Time Has Passed & It's Almost Time Again.. (Picture-filled post!)

Now you are probably sitting here, reading that title and wondering, "what in the world is this chick talking about with this wacky riddle?!".

On November 18th, my oldest of the three kids had turned twelve years old. Yes, she is one more year closer to the dreaded tag known as "teenager". All in all though, with her maturity level (both mentally, as well as physically) she is more like a fourteen year old.

I'm thirty-five. She is twelve. I am 100 pounds on the nose. She last weighed in at 98. I am five feet tall. She is too. I don't have a set of "boobage". She does.

Basically, if you were to ask her thoughts about all this "you're as tall as your Mama" talk, that may just be what she would do to me after snickering. Like she did in the doctor's office when he asked how old I was, when discussing reading glasses.

As for the second part of the answer to my awesome riddle-title...

The youngest of the three "angels" of mine will be turning seven years old on Monday. Hard to believe. Already, seven years have just up and flown past like a speeding NASCAR racer doing 250 on the inside stretch.

In many ways she is taking after her big sister. She looks up to her (especially being that Big Sissy is about a foot and a half or so taller than her lol) and severely misses her when my oldest has to go on bi-weekly visits with her biological father.

Both of my girls have shown me (albeit the hard way) just what all it had taken my parents to raise me. Raging hormones, attitudes, "Princess-tude".

And thank God, the oldest (who now wears makeup), puts it on and still looks natural, but accentuates her features. Especially those beautiful blue eyes of her's.

At the end of the day, no matter how old they get, and no matter how tall they grow, they will ALWAYS be the apple of their Daddy's eye. My husband may not be my oldest's biological father with not a shred of DNA shared between them, but she is HIS, and he will tell you that to your face.

The little one is so wrapped around her Dad's finger, it's not funny. Okay. It is. But geez! And I thought that I got away with "murder" as a kid. Wrong. I kind of wish I could do that "Freaky Friday" thing and trade places with her for about 24 hours and enjoy some of the (tons of) freedom that she gets.

This past Summer's trip to Richmond has been one of the best I think that we have enjoyed as a family. And now, with all three of my kids growing up, and inching ever so much closer to being teens and "big kids", I find myself reflecting more on the Summers past, when the kids were so innocent, that it never seemed like we as parents would have to deal with more than scraped knees and the occasional "she/he took my toy".

To those of you with "young" (as in under the age of eight years old), take my advice and heed it well. Cherish EVERY single moment with your child(ren). Relish in each hug and kiss (yes, even the open-mouthed baby ones!). Enjoy the fanciness of every tea party and doll playtime.

The young years fly by faster than a Santa Ana wind.

Memories Of The Past, Memories In The Making

I'm eight years old, and it is officially the first day of school. I'm off to First Grade in Mrs. Bartley's class. I'm all ready to go in my white, ruffle-neck dress shirt, my purple overalls with the yellow tulip on the front, and my pigtails upon my head.

Being it's no more than a seven-minute walk to school, and back then, my area was pretty darn safe, my parents started out on the journey to my new school along side me, with Sarah, our Corgi. They stopped at the corner of the next street over from us and let me finish the walk on my own. As a big girl.

I remember vaguely, as I turned my head to see my parents still standing there at the corner, after I crossed the street, then crossed to the opposite corner at the end of the block. They waved to me, my dog looking sad and in wonderment of where her "sister" is going off to without her. My mom, I saw wiping tears from her eyes, trying not to fall apart, as most of us mothers do when their babies start trying out their wings.

After waving good-bye and walking out of their sight, I can only imagine how Mom fell apart, and how Dad had to console her on that "lonely" walk back to the house after I made the rest of my way off to school that beautifully warm and sunny morning.

But that would also be the last time she would ever see me take that "big leap" in growing up. Ever. Because the year before I was to start Junior High/Middle School, my mother had passed away after having suffered from a massive stroke and pneumonia.

Yesterday (Thursday, August 18th) my oldest had her Middle School orientation to take a dry run at finding her classes, knowing how to get in to her locker, meet her teachers and to learn the rules.

She has to get on the bus now, about an hour earlier than before, when she attended Elementary School. And she is fine with that. Because she also now gets out about an hour earlier than her siblings.

As my daughter waited outside at the bus stop (which for her, is now across the street) I had the flashbacks. I saw her as a tiny girl again, just starting Preschool. She and I waited for the bus at the top of the hill near our former home. She was SO excited. And I watched as she clomped up each step with her short, stubby little legs, and her huge backpack on her back, as she boarded the bus. It took all that I had to not just lose it right then and there.

Yesterday, it hit me. Not only am I seeing my little girl, my first born, grow up before my very eyes into what will be a stunningly beautiful young woman, but I am witnessing something my mother never was able to have the chance to, and never will. Not with myself, and not with her grandchildren.

I was VERY close to my oldest daughter's age when I lost my mother. And I am only about eight and a half years younger than my mother's age when she died. It pains me to know that my mother has had to miss out on SO much. My marriage. My kids. How I have grown and matured. My overcoming of many medical obstacles.

While I feel blessed and fortunate to be here to see and experience the wonders of my children as they each make their own headway in the world and leave their own marks on the world, it still saddens me that I didn't get the chance to have my mom see all that I can.

So, I guess in a way, I am living life and experiencing these things for the both of us. And I often times wonder what Mom would say, think or do. What would she say about how my life has turned out? What would she say about the man that I married or how I am raising and rearing my children?

Sadly, those are questions that will forever haunt me and be left unanswered. And to this day, it is still hard for me to come to terms with that fact.

Wordless Wednesday...Just Like Her Mama!

Parents...Learn From This Show!

No, I'm not joking. And the subject of bullying isn't a joke, either. It's real. It's raw. And today's form of bullying has taken on new ways of cause and effect.

When I was a small child, I was heckled, ridiculed, made the butt of jokes, and even "imitated" because of my trache. Don't forget the name calling and pushing.

But today, with technology advances such as the internet and YouTube, bullying has taken new and (literally) far-reaching forms.

Now kids attack one another on sites such as FaceBook and MySpace, or even Twitter.

Not just in the form of words. But via groups, "like pages", Tweets, videos and other internet means, including in the Blogging world. This is called Cyberbullying.

I am a longtime 'One Life To Live' (ABC) fan. One of the current storylines is centering around a Freshman boy in High School who has life-threatening Asthma. Shane Morasco is at the end of his rope with the bullying and the video of him naked in the school's gym being posted to the internet and "MyFace" (OLTL's version of FaceBook) and ready to end his life just to "make it all stop".

Sadly this is something in regards to bullying that we hear about almost daily in the news media outlet. Be it face-to-face bullying or being bullied on the internet.

Here is the preview of the storyline for this week (April 4th)...



Please, I beg EACH AND EVERY SINGLE PARENT that reads this, TEACH your children about bullying and it's many forms. Teach them what the (possible) repercussions are as the bully and what CAN (and often does) happen to bullying victims.

Both sides lose when it comes to bullying. Some lose their lives. Some have to live with lifelong guilt due to their actions. And families are torn because of the actions of the bully and their target.

No child should suffer abuse from a bully.

And bullies have it within them to change and become better people. But sometimes for that to happen, it comes at a hefty price.

It should NEVER have to be that way.

Monkey In The Middle (A Divorce Post)

Monkey In The Middle is a game that my husband and I play with our youngest, Skyler, who is six years old. If he and I are sitting on the couch or the floor, or laying in the bed and she wants to "snuggle-buggle", then she always says she is the "monkey in the middle". Skyler sometimes is, and other times is not the proverbial monkey. Sometimes, just to get her goat Scott or myself would be the monkey.

Sadly, I have had my oldest playing this game as well. She is the monkey in the middle that must go between her two parent's homes. I have full physical cusody, and always have. Her father gets visitations every other weekend and we alternate (major) holidays. Plus I personally set out three week blocks where she stays with him in one-week increments during the summer while school is out.

Plus, I give extra time even on their "off" weekends where I can and feel it's appropriate (to go to the movies, park, etc.).

No matter how bad he has been known to talk about me, cuss me and even go as far as calling me a slave driver (because in MY home she has chores, rules and consequences, whereas in HIS home, they don't exist), I still bend over backwards to give him more time with our daughter. Even when it is NOT stipulated to do so in our still-standing court order.

How Hayley has grown in to the young lady she has thus far, without resentment towards either of us has just blown me away.

For one thing, I NEVER talk ill of her father in front of her or to her.

Two, I don't make her go on those "off" days unless SHE wants to (at 11, she can now make her own mind up about extended stays and other 'extra' days to spend time with him).

Thirdly, she knows clearly what her expectations are in MY home.

Fourth, I don't pick fights with her father (in person or over the phone) over trivial things (i.e. the having/not having a TV in the bedroom debacle over the phone..I do *not* allow one in my kids' rooms, he says she has one there and that I am a bitchy, mean mom {in so many words} for not letting the kids, including HIS "kid" to have one in their rooms in *MY* home).

Fifth, I do my very best (most of the time) to be civil towards her father. Especially when Hayley is present.

Children of divorce are fragile on some levels. But are much more thick-skinned than most people realize and give these kids credit for. Look at all that THEY must put up with. Especially if the parents, for whatever reason cannot seem to get along on ANY level.

She's been going between myself and my ex-husband like this (for the most part over the years) since she was about two years old (was one-day visits from infancy until two years due to some legal issues and other things I cannot get in to here; maybe a later post).

We split (as in I walked out with a few things we needed in hand and never looked back) when she was five months old. By then I had a "friend" in my life that treated me RIGHT, the way I should have been treated all along and this person cared enough about me and my daughter that the sister even helped me get out and let me and my then-five-month old daughter stay with her and her family.

Yes, there are times that Hayley does the "I want to live with my daddy!" routine. As soon as I say that I know it's because he is the "no-rules-do whatever you want-without consequences" parent, she hushes up and walks off.

I guess he has yet to learn, especially now that she is a preteen (or shall we say Tween, seeing that's the 'norm' these days), he cannot be her friend. Not now. She needs PARENTS that will lay down the law and set those morals and values to solidly cement within before it's too late.

Sure! She will at some point (more than likely) try to experiment with drugs and alcohol, or even cigarettes. And (God forbid) seriously think of having sex. But all I can do now is try my best up until those years NOW to lay the foundation to keep away from those types of things and avoid problems down the road with them.

But then again, when you are the "Monkey In The Middle" with two parenting styles within two different home environments, it can get confusing of which way to turn. So I am planning to just keep doing what I'm doing and hope for the best down the road.

No one said being the parent of a "divorce" child was easy!

25 Days of Christmas (Day 12)

Tomorrow, I will start doing the actual "12 Days Of Christmas" where each day, right up to Christmas Day, I will focus on lines from the Carol. "Lords a leaping"?? What is that? Why FIVE golden rings? Don't worry, because as the days go on, you WILL find out the meaning behind them all.

But today, I think that I will give you these to watch and maybe have a few memories come back of watching these as children yourselves.

I'm only posting PART ONE of each. If you wish to see the entire episode, please go to YouTube and place in the show in the search bar and it will give you more options.

Media Reaction Over Compassion Regarding Grieving Children

As many of my "older" readers know, my mother passed away when I was twelve years old. She was forty-three years young, but suffered some health problems. In the end, the side effects of a massive stroke took her life.

I'd gone almost daily to either the hospital or to the Rehab Center/Nursing Home to sit with her, talk (really loud seeing as the hearing loss was great and due to the stroke). All the while, I KNEW deep within two things.

One, she was never going to come home the same way again.

Two, she wanted to die. And she WAS dying. Slowly and for the most part, painfully.

No child even remotely fathoms the thought of their parents' mortality. Not for a single second. Especially in early and middle childhood. To them, his or her parents are immortal. They are of Superhero status.

When a young child, at an age of understanding experiences the realities of life and death, usually it is not with the loss of a parent. It is difficult for them. But not totally agonizing.

But I ask you to sit where you are, as you are reading this right now, IMAGINE yourself being a child of twelve years of age.

Now, FEEL the emotions within from realizing that your mother or your father has passed away. You are shell shocked and in complete denial, because parents DON'T die.

Once shock wears off, look at your face when you come to realize that what you were told is in fact true. Suddenly, you crumble in to a heap of longing, despair, unimaginable heart ache and an insurmountable amount of grief as you cry out in longing for your mother or your father to come back. That you want them and you need them, as you BEG for what is true to not be.

That was me. In 1989 on October 29th. Sitting in the living room of the home that I had grown up in. As my father told me, "Missy, remember when I said to 'expect the unexpected' a few weeks ago?", I got hot and flushed in my face, knowing but not wanting to hear the next few words that FOREVER changed my life. "It happened early this morning. Your mom is gone."

All I could do, as people from my neighborhood stood there as a means of comfort was stare at my father, shaking my head and pleading for it to not be true. Finally it hit that what he said was not a lie, no matter how many times I verbally fought it with him.

In the days and weeks that had followed, amidst all the condolences and the "I'm sorry for your loss" people, I wanted nothing to really do with the outside world. I was grieving. Longing for someone that I will never see, speak to, or touch again.

It was a time of my wanting to isolate from the world and the people within. For me and also for my dad, our pain, sorrow and grief were of a private nature.

We needed the time together, as well as alone to deal with our thoughts, our feelings and the realities of what had happened to us.

This is why I am personally quite angry, and tired of how the Media hounds and preys upon children of big name politicos and celebrities in the midst of their loss.

Take for instance, Michael Jackson's children. For WEEKS, those children were followed around, having pictures taken of them, having news cameras in their faces. Even at their father's funeral! Those poor kids could not once get away and grieve and mourn their dad in private.

Now sadly, the media hounds have turned their attention towards the children of Elizabeth Edwards, who had lost her battle with Breast Cancer on Tuesday, surrounded in the PRIVACY of her home with her children (ages five and twelve), as well as former Presidential hopeful and former husband John Edwards, and other close family and friends.

It SHOULD HAVE stayed that way. Especially for those children. No one, no matter if it was a friend or not, should NOT have brought those children's grieving to the media's spotlight.

Depending on the type of service that is held for the late Mrs. Edwards, those poor kids will be forced to fall victim to the Media, having cameras and reporters, and magazine and news paper journalists shoved in their faces. Not once being able to privately hurt and long for their mother.

It will not be an easy road for these kids. It's going to be long, hard and painful. Especially since they are still so young.

I can safely say that even though twenty-one years have passed and life has gone on since my mother's death, at times, it is STILL hard to deal with. Her birthday. Holidays like Christmas, especially since having my own children. Mother's Day.

No child should suffer a loss as great as these kids have. But a child should still be allowed to be a child. Especially during the grieving process, which could take years. They shouldn't have to be the Media's 'Top Story' of the day.

A "Chew It Over With Twix" moment & A Special Memory.

You know kids. They are some of the most free-spirited, care-free people that you will ever meet in this old world.

And believe me when I say that I have three kids that certainly fit the bill. Primarily my youngest, Skyler, who will be turning six years old tomorrow *cries*.

Skyler had decided that last night, Dad's surprise trip to the McDonald's that has a play area was her "Birthday Dinner" (we each get to choose to eat where we wish to for our birthday). So be it. No biggie there.

As Skyler and I sat together in the two-person booth (by her request), while Bryce (her big brother) and Scott (my husband) sat at the table adjacent to us near the middle of the aisle, Skyler and I began a conversation that she started.

The very first thing out of my (soon to be) six year old's mouth is, "Mama, can I drive when I'm ten?". Quickly I replied that driving will not be a skill she will learn until she is sixteen, so she has another ten years to go. To which she stated that this time frame would take "forever".

But then without missing a beat, and with such a straight face, that she would be an awesome Poker player one day, Skyler suddenly blurts out, "Can I have a baby when I'm SIXTEEN?".

I swear that the crickets started chirping. And the look on my face I'm certain was beyond priceless. And in that brief moment, I honestly had the "chew it over with Twix" dude pop in my head with that freaking slogan.

After the shock of hearing that question, I (in what seemed like an eternity) suddenly shot back with, "No! Not until you are AT LEAST eighteen. That's the safety rule".

The gloomiest look came upon her face. And in the aftermath, I honestly had to bite my tongue as to be able to keep a straight face and not laugh manically at what just happened.

Well folks, it doesn't stop there, though. Later on after getting home, I decided to lay on the couch with my (old school) Walkman listening to all kinds of different tunes.

I'd turned to one station where the DJ was talking live to a little boy of maybe ten to twelve years old that had called in with embarrassing stories. And boy dandy was it a good one!

He said that one evening, his mom and he were out doing some Christmas shopping, and in the midst of it all, stopped and bought a couple of Chocolate Ice Cream cones. Afterward, they got back on road along the Interstate.

Suddenly, she felt the urge to go to the bathroom. And I'm not talking tinkling here, people. This woman had to G-O! So, she pulls off the Interstate and goes to (of all places) Kroger (my husband works for the grocery chain).

The little boy says that after getting to the parking lot, his mother jumps out and makes a beeline for Kroger's front doors, only to turn right back around and get back in.

All she says to her son is...

"Too late".

Yes. Your assumption is correct. The woman crapped her pants. So they get back on the freeway and head the rest of the way home.

After listening to this hilarious story unfold, it suddenly sprang to mind of the time when I was about fourteen or fifteen, riding in the car with my dad. We were in fact on the way home from doing some errands. Suddenly, he had the urge to pass gas.

But he knew that if he were to do so, then there would be one hell of a mess to clean up. So, needless to say, being a man in true form, he held it in with all of his might.

But all the holding in the world, even at no more than five minutes away from our house, was going to do. Nope.

Instead, he unwillingly let one rip. And that was all that she wrote. And of course it HAD to be on a cold day where you don't want to roll the windows down.

Next thing I know, my dad is sitting in the driver's seat, squirming like a baby in a car carrier. Then the odor hits me like a slap in the face. I literally must have turned in to Kermit the Frog, because man did I feel ill. And hence, I had to freeze my ass off thanks to needing FRESH air.

I asked my father if he felt better. When I heard the word "no" I about wanted to smack him. That's when he let me know that sadly he didn't make it (at the two minute mark of almost being home). Next thing I know, I'm sitting there almost having an Asthma attack from laughing so hard, that I start crying streams of tears and trying my best to breath.

Every time that my dad asked me to stop, I would only laugh harder. When we got home, he rushed in and showered. I was the lucky sucker (and as my "punishment" according to him for laughing)that got to take his crap-filled, streaked undies (they just HAD TO BE tighty-whities that day) and pants out to the garage and prep them for washing.

To this day, once in a blue moon that memory will hit me and I will just burst out in laughter. Or it comes to me from hearing some other poor soul's tale of incontinence, like it did for me last night.

When my father is long gone, that will be one of the happiest, funniest and most embarrassing moments that I will cherish for the rest of my days. Right next to Skyler's outrageous baby question.

Yeah. The Secret Is Finally Out.

I guess I can let this secret out. Even though a few "choice" friends may already know. Then again, maybe they don't.

No, it's not about my stalker like fascination with Nicolas Cage. That's already out in the open to the entire world most everyone.

But it is nearly along the same lines. See, I have been watching a Soap Opera of one kind or another since I was about nine years old. I would come in after school, my mom would be sitting there in the living room, watching Days Of Our Lives. Man! That was a great one back in the day (1980's).

After Mom died, I stopped watching Daytime Television (Soaps) for a good two or three years. Then, I started watching All My Children one summer, while off from school.

That show got REALLY good, and the characters were great! Especially three main guys. Edmund Grey. Trevor Dillon. And of course, Tad (The Cad) Martin.

At the same time, I was also getting in to the show One Life To Live. And there was one main character I had been "in to". That was Bo Buchanan.

Now you are probably sitting there, doing the math. Yes, I was an early to late-aged teenager back in the 1990's. And all these guys from AMC and from OLTL are AT LEAST oh, twenty years or more my senior.

And you are probably asking yourself why I didn't go for the teen guys or even the ones in their twenties (at that time).

The answer is simple. They did not appeal to me. Sure, I'm like any other girl. I love a hot, muscular body. But I want the personality, sensitivity and maturity to go with it. And none of those studs youngsters did it for me.

Even now, when I am approaching 34 29 years old, I will take Tad and Bo over Robert Ford and Ryan Lavery any day of the week.

Bo has the good guy quality. He is a hero and a stand-up guy. He is honest and forthright. He loves who he does with everything that he has and shows it.

Tad possesses uninhibited humor, loyalty to his friends and family and is the go-to guy when the chips are down.

If you put the qualities of those two men together, can you imagine the kind of man you could end up having? All I can say is WOW!

My ex-husband (Hayley's father) is sixteen years my senior. And after that train wreck, I decided to not have an "older gentleman" as a husband or a boyfriend again. Been there, done that, got burned.

Now, I am *not* saying that being in a relationship with an older man of more than five or six years than your age is ALWAYS asking for trouble. But I couldn't see myself if something happened (God forbid) to Scott (my current sucker husband) being with an older man like I was with my ex, again.

That is, unless it was Tad Martin or Bo Buchanan.

(*No copyright infringement intended. For entertainment purposes only.*)

Reality Sets In Three Fold For Me As A Mom...In One Morning.

That time for them has finally come to pass. No longer are they small, helpless, needy children. Now they are increasingly independent, strong, knowledgeable 'tweens'.

In one fail swoop, I'm being forced to not only start letting go of one of the three, but TWO of them at one time. And it will only get more difficult to do so as the next few years fly by.

Hayley started walking the five minutes to school last week, but still coming home on the bus. Now, her brother who is seventeen months her junior is starting to walk to school as well. And again, come home on the bus.

Which in turn has forced my (soon to be) six year old to be a "big girl" and ride the school bus on her own. But starting last week, she started riding ONE day a week after school to come home, being that both Hayley and Bryce are now in the after school program of Art Club.

This coming Thursday, Hayley, who is my oldest, will be eleven. Lord how these years have just flown on past. It's been a ride thus far. And with her mature attitude being more of a fourteen year old, her wings are spreading faster than I had hoped.

The week after, Skyler, who is the "baby" of the family will be six! So, soon, she will no longer officially be a "baby" of sorts to the world. She will no longer be a toddler or a preschooler. She will be an adolescent. Again, I am at a loss of where all the years have gone. Like a wind, they blew past with nary a care of what a mother's heart feels.

When I watched (through the closed front door's glass) Hayley and Bryce cross the street and head down the block towards school, I had them flash in my head as they were when they were little. I saw them as they used to be. Suddenly, I got back in to the reality of what I was witnessing, and for a brief moment, longed for those days once more.

Then, watching Skyler cross from about half way at the bus stop on her own (I walked her half way in to the street) to get on to it alone for the first time, my heart sank and I had to fight my wanting to walk her the rest of the way, it hurt to know that she too has stepped one closer away from me and becoming her own individual.

In these two brief moments of one morning, I wished to God I could stop time. Just for a few seconds. I wanted to turn back the clock to the times where they inherently needed me to the fullest extent. I have witnessed this morning the anxiety of a mother "losing" their children to the world. All at once. Each one making their own individual paths in the world.

How many ways can a mother's heart ache and break? Many. Including watching them all take their own paths in society and forming their own identities.

It's one thing to watch them do this one at a time. But to see all three of your children do this on different levels at once is completely overwhelming. Gone are the days of cooing, learning to walk and talk, being dependent even on me for the simplest of things and asking silly questions such as why the sky is one color and the ground another.

These are the days where you are extremely proud of who you are raising your children to be. But it sucks also, because in the same thought, you wish you could do it all over again with them and keep time as it is.

I'm in a Musical Way,today!Join me & hear what I want to say to certain peeps!!

This first one is for my husband Scott. Let's just say that I'm sure we are BOTH in withdrawal thanks to my UTI problem. And for me, this following song states exactly how I'm feeling about him.




This next one is to my kids. They have been *almost* the death of me during Summer Vacation. Sadly, I can vouch that I have said EVERY SINGLE thing in this "mom song" at least a hundred times, plus another million...




The eating song goes out to my PMS and knowing that I have gained two pounds from water-weight gain. And another two will be added from stuffing my face for the next week or so...




Every once in a while, including very recently, I have thought about the old days of my youth. And I swear, Tim got this right!




There is a way out! You just need to find the courage to pick yourself up and leave. It WILL be difficult and extremely scary to do so, at first. But to escape and taste the freedom of what life REALLY has to offer is more than worth it..I should know.




Last but not least, this one goes to all my gal-pal readers! No matter if you are 9 or 99. We really ARE the same inside...

Like A Rock... (Memoir Monday with Travis)

This is my first time doing Memoir Monday. So be gentle as I get this cherry popped, please??

If you care to jump in to the fire and have some fun spilling your guts to the world about a memory of times past, then click on the button above, then go grab the linky and do a Memoir Monday of your own.

So, here is my story...


For all of my childhood, and a small portion of my early teen-hood, I never was able to swim. Being I had a trache in my throat, if I went under the water, then the water would seep directly in to my lungs, via the hole in my throat.

Sure, I did go in to pools, but stayed in the shallow end. I never dunked under the water. But I did tilt my head back, or immerse my face. That was the limits to my "swimming".

After the trache was removed, and the hole was sewn closed (six months after the initial taking out), I was able to TRULY get wet in a pool (or even a bathtub). But I still stayed in the shallow area of the pools I would get in to.

But during those years of not being able to swim, my parents and I would camp at this one pristine lake area. Every year, like clock work, I had the same stupid accident.

I'd be walking in the lake water, that went to my thighs at the depth I would go to. But somehow, some way, every single year, the same catastrophe would occur.

The sand bed would catch my foot and pull me under, as if I slipped on a wax floor. And every year that happened, I would have water rushing in to my lungs, per the trache. And yes, I was drowning as I panicked, being I couldn't pull myself up.

After the first two times of this happening, the camp security would know instinctively the next year that if they saw us, to keep an eye out and be prepared to call 911. Why? Because it became tradition for me to drown for five straight years in a row.

Yes, I apparently loved the lake so very much, I had to go down under and kiss the sand grains.

Yesterday, we went to my in-law's house to get in the pool. Normally, I wear these yellow water wings, seeing as I prefer not to be a rock and sink to the bottom. Bryce normally wears them and/or a life vest while in the deep end as well.

But my sister-in-law kind of looked at me funny as my other sister-in-law (BIL's ex-wife) told the first one that it doesn't surprise her and both her and Scott told his sister that I never got to learn EVERYTHING about swimming on the deep end due to the trache.

Sure, I can breast stroke, back stroke, doggy paddle, and even float on my back. But never could I get the hang of bobbing-type floating. Like a buoy.

But this all changed as of yesterday as my two SIL's coaxed me to try floating without the wings in the deep end. Of course, I stayed by the wall. But within thirty minutes, I was out in the middle of a nine-foot deep pool, bobbing like a floating apple.

Then, I got gutsy and jumped off the side of the pool (with goggles on to protect my bad eye). Then, my courage and confidence came in to full swing. My husband for the first time ever in our ten years together, saw me jumping off of the diving board (feet first, mind you) and coming back up with ease, only to float like I'd been doing it most of my life.

It took me twenty years past the removal of my trache to overcome fear and hesitation. But, finally, I did so. As did Bryce. He and I both "graduated" to the big time and we are both now with the "big kids" when it comes to swim time.

I'd called my father, almost in tears, to let him know that I did it..finally, I did it. He even said it was better late than never. And I know that we both thought...if only mom could have been here to see this.