by so fast.

When he was born, my brother and his girlfriend were warring. While they fought and screamed at each other in the other room, I held this little tiny itty bitty bundle of love and sang him my standard lullaby for a baby: Baby Mine from Dumbo.

"Baby mine, don't you cry ... baby mine, dry your eyes ... rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine ....".

Through a series of unfortunate events, my brother came to have P full-time and has court appointed full custody of him. He is the parent responsible for everything in P's life. His mom has bailed and at last check, has a new baby and moved to North Dakota without telling anyone here, specifically P. At one point, she was living with a strange man, and he had shaved P's head and made him sleep on a mattress with no blankets, and had taken away the one thing my brother had given him: his bear-bear. About then, I flew into a rage. Not long after, Little P came to live with my brother.

I also heard this song by Liz Phair about then:

"Dig little digger, don't be shy
You saw your mother with another guy
You think you'll tell her that she's one of a kind, you say
My Mother is mine
You put your trucks up on the bed next to him
So he can get a better look at them, you say
This ones my favorite one, this one you can't have
I got it from my Dad, you say
I got it from my Dad .."

Because my brother had Little P full-time, they started spending a lot of time at our house. My mom and I pitched in and essentially became the full-time mother figures for him. When I came home from the hospital with my son, Little P was upset and told me to "please put him back". It was the hardest thing in the world for me to hear, but I didn't want him to EVER feel I would leave him, too. Instead, I gave my son to my husband, and P and I went downstairs to watch "Toy Story" together.

My brother, for all of his quirks and crazy behavior, is a fantastic father. Little P isn't little anymore. He's incredibly smart. He's funny. He's kind. He's respectful. He has manners. He's my little buddy.

I hope he understands as time goes on that he is loved by so many people. It will never replace a mother's love, but she wasn't and isn't capable of being a good mother or loving anyone, including herself. I hope he knows that his Aunt HDW would move a mountain to make sure he was okay. He already owns a big part of my heart and that will never, ever change.

Labels: Little P, love thursday