Remember the time in your life when you could take a three-hour bubble bath with candles, soft music, and a glass of wine?  Yeah, me neither.  Right now, I’d settle for a 3-minute shower by myself and a gallon jug of expresso.  The past few weeks have been c-r-a-z-y!  My oldest started pre-k.  Now, while this is normally an adjustment for anyone, let me explain a little about our crazy little family.  Since Daniel and I work for ourselves, the longest I’ve ever been away from my kids was 19 hours.  The longest the girls have been apart from one another was about 3 hours.  We knew change was coming, but I certainly was not ready.
Ava had a blast on her first day.  She’s been looking forward to school since she was 2.  However, baby Georgia and I found ourselves rather at odd ends on Ava’s first day.  In the span of school day, we put together every puzzle in the house, ready 17 books, wore holes in the knees of my pants from riding mommy like a pony, did the grocery shopping, got lunch, fed the ducks at the pond, and still managed to get to the school to pick up Ava about 45 minutes early.  Needless to say, we both missed Ava—a lot.
This first day of school marked some monumental transitions for us.  First, Ava is no longer a toddler.  She’s now Mama’s big girl.  I knew she was ready, but she has blown me away with how well she is adjusting.  Second, Georgia suddenly realized that she is an entity of her own.  When together, Ava has always taken the lead.  Now, with Ava in school, Georgia is playing on her own, walking ahead of me at the park, picking the games we play at home.  I realize now that I should have given her the opportunity to be on her own earlier, but spilled milk and all that.  It hit me, rather hard, that Georgia will be two in October.  This moves me to the third transition—mine.  I’m no longer the mom to a toddler and a baby, or even two toddlers.  My babies aren’t really babies anymore. 
From the time I found out we were pregnant with Ava, I’ve been consumed with caring for my babies.  Suddenly, for the first time in five years, I’m looking at a little more time to care for me.  Granted, I’m thinking that a three-hour bubble bath might be a little much right now, but I have found more time to write.  I can’t exactly leave my napping Georgia to go ride my horse cross-country, but I can open my laptop.  In the past week, I’ve taken the novel I’m working on from a rough outline and maybe two chapters to a real work in progress.  I’m at 16,302 words, and my characters are becoming real people with real problems that need solutions.  Then, yesterday, out of nowhere I was able to finish my first children’s story, which is currently being illustrated by a wonderful and amazing friend.  (Hopefully, it will be ready to share with you all in a few weeks.)
I was terrified of Ava starting school.  I felt that I was losing something precious.  Granted, every moment with her is precious, and now I have to share that time with her wonderful teacher and friends, but sometimes sharing isn’t so bad.  Now I get to watch Georgia come into her own as an individual.  It’s hard as a mom to know when you need to let go and let them grow.  Sometimes, it’s even harder to know when you need to grow as a mom, a wife, and an individual.  I think we sometimes get so caught up in our roles as wives and moms, or husbands and dads, that we forget that we exist as separate entities as well.  Watching Georgia blossom overnight reminded me that change is often a good thing.  We fear change, but it is definitely to be embraced.  In the seven days, Ava and Georgia have grown exponentially, and maybe this mama has grown a bit, too.
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If there’s one thing that I have learned over the past few years, it’s the importance of balance.  We all face the dilemma of balance in our lives.  My personal challenges have included finding a happy medium between work and home.  Just when I thought I had that figured out, I had kids. I feel like I’ve been walking a tight rope for 29 years.  For me, life is a lot like a making the perfect cheesecake.  Whip the ingredients too little, and your cake doesn’t become cohesive.  Whip the ingredients even just a second too long, and instead of warm silky goodness that just melts in your mouth, you’re left with a hard hunk of greasy, chewy, tough, unappetizing day old cheese.  I don’t know about you, but I want to be that warm silky goodness for which people are willing to overpay—not tough and greasy.  But, just as finding the perfect cheesecake recipe takes time, so does finding balance in all aspects of your life.
Growing up, I was your typical overachiever, but I struggled with developing a social life.  I spent my nights reading and studying when most of my friends were dating.  I’m happy with how things turned out, but it would have been nice to go to a football game or a bite to eat at the Dairy Lane.  Daniel and I started dating after I started college.  (Ironic that I started dating a hot cowboy while attending an all-women’s college, huh?)  I was a lot happier in college than high school.  I stumbled upon the fact that you can have fun and enjoy life while studying and pursuing your education.  I saw those who studied all the time.  I watched those who showed up to class still inebriated.  I realized that the successful juniors and seniors were those that were social, but they also had an unbreakable work ethic.  It took a little work, but I soon found a happy medium.  (To be honest, I’m still struggling to be more social, but I’m working on it.)
Once I started working after college, I struggled with balance once more.  I landed a great job, and I hated it.  I was absolutely miserable—like throwing up in the parking lot every day before work kind of miserable.  I was at the office all of the time.  My mom started having health issues, and I got married.  It’s hard to build a corporate career and care for a parent and still be “present” in your marriage.  I had to make a decision—I chose my family.  It took going through another two years of unsatisfactory work experience and losing my job due to my pregnancy with Ava to understand that this one is a little harder than balancing the occasional drink, dating, and scholarship requirements.  Daniel is a blessing.  He was so supportive while I figured out what I wanted to do (well, I’m still figuring it out). The fact that we have figured out how to work for ourselves has definitely facilitated our move toward balancing work and family.  It’s still a work in progress.   When you work for yourself, there are no paid vacations—and you sure as heck do not get sick days.  But, we’re working on it.
As a mom, I struggle daily with finding balance. (That tightrope just keeps getting higher and higher.  Now, it’s not just my life that I could possibly screw up.  Ava and Georgia are on the line as well.)  Balancing alone time to recoup with being a mom that’s always there is hard.  My girls love their momma, and I love them.  I couldn’t imagine my life without them, but every now and then, I would love to take a shower without hearing them freak out on Daniel or drink a cup of coffee before it gets cold.  On the other hand, reassuring them that I haven’t been abducted by aliens while in the shower or kissing a boo-boo is really important to them, and that means that those things are important to me as well. I feel so guilty sometimes.  I can never once remember my mom and dad complaining about being tired or needing alone time, and here I am wanting to go to the potty by myself.  Jeez!  (For my readers who are not parents, just wait.  They will find you, and once they realize that their tiny little hands can reach under the door, you will never again know what it is like to potty by yourself—at least, it’s been 4 years and still hasn’t happened for me yet.)  Then, I realize that Ava starts school in a week, and I’m freaking out about how fast she’s growing up and I don’t want them out of my sight. Fifteen minutes later, I just want a nap.  But, I’m working on it.
Then there’s balancing being a mom with being a wife.  Daniel and I rarely get the chance to talk to each other without interruption, much less spend quality time together.  We spend most of our days and nights together, but we probably spend less time being a couple now than when we were dating and lived 2 hours apart and only saw each other on Friday night.  It’s just downright hard. I have trouble leaving the girls with a sitter, especially after losing Daddy.  It’s hard for a normal situation, but throw in my attachment issues and grief, and it’s almost impossible to walk this tightrope.  But, we’re working on it.
That’s the key to balance—just keep working at it.  Life is unpredictable.  It’s beautiful in its rawness and instability.  We just have to be vigilant and aware of ourselves.  We don’t have to be the perfect cheesecake all the time.  Sometimes, we have to be ok with being a lumpy, unincorporated batch of undercooked batter.  Sometimes, we have to be ok with being overcooked, tough, and greasy.  Why?  Because, sometimes, every now and then, we become that perfect bite of sweet fluffy, silky heaven.
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I’m an only child to two parents who were both 37 when I was born.  This equates to no siblings, and most of my cousins being much older than me—at least the first two rounds of cousins.  I actually babysat some of my third cousins.  My early years consisted of family events on occasion, but for the majority of my time, I spent with people far older than me.  By the time I made it to school, I had a much better grasp of adult problems than most of my peers, but I lacked the necessary socialization to easily make friends.  Fast forward to today, I’ve suddenly found myself without one of my biggest support systems: my dad has passed on and my mom is currently out of the country.  Daniel and I have struggled to find help with simple things like finding a good babysitter for an auction night, much less a date night.  I’d taken for granted how much of a help my parents were.  (So, if you still have your parents, stop right now and give them a call.  Estranged?  Fix it, even if it means swallowing your pride.  I promise you that you won’t regret reaching out.)  My circle of blood relations isn’t necessarily small, but we are very spread out geographically. 
Earlier this week, I was bemoaning that fact, wishing that somehow I could have a sister or cousin that would stop by just so I could take a power nap.  (Georgia is going through a growth spurt, or wonder week, or whatever it is called when your 22 month old refuses to sleep for days on end.)  However, yesterday, it hit me.  Even though I feel incredibly alone at times without biological family, I’ve done a pretty darn good job at creating a family. My chosen family is much closer to me than my biological family.  For example, a good friend called me at 8am on Wednesday to find out if they could stop by since they were in town.  We ended up at the park with the kids, and later, we enjoyed the splash pad.  Thursday, I spent with my best friend—we went to the cemetery to check on my dad’s grave.  Later, we took the kids to a nearby creek for a picnic.  Then, I ended up back at her momma’s house. For a few hours, I was 16 again. 
As I take stock of my situation, I realize that my best friends from college have texted or called at least once a week.  A former co-worker, now great friend, offered to watch the girls on Saturday night since we have a new hauler coming in and don’t know how long our auction will last.  Things aren’t as bad as I thought.  In addition to Daniel and his family, I still have a family, too.  The family of people I chose to be in my life have become some of my biggest supporters.  The random texts or phone calls mean so much to this overworked, stressed, grieving momma.  Thank you.  Thank you to my friends who have become family over the years.  I’m convinced the good Lord put you in my life for a reason.  We may not be a biological family, but we’re there for one another when it matters.  Thank you for putting up with me over the years, for standing by me.  Y’all are proof that some things are thicker than blood.
 I also realized that I haven’t been the friend I should be.  I’ve resolved to reach out to my friend-family more—to be the random phone call or text that makes them smile.  Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the kids or the next deadline, that I forget about what, and who, is important.   For those reading this that may feel all alone, remember that family isn’t about to whom you are related, but it’s about the people that care about you and the people you care about.  And, if you feel like your friends have deserted you, take a moment and think about the last time you reached to them.  Friendship is a reciprocal relationship.  I’m just glad mine have stuck it out with me.  You may not be in the family Bible, but you will always be in my heart.
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For many, life is a journey from point A to point B.  It occurred me to this morning, that my life has been more like a spiral.  I’d love to say a perfect spiraling staircase that has carried me higher and further each moment, but honestly, my life has been like a spiraling apple peel.  Ups and downs, stopping and starting, but I just keep peeling away.  Now let me explain myself.  In a previous post, I mentioned that I had come full circle.  In retrospect, that isn’t entirely true.  Situations come up that seem familiar, but the years in between prevent the situation and my reactions to said situation from being exactly the same. In other words, I may have come to the front of the apple again, but I’m just a little above it.

Life is funny that way.  I remember being a little girl on Saturday nights and watching “Walker:  Texas Ranger” as my momma put sponge rollers in my hair so it would be curly for church the next morning.  Now, I still spend my Saturday nights with a man in a cowboy hat, but when I do make it to church on Sunday mornings, I try my best to smooth my unruly hair.  I remember learning to ride my ponies and hearing my daddy shout, “Heel down. Toes up. Tuck your butt.”  I hear those same words today, but out of my mouth to my little girls.  The same arguments of defiance that I presented to my parents are coming back full force, but this time they are from my spirited four-year old.  At least once a year, I face the decision of what to do with my life—just like a teenager getting ready for college. 
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Anyway, I digress. If you haven’t noticed by now, I tend to be long-winded.  This post is actually about a little video I would like to share.  My parents were foster parents for several years.  My daddy especially had a soft spot for children going through foster care.  One child in particular was born several months premature.  She and my daddy became extremely attached to one another.  This giant man holding this tiny little angel always seemed a little incongruous.  Daddy has passed now, but his horse is still at my home.  It seems the horse has now picked up the torch and the spiral of life just keeps getting funnier.  Enjoy!
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Back in February, Daniel and I became “hay farmers.”  Now, it’s not farming like soybeans or cotton, but for those of us with livestock, hay is a necessity.  Granted, we weren’t looking to start a farm.  We found a wonderful place to build our dream home one day, and it just so happened to be perfect to grow hay.  This first cutting has been a little rough—our field was used to graze cattle for several years, and we didn’t close on the property early enough to do the necessary burning off and fertilizing.  However, the second cutting will be much cleaner and prettier, and hopefully, a better seller.  (Our first cutting is perfect for cows and goats, but most horse people want a hay that is shorter and more tender.)   It’s been a challenge figuring out how to balance the girls, the auction, and the hay; but, we’re figuring it out.  To cut costs, I volunteered to help load and stack the hay.  (We only have one tractor right now, so it’s really the only way I can help with the physical part of our little farm.)  Daniel was hesitant to have me help.  I may have had a little encounter with a 2x6 in 2011 while stacking hay that left me with a concussion…but that’s another story. Also, he still thinks that after 2 C-sections I should lift anything heavier than the girls. But, loading hay has a special place in my heart.
Growing up, we always had ponies and horses around. Until I was big enough to help, Daddy always bought and loaded, then hauled, unloaded, and stacked our yearly purchase of 100 square bales of hay.  As soon as I was big enough to tag along, I started insisting that I accompany him.  I learned to heft, throw, and stack hay with the best of them.  It was a holiday for me.  It was always just before school started.  Daddy would borrow a truck and trailer (we were a one car family before it was cool).  After saving a little each week, all year long, Daddy would put one check in his wallet to pay for our hay that morning.  We’d have a cup of coffee, and then my Daddy and I would load up in our borrowed truck and set out to get our hay.  We bought hay from a farm just a little north of us, probably about 30 miles, but to me, it was a wonderful journey. Why I anticipated sore muscles and blisters may seem strange, but for that morning, Daddy and I were on a mission. Daddy would tell stories about growing up, and probably some jokes that were a little off color if we had someone riding along to help.  (As I got older, my buddies from high school would actually help.)  I would laugh, and with the windows down and the wind blowing my hair into my eyes and mouth, I remember thinking how my Daddy was my hero and how hard he worked to make sure I could have my pony, and later, my horse.  We’d get to the farm, load our hay, pay the man, and head home.  Usually, we made it home without trouble, but once we lost about half of it on the freeway and had to reload it in between semi-trucks zooming past.  That was the first time that Daddy let me stack it on the trailer.  He normally stacked it. I’ve never been able to stack hay like he could.  That man could stack square bales of hay 10 rows high and never lose a bale going down the highway at 60 mph!  Looking back, stacking hay has become a metaphor of how he managed to keep our family together.  But, I digress.  We’d return home, unload the trailer, stack the hay in the barn, and then go in to a breakfast fit for knights returning from battle. Momma would always go all out that morning. Giant homemade biscuits with butter and peach jelly would vie for our attention while heaping mounds of crispy bacon were piled high beside a deep pot of cheesy grits to top our scrambled eggs.    Those mornings represented the end of summer and so much more.  I have so many fond memories of those mornings—being with my Daddy, eating Momma’s biscuits, learning that my best friend could actually lick all of the grits from that massive pot, showing up boys and men with my other best friend by throwing hay bales higher and further…. Memories of those mornings a full of everything good and wonderful in my childhood.  Hard work and reward, love, laughter, and belonging—it’s no wonder that even today, I love loading hay.
Now, I am looking forward to making similar memories with my girls when they are old enough. This year, I am enjoying working alongside of my husband.  I’m proud that we’re doing this together.  It makes my heart swell when he brags about how fast I can load hay and when he complains that I don’t wait for him to load it.  I know he would gladly do it, but it makes me feel useful to help, and for some reason, loading hay in the sweltering heat of summer, I feel like a young girl again.  With every bale, I hear my daddy’s laughter.  As I stack it, I remember how well he managed to keep things together when they should have fallen apart.  I remember how he encouraged my independence and never judged my mistakes, even when it meant reloading and stacking a ton, or two, of hay on the side of the road.  I’m reminded of how similar Daniel and my daddy were.  Somehow, I’ve come full circle.
As Daniel and I continue to grow our business, we’re not just making hay, we’re making memories.
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I was recently asked if I had any advice for someone looking to start their own business.  I'm no expert by any means, but here's a list of tips that I have found to be helpful.  We'll look at each tip in depth over the next few posts, but for now, here's my top 10 tips for being your own boss.

1)      Find something you’re passionate about.
If you lack passion, you will lack the fuel necessary to get you through the long hours and the inevitable weeks where you might not get paid.  (Sometimes, once the company’s expenses have been paid, there might not be anything left until the business is well established.)

2)      Find a partner that complements you.
You may want to go into business with people that think like you do, but DON’T. It’s important that each partner brings a unique skill set in order to round out your team.

3)      Always be on the lookout for opportunities.
Be careful to thoroughly vet each opportunity and do your research.  Know the difference between an opportunity to grow your business and a get-rich-quick scheme.  However, be willing to after the opportunities that offer the best return.

4)      Know that failure is part of the game.
Not every idea is going to work.  Do your research and have a back-up plan, but be willing to let go of non-profitable ideas.

5)      Be willing to work, and work hard.
Starting and running your own business is NOT a forty hours per week endeavor.  It will pay off, but you have to put in the effort and time.

6)      Understand that there is always some risk.
You can mitigate your risk by working on your own business while working at another job.  Eventually, your own business can become your primary source of income, but know that dropping a decent job to chase your dreams can leave you broke. Be smart about the risks you take.

7)      Listen to others—even strangers, but follow your own instincts.
Sometimes others can see what you don’t, especially when you are emotionally invested.  Have someone you can trust to be honest with you when you vet ideas.  Remember, though, at the end of the day, you have to trust yourself.

8)      Research, research, research!
Make sure you know the industry you’re looking to break into (or at least have a partner that does).  Never stop learning about the industry—what works, what doesn’t work, what hasn’t been tried.  Reading trade magazines and online articles, immersion research, shadowing, interning, and just talking to others are all ways to constantly stay on top of current trends and to garner new ideas.

9)      Stay on top of the paperwork.
This might not be the glamorous and idealized facet of being your own boss, but paperwork is inevitable.  Licensing, copyrights, bills, payroll, and taxes all have to be completed and on time if you want to avoid heft fines.  Either do it or hire it out.  Don’t let it pile up.
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10)    Enjoy it.
Yes, starting your own business is stressful.  It’s scary.  It’s risky.  However, it can be very rewarding.  Enjoy the freedom it gives you.  Eventually, you can enjoy the payouts.  But, if you ever feel like you need to walk away, that’s okay.   There’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in a dead end job—even if you are your own boss.

Lately, I've been struggling with whether I should return to the workforce full time.   Running a small business with my husband was not my original plan, but I'm learning that plans are made to be adjusted.  Does it make me a bad mom that I am neither a true stay at home mom nor a career mom?  Am I somehow cheating them or myself? Does it make me a bad feminist that I enjoy getting to spend time with my kids while I work?

For the record, I've done farrier work off and on since I was 13 years old.  I started working a public job in 2006 and continued to do so until I lost my position as a financial representative in 2012 due to "corporate restructuring."  (The fact that poorly executed corporate buyouts irritate me will have to wait for another post.)  I was three months post-partum with my first child, and received the news on my birthday that I didn't need to report to work on the following Monday.  Looking back, I probably had cause for a discrimination case as my direct supervisor had responded quite poorly to learning that I was pregnant exactly one year prior.  I believe his exact words were, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you right now.  You obviously aren't committed to this job if you planned this pregnancy."  However, again, that might have to be another post.

​We had just closed on our auction house and made the decision that Daniel would pursue being an auctioneer full time.  Then, I lost my job.  I had to decide whether I wanted to stay home and assist with growing the auction or if I wanted to pursue other employment.  Having come from a home where both parents worked, it seemed strange to entertain the idea of being a stay at home mom.  What made the idea even stranger is that I attended an all-female liberal arts college.  I felt like I was a traitor to the feminist cause just by thinking about staying at home.  Sitting at my desk, looking at the stacks of accolades and plaques, I glanced at the photo of my daughter.  Maybe it was the hormones, but I made the choice to not try to find another job.  Instead, I took on the responsibility of office manager and chief financial officer of our company.  Sure, it looks great on paper to have those titles, but I've always questioned whether or not it was really a career choice since it was "our" company.  I only recently added myself to the payroll.  I get asked all the time, "So, Lucy, what do you do?  Is this all you do?  It must be so nice to be a stay at home mom."  And it stings.  I have an MBA.  Am I wasting my talent and education by not working for someone else?  Does it count if you run a small business?

​Here's my conundrum.  I'm technically a working mom, even though I stay at home. I straddle a sharply barbed line.  On one side, I receive criticism that I'm not a committed stay at home mom with the perfect house and home-schooled children.  On the other, I receive criticism that I'm wasting away and not challenging my intellect and growing my skill set. 

​Well, here's my answer.  After some soul searching, I've made the decision, that IF I receive a job offer that makes more sense, I'll consider entering the workforce.  Consider it.   That would mean that I would then have to find a full-time bookkeeper, office manager, and accountant that I trust and can afford.  On second thought, that offer would have to be pretty sweet.  The beauty of being an entrepreneur is that you have control over almost everything--including how much you decide hire-out.  Daniel and I work 80 hour weeks.  I'm not sure I could afford to pay three people for 80 hours per week.   So, to everyone who says I'm not a stay at home mom:  No, I do not make my own laundry detergent.  My house rarely looks like a staged photo set for a magazine.  My kids go with me to the bank, to the auction, to the court house to collect bad checks.  I rarely look like a 50's housewife with perfect makeup and pumps.  But, for all of you who do, you go, honey!  You do it!  Good for you.  To everyone who says that I'm not really working and that I'm wasting my talents and education:  We are all entitled to our own opinions.  STOP making other women feel bad about doing what they think is best for their families.  I use my education every day.  I choose to grow our empire.  I choose to work on my own terms.  To the female supervisors who called me a "mustang," I'm finally happy.  To the supervisor who questioned my ability to help clients with their  financial services because I had a child in my uterus: You're still trying to make others feel bad. 

​For some, being a fully committed stay at home mom is the dream.  For others, being "one of the boys" is the ultimate goal.  I've managed to create some weird mish-mash that works for us so far.  When it stops working, or if we find a better option, we'll change it.  Maybe that's a true feminist thought.  What if, as women, we stopped thinking about what others think we should do?  What if, as women, we took back the decisions that define our lives?  It goes beyond whether we join or stay in the workforce. It's the decision to get married, or not.  It's the decision to have kids, or not have kids.  It's the decision to change jobs, or not.   We, as women, need to take back the responsibility of doing what is right for US.   That's the hardest part of being a wife and mom--finding what works for you and yours.  What works for you?

Have you ever wanted to do something, but you just kept dragging your feet?  Really?  You haven't? Well, good for you!  Unfortunately, I've become a foot dragger. That wasn't always the case. I used to get places 30 minutes ahead of schedule, turn in assignments 24 hours early, and pay my bills about a month in advance. Then I got married and had kids.  It's been downhill ever since.  But...that's changing.  I realized a few weeks ago that change comes from within--I've been blaming my foot dragging problem on everything but the real cause.  I'm the reason it has taken me so long to start blogging.  Somewhere in the past seven years, I stopped feeling that my voice was important.  I started feeling that my family was all that defined me.  I put my plans and goals on hold.  Phrases such as, "I'd like to...one day," replaced phrases such as, "I'm going to...."  My conception of time morphed from tomorrow, next week, next month, to one day, some day.

​But, last month, I realized that had to change.

​I finally got the chance to visit my dad's grave by myself on Fathers' Day.  (For clarity, let me interject that I was an only child who was best friends with her dad and the ultimate daddy's girl.  Losing my father last November completely devastated me.  I'm still working on that.) Anyway, I finally made it a point to send the kids with my hubby to his parents' so that I could grieve at my father's graveside.  On the way up, I stopped and bought 2 cups of the darkest, bitterest gas station coffee that I could find.  I kept mine black, but I fixed the other cup exactly the way Daddy liked it.  Once there, I sat down by the headstone and talked.  I cried. I cussed.  I prayed.  I cried.  I cussed. I prayed.  Finally, when I had nothing left to say and no tears remained, I chugged my now cold coffee and poured his onto the ground between the headstone and slab.  (Yes, futile, but it gave peace to have a final cup of coffee with him.)  As I said goodbye and stood up to leave, foot caught on a rock by the slab and I fell, busting my rear on the corner of the slab.  Cursing the universe for bruising my bum after taking my daddy away from me, it occurred to me that I had been wasting precious time lost in my grief, in my confusion, and in my ego.  Then, I swear, I heard Daddy laugh and say, "About time, punky dunk."  (Don't laugh.  I'm sure you had silly nickname, too!)  Daddy had literally given me a kick in the pants.

​Daddy never took a moment for granted.  Yes, he'd been handed a crap hand by the universe, but he made the most of it.  He made an excellent life for my mom and me.  It was time that I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started working toward my life again.

​So, here we are.  I'm finally writing again.  Thank you, Daddy.  You've always been there to give me advice, and even after you passed, you've found a way to give me a swift kick in the, well, pants.