This is my little girl

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"Dear Bobby"

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"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when ...
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If I'd done that

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If I done that, I wouldn't have this. If anything were different then, I wouldn't have Sayler. And in the years that followed her birth, if I'd done anything differently, I wouldn't have Alana. I wonder about "what ifs" I sometimes stare at pictures, or I get lost in memories, or I hear something on the radio or see something that makes me pause and wonder "what if?" And then I remember, on a day like today, that I'm in my car, parked outside of an elementary school, and I am waiting for my almost-six year old. And I wouldn't be outside this very school, waiting for that very girl, if it weren't for things exactly as they've turned out. But then I drift.... Back into a "what if?" Could I have changed anything?  Could I have made anything better?  Could I have made anyone healthier? Could I have said more?  Done more?  And then I remember if anything had changed many years ago, I wouldn't be in this exact white car, with ...
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Are you happy?

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I sat down with a sandwich (and for the record I know food is often featured in my stories and I’m #notsorry I have the body of a 17th century Victorian goddess who also loves #tacotuesday) The sandwich was bomb, guys. The fresh sliced turkey from some fancy deli, and pepper jack cheese and just the right amount of mayo and mustard.  The bread had tiny seeds, also super fancy.  I was at my mom’s and that place is feast or famine central and as I sat down to take a bite Alana implored me, without notice: “mommy you take me potty?” My slight annoyance must have been palpable. Hadn’t I taken her potty only moments before?  And I know I’m a mom and I’m supposed to find trips to the potty to be magical and rewarding but honestly, ya’ll I was hankering for that turkey sandwich and watching “The Intern” on BluRay with my mom.  As I sighed and stood up quickly, lest my little ángel tinkle in her jeggings, I must have looked less than enthusiastic. Alana’s face changed to sur...
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