Wiener on Parade!

So it's the typical elementary school program. All the parents show up with their cameras, video recorders, Blackberries, iPhones, etc. to tape their little munchkin sing the well-versed medley of America's favorites: a remix of It's a Grand Ol' Flag with a touch of America the Beautiful peppered with The Star Spangled Banner. The music teacher is a flustered mess as she races from one part of the stage to the other. The usual cast of characters take their place on stage: the crying kid, the kid that won't keep his hands to himself, the clean kid that looked like she just stepped out of a Nordstrom catalog, the booger eater and the mannequin kid (you know that kid, the one with the eyes wide open and lips sealed shut that don't move).

Of course my 6 year-old, with the stage presence of Oprah Winfrey and the charismatic voice of Celine Dion, is in the front row singing her heart out void of shyness. This is the same kid, when at home, asked what she was singing for the program responds with a disinterested, "I don't know" or "I don't remember" and runs off to tackle the dog.

The show continues and the 2nd graders now enter and partake in the familiar sounds of patriotic hymns. And, like the 1st graders, the cast of characters aren't too different: crying kid and mannequin kid are on stage along with booger eater...but now throw in wiener boy*.

Yes, it is EXACTLY what you are thinking. Let me paint the scenario...

The 2nd graders are on stage doing their rendition of It's a Grand Ol' Flag and I see a boy on stage fumbling around with his pants and messing around with his zipper.

At first I thought, "Ok, the kid is just nervous, he doesn't know what to do with his hands..."

Then he started fidgeting and pulled his zipper down.

"Ok, maybe he's fixing his underwear..."

Then, in a Matrix-like, slo-mo fashion, he whips it out.

Yes... he pulls out his wiener.

And continues to sing loudly in his most patriotic voice while his little baloney pony stands at attention.

Parents who were sitting in the front row flew up in a rage to grab a teacher nearby to yank wiener boy off the stage. The teacher was oblivious to Admiral Winky & the Twins coming out for the show. So, wiener boy was pulled off the stage instantaneously and whisked away like a criminal...

Enter wiener boy's dad.

Wiener boy's dad races towards the teacher demanding to know why his son was pulled from the program. While I didn't hear the conversation...his facial expressions said it all. He made a beeline to the back of the auditorium where wiener boy was sequestered for the rest of the show.

The parents who had front row seats to the shenanigans were so up in arms and talking about how awful it was. But.. you know what? I thought it was fricking hilarious.

Inappropriate? Yeah, ok...

But I'm chalking this up to this kid "being a boy". Yeah, he's 7 years old and old enough to know better and ok, hold him accountable by punishing him appropriately....but then...let it go.

I don't think this kid premeditated anything. He wasn't at home before the show strategically planning on how he could display his frank & beans and piss people off.

Sometimes in life, we just gotta learn to laugh and not take life too seriously.

This kid could very well be our next president.

If not, his parents will always have a funny story to tell...

*name has been changed to protect the very embarrassed parents of wiener boy

Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho..It's Off to the Gyno I Go!

Ugh.

The yearly exam.

The poking.

The prodding.

The Pap.

I have to be honest. I skipped out on my last year's appointment and that is very unlike me. I know, I know...shame on me. But ever since my husband got 'snipped', my reasons for going to the gynecologist have been put on the back burner. Ok, so I need to get back in for the yearly cell scraping of my uterine wall and boob massage. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Preparing for this yearly venture is a task of it's own. I feel like I'm getting ready for a porn shoot the night before my appointment-- Haha, 'Saturday Night Beaver'. But seriously, I make sure my nether regions are primped and manicured and fresh before my appointment. And as I prepare for my ' yearly prom date', I start to think about how my appointment will go from beginning to end:

3:15- Walk into doctor's office, sign in, update my insurance information hand over my $20 co-pay

3:20- Sit down and survey the waiting room. The usual cast of characters will be there: the screaming kid rolling on the floor while mom ignores him, the teenager wanting to get on the pill, the chick with the cellphone that insists on talking loud enough so that everyone knows her 'baby daddy' is a cheating asshole, the overweight lady with the 7-11 Thirst Buster cup wearing a red "Sexy Bitch" tank top that is 5 sizes too small and dirty flip-flops (who is also pregnant and can't tell), and the 89 year old lady that doesn't hear her name when they call her for the umpteenth time.

3:30- My appointment is supposed to be at 3:30, but they won't call me until 3:50

3:50- The medical assistant will call my name and of course mispronounce it

3:51- The dreaded scale will await me. I will take off everything I can,even my earrings and I'll look the other way as she scales the weight 'thingy' back and forth on the professional, piece of crap scale. I will cringe and not want to know the result

3:55- Blood pressure will be taken and then I'll be asked to pee in a cup

3:56- I will have saved all my pee from drinking the gallon of ice tea I had on my way to the appointment

3:57- Stage fright. I'll think of warm beer

3:58- I'll pee and miss the cup

3:59- I'll try again and I'll manufacture enough pee to serve a Brownie troop refreshments for a month

4:00- I'll walk my warm pee to my examing room and set it on the the counter

4:05- The medical assistant will walk in and tell me to disrobe, tell me to place the paper top on
backward and pull the paper sheet over my legs

4:10- I'll place all my clothes carefully on the chair and hide my thong (I'll normally do this when I'm not wearing cute ones), pull on the gynecological couture and sit on the crinkly paper and wait

4:13- I'll text my friends and makes jokes about where I'm at

4;15- I'll think to myself that most of my time is spent waiting--the exam itself really only takes 15 minutes

4:16- I'll look at the stirrups (the metal things connected to the chair that you place your feet in) I'll think how considerate they were to cover them with a soft 'oven-mitt' type of material so that my feet won't be cold

4:17- I'll look at the posters on the wall about the different parts of the vagina and think about how many vaginas my doctor sees. Does it phase her? Does she look at vaginas and think about how ugly they are? I start to imagine the different smells she must put up with. Does she go home and talk shop over dinner? As she's eating her roast beef dinner, does she say, "Oh honey..this reminds me of a woman I had in today..her labias were gargantuan!"

4:20- I'll start to fidget and wonder if I should put my stilletos back on to elongate my legs while they're in the stirrups. I'll look at my thighs as they peek out from under the paper blanket and think about how thick they look then become instantly depressed

4:30- I'll start to notice how cold it is and how my nipples could cut glass. I don't want her to think this exam is turning me on, so i try to massage them back in

4:35- I'll find a dumb magazine like "Quilt Making Made Easy" and try to pass time

4:45- The doctor will come in with her nurse practioner and ask me the first day of my last period. I never know, so I usually lie.

4:50- The doctor will look at my chart, make small talk, ask me about what I did during the summer, how work is going and start to examine my breasts as we continue to talk about traffic and the housing market in Phoenix. Her hands will be cold and I'll pray she doesn't find anything unusual

4:55- She'll tell me to scoot down a bit, so that my butt is right at the edge of the examining chair. My vag will be close enough for her to see my tonsils. She'll tell me to relax as I place my feet in the stirrups and let my knees fall to the wayside. The nurse will stand there and observe as if she is watching the doctor carve a turkey for a family of 12

4:56- I'll be relieved that I didn't take a dump before my exam. I wouldn't want to show up with poo residue

4:57- The doctor will douse the speculum (it looks like a metal duck) with enough lubricant (for Phoenix and the surrounding cities to play slip & slide) and place that bad boy in my birth cannon and crank that sucker wide open to scrape out some lovely cells for examination

5:00- She'll take the 'car jack' out of my vagina and then tell me that she'll be doing a quick anal exam as well. One in the pink wasn't good enough for her- now we go to one in the stink. Not fun..but again, glad I didn't drop a deuce before the exam

5:05- She'll tell me everything looks good, pat me on my shoulder and send me on my way..and there I will lay..a lubricated mess, with nothing but my paper ensemble

5:10- I'll get dressed, walk out & into the waiting room past all the characters waiting to be seen. Each one of them will know that I was just penetrated by metal and fingers

5:15- I'll get into my car, thankful that it's over and immediately start dreading next year

Why is this such a chore? Why do I make this so much worse than it really is?

I need to stop being a whiner and be grateful.

Yes, be grateful for the top-notch medical care that's available to us in this country; let alone, the services that are available to us as women.

In other countries, women aren't so lucky.

In America, we don't realize how good we have it.

So~ I'll stop being a little, whiny bitch...

until next August.

:)

An Open Letter to My Boobs...

Dear Boobs,

I remember when you first popped into my life. I was 11 years old. It was a brisk fall day and my mother made me stand under a cherry blossom tree to take a picture wearing a tight, cream turtleneck sweater. When she developed the pictures, there you were..poking out in broad daylight, like aspirins on an ironing board. I refused to accept that you were going to be a part of my life.

When my Wonder Woman Underoos weren't doing the job anymore, I started to wear tight tank tops under my shirts to conceal you. I wanted to hide you from the world because I wasn't quite ready to advance into 'womanhood'. My grandmother would refer to you as 'mosquito bites'. All the other girls I knew were already wearing bras and the boys would joke about "Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders". I didn't want any of that attention, but you didn't listen. Noooo... you just insisted on growing and forced me into the teen bra section at Sears- damn you.

But over time, my resentment of you started to fade away. It was hard being in junior high and seeing 'Tina' with the biggest blouse bunnies one could ever imagine...in the 8th grade. (Everyone has a 'Tina' in school--that one overdeveloped girl in their class that the boys flock to.)

As I started to take an interest in boys, your interest in growing seemed to be put on the back burner. You just couldn't make up your mind. You started to frustrate me and I took it personal. It was like you were paying me back for being such a bitch to you when you made your first appearance under that cherry blossom tree.

High school is when you and I started to become allies. You decided that it was my time to shine and you transitioned from mosquito bites to boobies. You weren't as big as I wanted...yet. But I was happy to occupy my bra with your presence. I started to feel more like a woman instead of a prepubescent schoolboy.

By the time college came around, you were in full bloom...your prime... you weren't boobies anymore..you were tits. Sexy tits. Victoria's Secret sexy tits. I referred to you as 'The Girls' and boy did you get a lot of attention. You were fondled, you were pinched, you were grabbed, you were sucked, you brought ecstasy to my life. I never realized how sensitive you were. You were perky and cute yet erotic and strong. You gave my self esteem the boost I needed. I was no longer embarrassed to be associated with you or my sexual self. You had become one with me.

Life went on and then came marriage and babies.

I never knew how much you would change when my babies entered the picture. Our relationship had become a roller coaster of emotions. When I was pregnant, You decided to transform into sloppy, ugly National Geographic fun bags. You were no longer 'tits'..you became 'breasts'. I couldn't even look at you in the mirror. You disappointed me...but I never gave up on you.
You redeemed yourself right after I gave birth. You became delicious flesh melons. I changed your name to 'stripper boobs' because you were perfectly round and voluptuous---- you were back to tits. I missed you. I wanted you to stay like this forever...

But life goes on, seasons change and so do boobs.

I would never consider replacing you with fake ones. You've been good to me. I'm blessed to have you. I'm sure that there are a lot of women out there with cancer-stricken boobs that would kill for a pair like you. So, just know, that I appreciate you and have never taken you for granted and never will.

We've had a love/hate relationship up until now and you will always be a part of me...

(even if I secretly wish to have the stripper boobs back )

Love Always,
Me

Sexy Mother Packer

I confess.

I'm a serial over packer.

I will take EVERYTHING I can and pack it... 'JUST IN CASE'.


That's my excuse everytime..

Charlie: Why are you packing shampoo? They have it at the hotel.
Me: Just in case

Charlie: You're bringing a blow dryer, too?
Me: Just in case
Charlie: And... 10 pairs of panties?
Me: Just in case
Charlie: Do you really think you need all those shoes? We are only going to be gone for the weekend!
Me: Just in case
Charlie: And...the fur-lined parka & snowboots?? It's Arizona and 100 degrees outside...
Me: Just in case!

I can't help it. I like to be prepared!

My husband's mantra is, "...just buy it when you get there.."
He can fit a whole year's wardrobe into a Nike carry-on bag and be fine with it.
Me, on the otherhand, need a forklift to help me hoist all the heavy luggage for a weekend trip to San Diego.

It's gotten even worse now that I have kids...

Charlie: Why are you packing 6 toothbrushes? We only have 2 kids.
Me: Just in case
Charlie: Do you really think they need 3 pairs of pajamas and all this underwear?
Me: *sigh* Just in case!
Charlie: We are only going to be gone for 2 days. What's with the sweaters, ski masks and 5 pairs of jeans for each of them?!
Me: *roll my eyes*..Just in case
Charle: And stuffed animals, coloring books, a DVD player and the Barbie apartment/condo? Do they really need all this stuff?
Me: Just in case!!!

By the time I've packed everything but the kitchen sink, I've managed to load up 4 suitcases and 2 duffel bags. And I know, nine times out of ten, I really only use a quarter of what I brought. But, hey...I am always prepared! Why buy it when you have it at home? (Or in my case, in your suitcase?!)

What also changes when you become a mother is your handbag.

Oh, the lovely little handbag metamorphasizes into 5x's it's size when you have kids. You no longer have the cute little clutch..you now have the 'mom purse'..ouch!

I remember how cute my 'pre-mom' bag was..it was like yesterday...

It was the cutest little Louis Vuitton handbag with a matching coin purse and wallet. I loved that bag and the contents inside:

- Dior compact with rosy lip gloss
-Matching Louis Vuitton check book holder with pen
-Chanel blush
-Leather business card holder
-Cell phone neatly placed in the inside pocket
-Tiffany heart keyring with a few keys
-Concert tickets
-Brush
-Mint Gum
-Chanel perfume
-Dior sunglasses

And then.... it all changed after I shot my offspring out my birth cannon....
My cute little handbag turned into a monstrous, Mary Poppins, bottomless, pit of a purse overnight.

I now lug around the handbag from hell.

Let's take inventory, shall we?

- Dior compact w/ a broken mirror and smudged gloss
- Receipts
- Check book is now unbalanced and bent with pages folded over
- Receipts
- An unopened Capri Sun drink with a missing straw
- Receipts
- 3 different packs of gum with only one stick left in each pack
- Receipts
- A lollipop with crumbs and a paperclip stuck to it
- Receipts
- Movie ticket stubs from Hannah Montana
- Receipts
- Chuck E. Cheese tokens
- Receipts
- Cellphone with fingerprints and a sticker on the back
- Receipts
- Expired coupons
- Receipts

- A Polly Pocket shoe and skirt

- Receipts

- Polly Pocket's head (yes, just her head)

- Receipts
- Free panty coupon for Victoria's Secret that expired last Christmas
- Receipts

- Restaurant crayons with only 2 in the pack

- Receipts

- A rock

- Receipts

- A broken hair clip

- Receipts

- High School Musical lip gloss w/ Corbin Bleu scratched off because he's 'ugly'

- Receipts
- Recipe that I ripped out of a magazine at the dentist's office..last year
- Tampons
- Receipts
- Advil
- Receipts
- Camera to record all the kids' special moments (as soon as I erase the full memory stick)
- Receipts
- Hand sanitizer stuck to an appointment card for my gynecologist (that I forgot about)
- Receipts
- 3 packs of Spongebob Fruit snacks

I find it quite humorous as I take inventory. Wow..has my life changed. But I savor every minute of it.

And yet... it's kinda sad.

I know that before long, my babies will be all grown up and my huge, monstrous purse will slowing change back into the small handbag it once was... but for now, I will continue to immerse myself into the joys of motherhood...and hang on to the Chuck E. Cheese tokens...

JUST IN CASE :)

The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past...

"Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe... you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be...." Carrie Bradshaw, Sex in the City


Boyfriends.
Do I have any regrets about my past or who I've dated?
Absolutely not.

Do I sometimes question the decisions I've made when it came to the colorful personalities that I've have shared my life with?
Absolutely.

I know that God brings people in and out of our lives for a reason. And I've taken away so much from each relationship. I have learned a lot about myself and about life from each and every one of them. Although I don't mention every single guy I've dated in this blog (please don't take offense), you've all made an impact on my in some way, shape or form. I've learned how much my soul can tolerate and how much my heart can forgive.

To all the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past, I'd like to thank you...

D.R.: You were my very first boyfriend in 8th grade. You were the first to hold my hand and you were my first kiss. In junior high, when I was going through my 'ugly duckling' stage, you thought I was cute and it really boosted my self confidence that a popular boy like you found a goofy, clumsy girl like me attractive. But then you decided to 'cheat' on me with Veronica because she let you feel her boobies and go down her Jordache jeans. I was crushed. But I want to thank you. Thank you for bringing out the stronger side of me at such an early age. It felt good to know that I could make wise decisions and stand up for myself and not give in the pressures of intimacy at such an early age.


E.A.: We were together for 2 whole weeks in junior high. That's equivalent to a year in real life ;) You had the best handwriting, you were smart, funny and brought out the intellectual side of me. Thank you for helping me overcome my fear of revealing the "smart " side of myself instead of hiding it for fear of being classified as a nerd. I still have the love notes you sent me and will always cherish them. And now you're in heaven, your life taken too early. Miss you lots, Eddie.

D.S.: You were my first car date. You were the first one my mom let me stay out with until 10 p.m. You respected me and you never tried anything inappropriate. You were on the baseball team and had your head on straight. You had the Suzuki Samurai that screamed 'chick magnet'. You gave me all your attention and I think I took advantage of that. I want to apologize for being such a spoiled brat to you in high school. I want to apologize for breaking up with you and believeing your "friend" who told me that you were seeing other people behind my back when you really weren't. I didn't realize he had other motives. I will forever carry around the guilt and I am truly sorry. I know that you and I remained friends afterwards but I don't remember why we grew apart- it was probably my fault. But I want to Thank you. Thank you for showing me that guys in high school can still be gentlemen and loving without expectation of a physical nature. Thank you for bringing out the laughter in me.

B.G.: I had a crush on you in 11th grade, but we technically never dated. You were a baseball player, cute and always flirted with me and so I thought there was a chance for us. When i finally revealed my true feelings to you, you crushed me by telling me you had a girlfriend that attended a different school. WTF? You never, ever mentioned a girlfriend before. I felt like the biggest loser, And when things didn't pan out with her, you tried to get with me. But it was a little too late. THEN...I find out (22 years later) that you lied to me about my boyfriend (D.S.) cheating on me. You lied just to get me to break up with him. I don't think I will ever forgive you for that. I lost a very special person in my life because of you and I will always carry around the guilt for hurting him. Yet, still..I want to thank you. Thank you for keeping me grounded and bringing me to the realization that life isn't fair and that it goes on with or without me and my broken heart. A harsh reality to swallow at 16.

M.O.: Took you to my prom, dated for over a year and thought things were 'ok'. It was the 'football-player-meets-thug' swagger you had, that attracted me to you. Or maybe it was your cockiness that fascinated me. And there were some things that I thought I could change about you, and I tried. I thought that if could just change those 'little things', our relationship would be perfect. As I graduated, we grew apart...naturally. For the record, I never cheated on you. What I am guilty of, is knowing in my heart that it was over between us and not being upfront about it. Thank you for helping me learn that I cannot change anybody. I cannot 'fix' people or go into relationships thinking that this person will change for me. I either accept them for who they are or move on.

F.L.: When writing this blog, i told myself that I wasn't going to bash anyone. But with you, i will make an exception. I wish I could say one nice thing about you, but I can't. It's taking all I have in me not to mention your name. I don't know what i was thinking when I met you. Maybe it was the 'bad boy' image that created the excitement of being with you. I strayed from my norm and took a chance with you. Being an adult woman, i thought I knew what I was getting myself into. I thought I knew better. I never expected our relationship to be such an abortion. You tore away at my soul until there was nothing left of me. My spirit was drained and replaced with such negative energy and hurt. Your controlling ways brought out your demented world of insecurities and your physical abuse revealed the coward in you. You cheated, you lied and you blamed the world for your situation instead of looking within. I didn't like myself when i was with you. I actually loathed the person I saw in the mirror. I wasn't the happy, go-lucky girl that everyone knew. I had transformed into this sad, empty shell of a human being. I alienated my best friend and my family when I was involved with you. They couldn't bare to see what I was putting myself through for you. But I didn't listen. They loved me enough to let me follow my own path, but stayed right behind me to catch me when I fell. I didn't want to face the reality that they were right about you. I was your arm candy. That's all I was. Delusional, you were. But...I started to fight back, and you didn't like that. I started to place you in the backseat of my life, and you didn't like that. I started to regain my confidence to leave you, and you didn't like that. But-- I want to thank you. Yes, I want to thank you for testing my faith and my unwillingness to give up on myself and my future. I want to thank you for showing me that I was stronger than I thought I was and that I could fight my way back and become whole again. I want to thank you for forcing me to find my own wings and fly away. And...I also want you to know that I forgave you a long time ago. I knew I came to a crossroads in my life when I was able to forgive you and find closure. You need God, I hope you find Him one day, as I know you have a lot of free time in prison.


The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past will always remain a part of me. I wouldn't be the woman I am today making unusual efforts to succeed without the life experiences of Boyfriends Past.


No regrets. Just lessons.

Off to NYC!

It's been awhile since I've been on the road without without my kids..probably about 9 years ago when I used to work for a record label and it was a weekly occurrence. I've really settled into such a comfort zone with my daily routines and the monotony of daily life (which I love).
Leaving my kids behind for less than a week is excruciating. As I sit here in the airport I see kids pass by with their parents and the feeling of guilt overwhelms me. But I constantly gotta remind myself that what I am doing is for the better of my career which also affects our family. I gotta remind myself that I can be a strong, confident, successful woman in my career while also being a successful mother as well. It's not easy balancing motherhood and my career. But it IS do-able as long as my priorities stay straight and I keep family #1.

I'll probably blog about something funny later...like what people wear to the airport or the bags they carry..or maybe the Croc shoe invasion....

*Sigh*...is time to fly back home yet??

Dance with My Father

It seems like just yesterday that I danced with my father.

I remember when I was 5 years old and running to him the minute I'd hear a Freddy Fender song play and stand on his feet and grab his waist so that we could dance together. Before the Last Teardrop Falls, was one of our favorites and he would hold me as we danced together across the room...I never wanted the song to end. And the lyrics were fitting:

I'll be there anytime
You need me by your side
To drive away every teardop that you cried..


I share a lot of blessed memories with my father along with life long lessons:

- Dad taught me that that cleanliness is next to Godliness. I never had a hair out of place, a stain on my clothes or a scuff mark on my shoes. If he could carry me so that I wouldn't touch the dirty ground, he'd do it...even now, if I'd let him.

- Dad could do the laundry, wash all the cars, vacuum the entire house, dust and cook up lunch all before 12noon.

- Wrinkles were not allowed. My brother and I walked around in starched and pressed clothes. Our creases had creases! Dad was a slave to the iron (It had to be the Navy man in him)

- Dad knew I sucked at math and he was always patient with me. My math problems never made sense until he'd show me how to do it

- When it came to deadbeat boyfriends, he'd let me fall. He always trusted that I was smart enough to make my own decisions when it came to guys and in the end I'd always drop the zeros

- My dad was in the military, so there were many times where he'd have to go out to sea-- 9 months to a year at a time. I remember how he'd take the family out for a drive the night before he had to leave and we'd get ice cream and just enjoy driving around with him until the sun set

- I remember when the morning would come for dad to leave to the ship for Westpac and I'd cry uncontrollably after he'd leave. I never wanted him to see me cry because I didn't want to make him sad or have his last image of me in tears

- I remember the Grease soundtrack that my dad bought me. I played it so much that I wore the tape out and he ended up buying me another copy

- I always looked forward to the road trips we made to San Antonio, Texas in dad's brown Camaro

- Because Dad was a stickler on having a well manicured lawn, he never let us have a Slip-n-Slide. "It damages the grass!" he'd say

- I remember the purple bike he taught me to ride without training wheels. It was the coolest bike ever and I'm sure he was on the verge of having a coronary watching me fall constantly. I'm surprised i wasn't wrapped in bubble wrap from the first attempt

- If my brother or I got hurt, Dad would automatically get upset, "WHAT?! What NOW?!" He immediately went into panic mode

- One of the hardest days of my life was having to tell my father that his dad, my grandfather, had passed away

- Dad was the first person to ever introduce me to rap music! He had the vinyl record for The Sugar Hill Gang, Rapper's Delight. I loved the song so much, that to this day, I still remember every single lyric. (I'm a pretty big hit at karaoke bars)

- My dad always waited up for me when I went out with my girlfriends. I'd always bring him home a late night treat like a dessert or Mexican food and we'd stay up in the kitchen and just talk

- When my mother would cook liver and onions (a dish I despised) Dad would say, "Mmmm, hígado (Spanish for liver)..eat it! It'll put hair on your chest!"

- My dad is an obsessive compulsive when it comes to locked doors. He'll quadruple check the front door and garage door before he goes to sleep. He'd always tell me to keep my car door locked when I went out and made me prove it as I backed out of the driveway

- When I decided that it was good idea to "bleach" my brown hair in the 8th grade and it turned orange, he said I looked like an Aztec Indian. I scoffed..but now looking back at the pic- Yikes, it was horrible.

- My dad washed his hair with soap and always smelled good

- Dad could always bake up a mean Bundt cake and cheesecake

- My dad was a stickler when it came to time management. If my curfew was 12 midnight, he meant 12 midnight on the dot. Not 12:01, not 12:03. If I wasn't through the door at exactly 12 midnight, I would expect him sitting and waiting for me on the stairs with a clock in his hand asking me if I knew what time it was

- "Where's my change?" was his favorite line

- "Dad, do you have a couple a bucks?" was mine

- I remember when The Wonderful World of Disney would come on TV when I was little. I would grab a pillow and make myself comfy on dad's lap and we'd watch it together

- I'd always pretend that I was asleep in the car when we'd drive home late from somewhere and he'd end up having to pick me up and take me to my room

- My father was such a great husband to my mother. He loved her and I reveled in the affection he showed her

- When mom and I would get in a disagreement, I would run to him and he'd listen- even though he'd usually be in agreement with my mother, I still felt like he had my back

- Dad was the only one who could make me laugh until my sides hurt

- Even when I visit my father's house today, the flood of warm memories fill my soul as soon as I walk through his front door.

My father was and still is, the epitome of a great man. His love and inspiration have transformed me into the woman I am today. He taught me to never settle for second best and brought me up knowing that I could have anything I wanted with hard work. His encouraging words and unconditional love continue to resonate. Every chapter in my life from childhood to adulthood to marriage and children~I continue to look to him for guidance.

The last time I danced with my father, it was during my wedding. And like the Freddy Fender song, I didn't want it to end. Deep inside, I felt that once the song ended and he let go..that I'd have to move on and let go of him. But..I haven't...and never will.


If I could get another chance... Another walk, another dance with him I'd play a song that would never, ever end. How I'd love to dance with my father again....

Happy Father's Day, Dad... I love you.