Tiffany and a series of very bad, no good days... pt. 1

Don't worry... this will be a super heavy picture laden post and I will attempt to balance out the ugly with the beautiful. PROMISE.

My Grandmother died. I went to bed early for a change and woke up to my Father shaking me... shaking me. Holding my shoulder and shaking me awake. "Grannie died, she's gone... your Grannie just had a heart attack. She's gone.... she's gone."

For a few years we'd watched her deteriorate mentally. Going from friendly to frigid to frightening in 60 seconds or less. She didn't know who Logan was. She thought Lillie was still an infant. She would seethe with anger over a vacuum cleaner she knew my Father had stolen from her. People were watching her, she'd say. My Dad and I consistently made plans to find a way to have her taken care of, for someone to watch her and monitor her. I couldn't do it by myself. I couldn't bring myself to call her towards the end, because it was no longer her on the other end of the line. I'd make excuses and honest to God forget about her, because it wasn't her. And now? Now she's gone. My therapist asked me what my Grannie would say to me if she saw the person she'd become towards the end. And to be honest? She'd say something along the lines of, "Look at that crazy bitch!!! GIRL, THERE AIN'T NOBODY WATCHING YOU THROUGH YOUR BACK DOOR!!!" And she would forgive me. I know she would. I know because she left me over 70 pairs of handcrafted shoes from the 70's and 80's still in their boxes with their matching clutches. All in my (our) size. I know because she had a box full of pictures. Pictures of me, the kids, postcards I'd sent her from all over the world. She would forgive me, and that gives me great comfort.

Grannie the Fashionista

Grannie and her #1 girl... that would be me. Obviously.

I worried myself sick over the location of this ring. I worried it had been stolen, worried she'd been buried with it, again worried it had been stolen. This ring really belongs to Lillie as she was named after my Grandmother's twin and they share a birth month (January.) There's a garnet on either side of my Dad's birthstone representing his Mother and Aunt.

Grannie and her #2 Girl. She loved the fool out of that baby, even though she only got to see her a few times. Each time it was as if she was meeting her for the first time again and again...

 

Even though Grannie died the week of the Diva Dash, I owed it to her to keep living. So I ran. I ran, I pushed myself over/through/under/around obstacles. I hefted logs over my shoulders and ran through mouse mazes. I ran uphill and downhill through the mud and then finished off by running through an ice cold creek that left my lady parts more than a little frosty. Sometimes it's a bitch being vertically challenged. I even spent the night before at a friends house... WITHOUT CHILDREN. I broke all my own neurotic rules and pushed myself. Believe me when I say it took a good two days to recover mentally and physically. I still can't believe I made that muddy hill my bitch. I OWNED THAT SHIT.

 

It was cold as fuck and it literally stopped raining MINUTES before we arrived. Mother Nature is a cruel cruel woman.

Friends since '05 y'all! Only took me 7 years to convince her to run with my lazy, non-athletic ass. I don't run for time, I run for fun and to push my body and remind myself that I'm stronger than I think. I prepare for races the same way I prepared for tests in High School, I just don't.

 

Who needs a spa for a mud bath? Needless to say these shoes went directly into the garbage. I'd only owned them since before Lo was born... you know, it was time... Nobody should use the same running shoes for over 6 years unless they're Forrest Gump.

 

And then there was the fire. Just a typical day at work... vendors were coming in and out of the office, we were having a small meeting post-lunch... and then the phone rang. The voice on the other line yelled out that our building was on fire. It didn't seem real. I repeated it back to him to make sure I'd heard him correctly. My Property Manager and Maintenance guys ran like Hell out the front door, seconds later running back in to yell "CALL 911 CALL 911, IT'S BURNING FAST!!!" I started calling everyone that lived in that building all the while calling my Sister from my cell. She wasn't picking up and I just kept redialing. It was the building her and her roommates lived in with their 5 cats. It was my sister's building. Her apartment. Her fur-babies. I moved her in. The guilt rips through me like a hot knife. I am hyperventilating and sobbing and a resident is helping me as I scream at her to "Hurry, please hurry, your building is gone. Your cats are gone. Everything is on fire." Minutes later her roommate walks through the office door in her pajamas with only one shoe on. Tears streaming down her face. The cats wouldn't leave the apartment. She went back for them. The maintenance guy went back for them. Each time they would dart back under the bed. All of them, gone... weeks later we still looked for them in hopes they ran out. I still hope I'll see one.

 

Hardly anything survived that fire. By the grace of God, all children with the exception of one were at school. My Property Manager and one of our Maintenance men pulled an old lady out of her apartment, the same Maintenance man caught my daughter's friend and her mother from the second story window. Every last pet perished. Including an 80 pound black lab that I often confused for my own. The month it took to clean up the aftermath was the worst month ever. I passed it daily to get to/from work. The smell gave the Husband flashbacks of nearly every call he ever went on as an EMT/Fire Fighter. Things were pretty rough... but there were also quite a few God moments that surprised us all.

 

Moments after the first call.

 

This window looked into my Sister's bedroom.

 

My Sister's patio furniture that sat in her breezeway next to her bedroom.

 

The bathroom tiles in her shower looked as if they'd always been that black. Tools from two stories above were in her bathroom as if they'd always been there. I am so grateful everybody was out of the building when it collapsed.

 

I began posting on Facebook about all 10 families losing everything, with only a few having renter's insurance. Donations started pouring in. We could barely get into the other half of our office through the sea of clothing, toiletries, bedding, furniture, etc. A local storage complex ended up donating 3 storage units and a 14' covered trailer for us to transport donations to residents.

 

We had some odd and end gift cards that were awkward when split 10 ways (between the 10 families) so the kids and I put together 10 gift baskets with items most people wouldn't think of when settling into a new place. I.e., extra hangers, toilet scrubber, tissues, toilet paper, air fresheners, chip clips, etc... We had over $2000 worth of gift cards donated from strangers for Walmart, Target and Chick-Fil-A that I evenly distribute between the baskets and secured with the chip clips.

And then the demolition really began... Baby books were found, fireproof safes, fire arms, 10 untouched Coach purses (go figure, right?)

 

Amazingly enough, my Sister's artwork survived. They were all soaked, but practically untouched.

As was her boyfriend's tool chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be continued...

Calculated Risks.

A few weeks back on the way to drop the kids off at school.

Lo: "Mommy, there's our house! Are we going to get it today? Are you going to go see the man about the house?"
Me: "Maybe, baby. Maybe. Mommy still doesn't know what God has in store for us. Mommy's going to go look at a few cars today because Mommy and Daddy REALLY need to have our own cars, but if God doesn't show me a car that's right for us, I promise you I'll go see the man about the house."
Lillie: "I want my own room." ((Insert bottom lip out so far birds could perch on it.))
Me: "I know, Peanut. I know. I want you to have your own room too, but we're not going to get upset if we don't get the house, it just mean God has something so much better for us in store."

I spent all of my off day that week from 10-5 car hunting. Nothing felt right. I started getting excited that maybe I was meant to be in my dream home. The dream home I'd found shortly after the kids started school. Yes, it was for rent... BUT, it had a lease/purchase option. It was built in the early 60's, had all the original hard wood floors refinished, built in bookshelf in the third bedroom (Lillie, our reader's, room), a huge formal dining room that could be used for crafts/play/computer stuff. I've been smitten ever since I stepped into the musty Grandma smell of that house directly across from Lo's Elementary school. The same Elementary school I went to.

And then I told my Dad to pull off at one last car lot. It was a buy here, pay here shanty of a place. I didn't have high hopes. And then I saw the X-Terra. I'd wanted one since High School. I started feeling my heart pound in my chest. After talking to the dealership and transferring money around and talking to my car insurance company, everything just fell into place. I'd talked the dealership down like a champ, worked the maintenance it needed done into the cost of the car and despite the ridiculous interest rate, knew without a doubt I'd be able to refinance it through my bank for much MUCH cheaper in a few months. I'll be able to have it paid in full within a year. A YEAR. Last Fall I was in tears at the bank because they told me even at 30 years old I'd *STILL* need a cosigner on any lease or credit card (yes, even a secured card.) Not because my credit was shit, but because I'd literally built NO credit whatsoever in over 7 years. Why is it, that even though I'd paid off all my debts, left all my accounts in good standing that I was getting shafted? Why is it, you can file bankrupcy and come home to loan and credit card approvals in your mailbox before the ink is even dry on your discharge papers? I just didn't get it, and yet, here I was... approved for the truck I'd wanted forever. APPROVED.

We only need to make a little more financially each month to take on a house payment be it lease or mortgage. So hopefully my review gets me some sort of raise or the Husband can find GOOD employment somewhere. I'd love to say I want a raise, who WOULDN'T want a raise, right? As of right now, however, I'd love to have some sort of relief where I'm not solely responsible for bills, expenses, etc. So here's for the little things. For hopes and wishes and prayers and fairy dust. Lillie needs her own room, Moose needs a back yard, Logan needs a safer environment to run and play, and Mommy and Daddy need a room to express our creativity. Heads out of the gutter y'all, I'm talking about an arts/crafts/computer room. SHOOT, this is a "semi-safe family blog" y'all! I'd like to be able to open those floor to ceiling on days like today where there's a breeze and it can trickle through the whole house. I'd love to open the back door, and yell for the kids to come in for dinner...

I weigh my decision between the truck and the house from both angles often. We needed the vehicle. NEEDED. As much as I love that house, and as much as I want all the little details that pull at my heartstrings... we NEEDED the vehicle. Thanks to my occupation, housing is not an issue, so housing was not and is not nearly as important.

I still wouldn't mind a fresh "home" start.

 

Snot myself lately.

You'll have to forgive me, I'm having a rather amazing time rocking this fabulous head cold slash sinus thing right now. Wait, what? You forgot I blogged. Me too there for a minute. I started to miss you guys. I began feeling a void and not knowing or understanding what exactly it was that I was missing from my life. It was you. Shit started getting real and I ditched like a 17 year old boy whose girlfriend's period was 20 minutes late. So here I am, on my knees in front of you, humbling myself and devoting a few minutes to just clear my mind.

I should have named this post "bullet points." But I didn't. So let's move along, shall we?

Risks. Some of you may understand why this is my topic of the hour (maybe month), but we're not going to put promises out there into existence because I don't want to fail. There's always the risk of failure when promises are made. Be it vows, treats for good behavior, discipline for bad behavior, career advancements, etc. I don't want to make promises I may or may not be able to keep. Thus is the story of my life.

Hello, I'm Tiffany and I'm gonna ramble like a mother fucker on fire because this is my first post since JULY of last year. Again, "bullet points" would have been a better title. Helicopter.

Let's play ketchup and keep with the theme all at the same time. If this were a drinking game, we'd probably call it "bullet points." Banana.

I took the risk of taking Lo out of a for sure great school district so we could "spread our wings" and deepen our bottomless "responsibility well" I like to call "adulthood." He now gets in trouble for "inappropriate touching." Apparently hugging a friend or high-fiving a classmate is inappropriate. I call it being a sociable five year old boy. But what do I know, apparently I rock at this whole parenting thing.

I was on the PTO. Was being the key word. I have the shirt to prove I paid the $10 to be a team player. They stopped calling me after I declined working the popcorn table at family move night because my kids were sick and um, hello? My kids go to bed at 8 because we're lame as shit. This movie thing didn't start till 7:30. Do the math, y'all. I did get a little irked when I wasn't informed about the family fun run. Not halfway into the school year and I was crossed off the PTO call list. I guess I should be flattered.

My father moved in with us. So much for living on our own. It benefit both parties though, so I'm not beating myself up too much about it. Shit happens. Shit like my Grannie passing away last week. My inner Catholic (dudes, like everyone else in America, I've got at least a drop of Irish blood in me) feels insane amounts of guilt about her passing. We'll save the details on that for another post.

I bought a truck. An X-Terra to be exact. I've wanted one ever since High School and we needed a second vehicle. I now have one more bill to pay every month, but you know what, I didn't need a cosigner and I feel really fucking great about that. I love my truck. LOVE my truck. Let us not talk about how it's been at the dealership more than my parking spot in the short time since I've had it. I took the risk of buying a used vehicle, but somehow managed to get the dealership to do thousands of dollars of work to the truck without charging me anything extra. It's all being covered in the cost of the truck itself. Which I talked them down to $8k for. Maybe there really is something to having a used car salesman for a father.

If it weren't for the fact that it keeps Lillie entertained for free 5 days a week under the poorly veiled disguise of a pre-k education, I would yank her out of her pre-k program. Even though she's 4 and can do Lo's homework and her 1st Grade "Summer Fun" workbook, she's still got one year of pre-k left before she can enter Kindergarten. I am praying that she doesn't resent me 10 years from now for putting her in full time school so I could work.

Speaking of work. I work 9-6 most days that end with the letter "y." Remember, my children go to bed by 8. I love my job, but I love my children more. Infinitely more. It kills me to the core that I get a total of 3 daylight hours with them on days I work. T-H-R-E-E. It's not nearly enough time. And yes, I miss being the "at home parent." And yes, I am jealous most days that the Husband gets this time with them and not me. It makes my uterus heart hurt. I don't want to miss Lo losing his first tooth (any day now) or taking Lillie to her interpretive dance class (which, note to self, must look into finding a local studio that offers such a class.) Mothers bring their babies to the leasing office and I hold them and smell them and make ridiculous faces for little gummy smiles while their Mama's vent or fill out their checks for rent and my heart aches to be near my own children. Teaching them, molding them, dancing with them. I try not to dwell on it so I organize another filing cabinet or call a thousand million gajillion leads in hopes for a big commission check the next month so I can take Lillie to get her nails did or to make more empty promises of seeing the big stupid rat and eating at his appropriately named restaurant/germ circus. At least they serve beer there... if we ever find time to go as a family that is.

I've also fallen in love with a house. A HOUSE house. The kind with a yard, a history, built in bookshelves, vintage black and white tile and serial killer lighting over the inset medicine cabinets in the bathrooms. The kind of lighting that makes the "ting ting TING ting" noises as they charge to full brightness. I want to rent the house. I want to lease to own. I want to outright buy that bitch and make it mine. That little voice in my head called "logic" knows we can't afford it. Not on one income. Not any time soon. I constantly catch myself looping through pictures on the property manager's website and just as constantly hand it over to God, because I know I can't obsess about it without being tragically disappointed when someone else makes it their home.

The seven year itch is here. I'm not saying it's HERE here, I'm just saying this year marks seven years of marriage to the Husband. We finally had our first big test of our vows and our strength as a team. I had to find strength in myself and in my love for him to find forgiveness. There's work to be done there, but we must first work on ourselves. He's trying, and I know God is testing my patience and us, so I'm trying too. I'm trying to find understanding for both current issues and issues from my childhood. I'm constantly reminding myself of how patient he was with me while I lost my shit a year ago. There were times I felt alone in my anxieties, but I know now that he was waiting for me to breathe again. Listening for that sharp intake of breath when I would start holding it all in when my world was imploding on itself. Seven more years will go by faster than the last seven. I am lucky to have him as my friend, my soul mate.

I'm still ticking items off my 30x30, but at a snails pace in consideration to when I first started. The Husband and I ran Ram's Hot Chocolate 5k in Atlanta in January and a group of some of my best girls got together for Shape's Diva Dash last weekend. We've still got The Color Run and Dare to Dash in April. I might make it to 30k by my 31st birthday (2 months, 4 days and 5 minutes... but who's counting?) I'm no longer pressuring myself to mark them all off so quickly. Priorities have changed a bit since then and I'm not going to beat myself up when some things are just beyond my control. That's not entirely true. I will beat myself up about it, but I will forgive myself just as quickly. Last year was all about telling others "no." This year it's learning when to tell myself "no." Baby steps.

Next post will have pictures, honest. Fingers crossed it won't be another 8 months from now.

We should all be so lucky.

A little over a month ago we moved into the new place. The transition has been easy for the most part. The kids have adapted well to the neighborhood kids and we finally brought Moose home from the in-law's. I've made new friends and inched closer to knocking a few more things off my 30x30. Just a fair warning, this will be photo heavy.

I know Mama Kat requested our summer thus far in pictures, but I obviously need to get some things out of my head as well. Aren't you all the LUCKIEST??? I'm pretty sure I'm breaking all the rules this post. Summer from my kid's point of view... summer in pictures... pretty sure she asked for 5 pictures, it's gonna be more than that. I might break the internet this go around.

One of the first days we were here, two of the neighborhood kids introduced themselves and since then Logan's been pretty much inseparable from them. For the most part. They're easily 2-4 years older than him, so he doesn't quite understand yet why I won't let him go alone up the stairs without an adult to see if they're home. We've had a few incidents already where I've wanted to snatch him inside, but alas, I will not be THAT Mom. Where our last place had a kid or two within a 5 minute walk (big neighborhood, LOTS of the original residents from 30+ years ago, meaning most kids are moved out and on their own elsewhere), our new place has 3 kids Lo can play with just in our building. I'm content with this for now.

Another perk of our community has been the pool. Lillie likes to use the pool for relaxation purposes. She's not picky as to who holds her, just so long as they don't care not having full use of their biceps the next day. Both kids are fishes now. Not yet confident enough to take the swimmies off, but confident enough to jump off the diving board or edge of the pool and going under for a second. Baby steps.

My Boy and his "Gamma" have birthdays 3 days apart, which is super convenient... with the exception of the fire hazard 5 additional candles adds. Because my baby is now 5. FIVE YEARS OLD, Y'ALL. I die.

Little Honey Badger is a big fan of having so much light in the playroom. Lo likes it for early morning Lego building and Star Wars Coloring Book sessions. It's exactly where I found him this morning, quietly coloring after days of chaos (to be explained in *hopefully* tomorrow's post.) My favorite part is the closet (not pictured THANK GOD) where I can literally sweep the toys into the closet at the end of the day if I'm not feeling OCD.

And then he turned 5 years old 3 days after his Gamma's birthday party and I died. I DIED. Why are your limbs so long, BOY? Why do you look so OLD? How is it possible that you've left me hyperventilating in the both the Courthouse as I retrieve your birth certificate 5 years late AND in the Board of Educations registration center because OH. MY. GOD. you are five. FIVE. And they want me to explain health concerns and proof of vaccinations and I don't know how to explain your previous pre-k experiences because I live purposefully blissfully ignorant to keep me from panicking about moments just like this one and OH MY GOD WHERE DID THE LAST FIVE YEARS GO? I die.

I hung up some pictures. Like what I did there? Panicked momentarily and changed the subject? I'm getting good at that one. Anywho. I like the way the kids personalities are portrayed in their fingerpaintings from school last year. Logan so nice and neat, like I can hear in his head, "green goes here, orange here, a little red here, AAAAAND DONE. IT'S PERFECT!" Lillie's is more like, "HURRICAAAAAAAAANE!"

I hung more pictures. Because we just might be the luckiest people alive. Surrounded by love, laughter, screaming and chaos, good words, big hearts, twins born yin yang style 18 months apart with mirrored freckles and mirrored hair growth swirls and complete opposite personalities. We are so lucky. So very very lucky.

I decorated with the purchases I stashed and boxed away all during June. I'm particularly fond of Mr. Pirate Octopus. I'm super tempted to paint him on their vanity mirror. And maybe on ours too. Seeing as how the Husband likes to tattoo (new avenues taken EVERYWHERE, people!!!) I just might have him tattooed on the Husband by the Husband (I'm still a chicken who will never ever nuh-uh NO WAY get tattooed.)

He's five. I die.

Sigh. 18 months till she's five. I DIE.

And then I thought I really WAS going to die. Started off innocently enough as a sinus/allergy type infection. And then everything settled in my lungs and OMGSUFFOCATING! Neat little recipe though to soothe any morbid thoughts from your mind whilst choking on your own mucous. 2 bags of green tea, 1 bag of mint tea, steep in 20 oz of boiling water... add sweetener of your choice and heaven. Go on now, try it for yourself. It's my understanding this crap is floating around nationwide. Pretty sure I just performed a community service, you're welcome.
 

 His.

 

Hers.

 Ours.

Get a damn room already.

A month after we moved in, almost to the day, my kids went and left on their very first trip out of state without me. My womb, I kid you not, cried. I am so screwed when they move away to college or elsewhere. I talked to them every night except one, I sang lullabies in the middle of grocery aisles from over 500 miles away, I listened to my Mother pretty much parrot what I deal with on a daily basis and ached inside to have that noise and normalcy back under my own roof. I prepared myself for their return last night by kicking the Husband out of our room so I could sleep with both of them curled into me. Strangely enough, they both didn't argue when show their own bed. We're still pretty big advocates of "You sleep in your own bed unless a hungry bear is standing over you in your sleep threatening to eat you, and then you can come sleep with Mommy and Daddy." Apparently I taught them too well.

It was nice to wake up to the sounds of Logan wrestling with Moose and talking Star Wars to himself as he colored, waiting for me to roll out of bed and break the silence. Lo rises with the sun, no matter what time he goes to bed. Unlike his Sister who relishes every extra second of sleep she can get. So I cracked my back, made some coffee and hooked Moose up to his leash and the boy and I enjoyed a rare 20 minutes of walking the dog around the complex and catching up on his reunion events and all the naughty little tricks his cousins taught him. Apparently he was taught that squeezing his, ahem, balls would get the last of the pee pee out. This is why I feel completely and totally at a loss as to why God would bless me with a son. What on earth am I supposed to do with a little boy who says things like "balls" and likes to play Star Wars and gets embarrassed because some girls are SO pretty? BOYS ARE SO WEIRD, Y'ALL.

Also? After 4 sleepless nights, I took a 2 hour nap cuddled (for the most part) with Lillie Rae today. It's good to have my babies home. I wouldn't change this madness for anything in the world.

Ahem...

I'm not dead, you guys. I'm totally alive and well and all is great!

The only reason you haven't seen me as of late is because I've been BUSYBUSYBUSY in what is apparently the busiest rental season of the year. We are all moved in and once I get everything unboxed and put away I will post some pics up of the new place. Trust me, I'm as excited as YOU. I'm already smitten with our little apartment and can't wait to share it with you. Something I've been meaning to research since we've moved in is EXTREME mutual deja vu. Last night at dinner I brought it up to the Husband that I feel as if at LEAST 5 times a day I'm getting weird deja vu type vibes ever since we moved in, and he turned and looked at me in disbelief because he has as well. It's so freaky, because I know without a doubt that this move was meant to be, I just want to trust that it's all for the right reasons. Have I mentioned I'm a hopeful pessimist? Have you picked up on that yet? I always always ALWAYS expect the worst and secretly cross my fingers behind my back hoping I'm wrong.

Lo turns 5 on Saturday. I am not excited. I mean, I'm excited to party and celebrate and gorge on delicious cupcakes... but 5??? NOOOOOOOOOO MAH BABY! He's making lots of new friends here that my Husband lovingly refers to as the 1500 gang (our apartment building number.) Now if only we could get rid of this pesky stray cat that likes to pee all over their "clubhouse" picnic table. We moved our "Little Tikes" outside toys yesterday (well... MOST of them) and as I left this morning the stank of cat pee wafted from their play area and LO AND BEHOLD, cat pee... all over the damn table. So, dear readers, just how on earth do I repel stray cats from my kids area?

I've missed you, internet. MISSED YOU. I want to cover you in big slobbery kisses and hug my laptop to my chest with a big sigh of relief. Unfortunately, that will still have to wait a few days as my WIFI router still hasn't shown up. Dear USPS and Amazon authorized retailer who shipped FROM a city in Georgia TO another city in Georgia, way to stay classy. High five.

So let's all cross our fingers behind our backs and be secretly hopeful that Mama gets her router... because I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep myself from slapping some people around. It's also putting a serious damper on my Bejeweled Blitz playing before bedtime. Apparently I have the worst cell phone service ever in our apartment and the only solution is to link up to the WIFI... of which I have NONE.

Cupcakes. Lots of cupcakes this weekend.

A woman should be lucky to have so many men.

Happy Father's Day to my readers who are Fathers or who play the part. I'm blessed with many men in my life, some biologically and some through marriage. Some just step in when they see me wielding a power tool or can see me imagining myself wielding a power tool.

My Father gave me life, loved me and continued to pick me up and hold me even when I probably was too big to carry. I was probably 7 when I just stopped asking because I could hear the strain in his spine as he'd loop his arms under mine. I try and remember daily how important that one memory is to me 25 years later as my own too big to carry child wants me to pick him up and hold him. Now, my Father is my taxi driver, shuttling me from one place to another when I'm to anxious to drive there myself. Even if it's just to the grocery store. I like to think that I'm keeping him out of jail and he should be thanking me. After all, some of those girls, DAD, are old enough to be your granddaughter. SIGH.

My Grandfather, though he refused to make the drive, called me minutes before my wedding to give me the same speech he'd given my Mother on her wedding day. Something along the lines of, "think of all that money you could have used towards a new car or a down payment on a home and instead all you're getting is sand in your butt and a piece of paper sealing the deal." He's given us a roof over our head these past 5 years and I hope we've given him that extra spark that went missing once my Grandmother passed. I know "his babies" mean everything to him. I don't know what I'd do without my Pappaw.

My Husband. THAT MAN I MARRIED. I will forever be grateful to him for all the silent support, standing next to me as I slowly lost my mind and held my hand as I struggled to come up out of that hole. For the beautiful, amazing children he gave me and all that he's taught them and strengthened in them. I couldn't be luckier to have married a man who makes such an amazing Daddy to his kids. I hope one day he can see all his children together at the same time, if not for a moment, many many moments in his life time.

Turn it up, THIS IS MY JAM!

I'm headed down the Atlanta highwayyy!