Kittymckay's Blog

June 23rd 1996

Today is Bubba’s twenty first birthday. We have such a busy day planned! My belly is HUGE! I swear my body looks pregnant from my nose down. We woke up at about 8:30 this morning. J.T. kicked so hard it bounced the bed. That was what woke us both up. I said “Bubba that is your little boy telling you happy birthday.”

We have plans to go to Traci’s for a cook out and to go swimming. I am feeling so tried but Jonathan is excited about his birthday, that and I love to swim. It is the only time I ever feel weightless.

We had a blast with Traci and everyone at the pool. We are meeting his Dad and Bonnie at the Bulls game to top off the day. It is so hot! I am so large! uugg…I just feel gross.

We have been at the game for a little bit, but it feels like forever. I am really starting to not feel good. I hate to say it but I need to go home. The walk to the car feels like miles. I can’t breath and my back is really hurting. How is it possible for my stomach to even be this big! I am so glad I only have a few weeks left. Ready for this little boy to be here.

I just realized that J.T. hasn’t moved in a while, not too worried I have been so busy I probably just haven’t noticed. We just got home. J.T. still hasn’t moved. I had Bubba talk to him because that usually makes him jump. I am feeling a bit anxious now. I called Becky and asked her if I should be worried, she said I should call the doctor.

Just got off the phone with the doctor. He said to come in. Feeling really nervous…trying not to panic. The stupid car just stalled on the way to the hospital.

They took us straight up to labor and delivery. We have the sweetest nurse, she can not be much older than we are. She is getting to Dopller to check J.T.’s heart beat.

She has been checking for two minutes.  Nothing.

She has been checking five minutes, she seems frantic.  Nothing.

She wants to keep checking, but the older nurse came and took her hand. They went to call the doctor. We still have hope.

The doctor is here. They have brought in the ultrasound machine. The nurses look strained. Dr. Woodruff just turned the machine on.

“Look here, that is his head. This is stomach. Look right here, are you listening? That is his heart, and it is not beating. Do you understand?”

His heart stopped. My heart breaks. I can’t breath. I can’t focus. OH MY GOD I CAN”T BREATH!

I want my Mom. I want my baby. I want this to not be real.

Late June 23rd/ Early June 24th

They have given me drugs to help me sleep. I am in a fog. Like I am sleep walking. I can’t tell if my thoughts and feelings are real. My Mom is here. Jonathan is here. J.T. is still here. He is still here, maybe they are wrong.

I make my Mom go to the nurses station. I have dreamt that the couple in the next room just had a daughter. I have to know that she is alright.

At some point they start labor. I can’t recall much. I just remember the look on Bubba’s face as he said “I can see his head!” At the exact moment I believe he forgot, he was just so excited his son was coming.

The next thing I remember is Pal holding him. He was so proud. I know there were so many others there. I know because I have seen the pictures. But, I can not remember. I lost days. Days I can not get back. My soul was so traumatized by losing my son that I could not cope

I believe that events shape us. I became pregnant when we thought Jonathan could never father children. I thought it was my only chance. At the age of twenty-one I became a childless mother. Something broke in me that day, I aged decades in just a few hours. People say you heal with time, and that is true. But…the grief never really goes away. Some years as J.T’s birthday creeps up I feel no pressure in my chest and I can picture him in a better place. Some years, it sucks the air out of my lungs. I get frustrated because I can not remember the weight of him in my hands. I can’t remember what the back of his neck smelled like, or the peach fuzz blonde hair that was on the top of his head. All I remember is snippets following his birth.

I remember going to Crabtree straight from the hospital, neither of us wanted to go home. We now needed clothes for a funeral. I remember Jonathan sobbing in the food court because we heard a baby cry.

I remember the day of his funeral was beautiful, and I was angry because I felt like the earth should have reflected my pain. I remember my baby brother standing next to that impossibly small casket holding J.T’s blue bunny. I remember my Dad and Jerry carrying that casket out. I remember the cars as we went over the hill on the way to the cemetery. I remember the empty nursery, my empty arms and the restlessness that seemed to last for the next year.

I remember my Mom. She was there, it seemed every moment. She has really been the only one to understand the pain I feel because I can’t remember.

So this is how I remember him. This is all I can do. Jonathan Thomas would be turning fifteen this Friday. This is how I am trying to honor his memory. He was my first born and impacted my life and so many of those around me. Hug your children. Pray for those that have lost theirs.


It certainly has been a while!

I have shared a bit about my impending divorce. I am happy to say that the end is near. The divorce hearing is scheduled for Friday Feb 4th at ten am. I must say it has been a long time coming. We have been separated for 22 months. Twenty-two loooong months.

I never thought that  I would be one starting over at this stage in my life. The last twenty two months have been such a growing experience. I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought I was. I have learned that I did not know what real love was. I have learned to not be surprised by the depth of peoples nastiness or their kindness. I have learned that being in need(both emotionally and financially) builds character.


I have been with The Dude twenty of the twenty two months of my separation. This man has seen me at my absolute bottom, and picked me up. He has been my champion, my knight in shining armor, and my drill Sargent-when I needed it.  My ex and his fiance live directly across the parking lot from The Dude and I. Through out the last- almost two years- our relationship has had it’s bumpy spots. Most of those bumpy spots directly correlated to the stress of the Ex’s involvement in my life. Though we were no longer living together He was still trying to control me. His nasty words and actions were a black cloud over my relationship with The Dude.

Odd thoughts would permeate my head. Like “what if I get in a horrible accident the Ex would have legal control over my medical decisions.” Or “what if the Ex doesn’t bring the kids back.” I would obsess over what he was going to try to pull next, and what he could get away with because he was technically still my husband. As soon as I got the news that the divorce hearing was with in sight I felt like I could breath for the first time in a long, long time.

The Dude and I had a long talk. I told him that I am all his and have been, but there is something about being officially free that changes the dynamic. It’s better, seems calmer. Something about not being legally tied to the Ex that makes me more The Dude’s.

Some of you may think that it may seem odd that I am so happy about a divorce. Let me give you a quick rundown of what the marriage was.

4 months of happiness

2 years of grief over the death of our son

2 years of stress over the Ex keeping a job- and the stress of his family hating me-fighting, begging, pleading for the Ex to chose me and make me a priority before his Mom and sisters-me working 2 or three jobs at a time when ever he got fired

2-3 years of ups and downs-going back to school with out his support-two miscarriages that never registered on his radar screen-grieving alone-followed by an on going struggle with horrific depression

1 year of happiness because Emma made it

The rest of it runs together. The nasty words snow balled. The doubts began to creep in that he wasn’t faithful. The hatefulness spouted by his Mom and Dad began to take hold of him and he bought into it. At some point in 2004 the affairs started, and the  abuse got worse. Months of me praying “dear Lord please let me be a better wife so he will love me” turned into “please Lord please make the yelling and the pain stop” to ” let him actually hit me so I have proof and can somehow fight back.”

It all changed the night my then nine year old said to me ” Mommy maybe if you don’t fight back he won’t yell anymore and you won’t have to cry.”

I just wanted it to end. I hoped that he would leave then I hoped that he would stay. It hurt when I found out about the other women, but it was a relief when he finally went.

The divorce is a cause for celebration for me. It is the end of a dark chapter in my life. It is the beginning of a new chapter for myself and The Dude. My kids are the only concern I have in all of this. I believe that I am a better Mom now with out the stress of the barrage of abuse on a a daily basis.


I am happy it will finally be over. I am sure there will be struggles with the Ex in the future but I won’t be his WIFE anymore!

I am a better woman now and I have so much to look forward too.

Celebrate with me!




It has been forever since I posted!

Honestly, over the summer I got pretty depressed and didn’t write at all. Once I went back to work I stayed too busy to do much of anything. So much has happened in the last three months.

I had foot surgery July 2nd, then broke my ankle July 10th. Needless to say I was pretty immobile for the summer. It was good to be off work but WOW- I do NOT do well not having a full calendar. While out of work I had a call from a small retail company that was interested in interviewing me for a manager position. They offered everything that I wanted to hear to get me away from Chico’s. I should have known that if it sounds too good to be true it usually is.

I feel like I lived a lifetime from September twentieth through November ninth. You ever get so busy that you forget to breath? Forget to just stop and appreciate what you have? That is what I did. I became so consumed with getting ahead, making more money to provide for my kids that I was no kind of mom (friend or girlfriend for that matter). My stress level was through the roof and my emotions were as sensitive as a fresh sunburn. I was missing my kids, my Dude, and was feeling lonely for my girl friends. I felt like I was sitting at the top of a roller coaster just waiting for the plummet where you scream till you can’t breath.

My descent started my fourth week into the new job. I was working crazy hours and had not seen my kids in nine days! Feeling overwhelmed with missing them and exhausted from working all the hours I get an email (ironically-indirectly about a blog post from August) that was the equivalent of a hidden trip wire.  The emails went on for a few days each succeeding in kicking me while I was already down.

I was feeling like it was all just piling on. The EX was threatening about suing for custody, the child support hearing is just around the corner. Work was just crazy with pressure and hours. Those damn emails were nagging at the back of my end. I was missing an old friend so much it hurt. I was feeling overwhelmed at work , like there was no end in sight to the chaos. I was SO over it all.

So then a window opened for me. I lost my job November 9th.Initially it felt like a set back. Then I realized I could take a deep breath. I didn’t have any headaches. My house was clean. My laundry was getting done. I was cooking dinners instead of microwaving them. I was seeing my kids. Granted in about five weeks I will be broke as hell, but I feel happier now than I have in the last year and a half. I have looked into opportunities I would have passed up before because I was working full time. After experiencing some very inconsiderate people I have been blessed  to encounter people that are just truly good for the sake of just doing good. I feel hopeful. I feel like there will be something better around the corner for me.

Do not get me wrong. I am not being one of those that believes that I can just sit back and everything will be okay. I am still having my moments where I think “oh s***! I don”t have a freakin job what are we going to do!” But the highs are definitely out weighing the lows. I am learning to look for that silver lining in each situation.  Losing my job actually is a blessing. I have decided to go back to school. Something I kept tossing about before and just had not done. I have decided to look for a job that will allow me to work around my kids and school. It really does not matter what work I am doing because I have realized it really does not matter what anyone else thinks. I am starting the outline on a book-that friends and family have been encouraging me to write for years. Each of these are windows that were opened when the door ( losing my job) was slammed shut.

On an unrelated side note. Any of my past blog posts that have upset you or someone close to you- I do apologize. I tried to make it clear in each of my posts that everything I write is from MY point of view-MY feelings-and MY experiences. The post that I got the most back lash from was “The Ones That Got Away.”  I had no intention of placing blame on anyone, I don’t believe I did. As I stated- anyone I wrote about, I am sure would have had a different perspective. If anything, my point was that people drift apart. Heather and Stephanie: we were kids and all of the thing that happened with us are in the past. I would not trade any of what happened if it met we did not get to be friends. Heather B: if by some off chance you read this. I get it. All I was trying to say was that I missed you, and still so. I just wish we had a chance to talk it through.

You have seen her, you may have even been her.  Probably in the grocery store, she looks worn and tired and has a screaming toddler in her cart. People are whispering “Why doesn’t she shut that kid up!” or “I hate when people bring tired babies to the store she should just stay home.”  If you ask her in that moment “Don’t you just love being a Mom?”  She will probably answer “NO!”

Every Mom has those moments when she really does not like her children.  It is possible to love them and periodically not like them.  I strive to be as much like June Cleaver as possible: dressed, pressed, clean house, fresh-baked cookies after school, and the worst thing my kids do is say darn it.  Most often I am Rosanne Barr: the house is a mess, dinner is from a box, I’m wearing a dirty shirt, and my kid has thrown the cat in the swimming pool to see what happens.  Though that is not the “motherhood” that we want to see or hear about.

We all do the best we can.  We go to work, clean, schedule appointments, go to PTA, put on our game face and try to shake off that we are tired and pissy because we are doing it alone.  Some of us are lucky and have a very hands on spouse,and then the rest of us have a hands off spouse or no spouse at all. We rarely get time to ourselves and depending on how young the kids are often can’t even pee without an audience.

A tired overworked Mom often says “I love my kids, but…..”  I’m sure that none of us remember the first time we said to our mothers  “I hate you” but all of us can or will remember the first time our child says it to us.  At thirty-five I am just now beginning to understand what my Mom gave up for me. More importantly what she put up with for me.

My first pregnancy I was not excited.  I was twenty, engaged, and scared to death.  I didn’t love my expanding belly, I wasn’t glowing.  I was miserable and sad.  When JT dies in utero just hours before I delivered I felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt.  That maybe me not wanting to be pregnant caused it.  Then all I wanted was my baby.  I still feel guilty fourteen years later because I did not enjoy every moment of that pregnancy.  With the rest of pregnancies I was excited because I knew to pay attention and I tried to appreciate the nausea, swelling and blotchy skin.  I was one that when I was pregnant old women would walk past and pat my arm saying “you poor dear”.

As mother’s we need to be honest with each other.  When I see a new mom walking the mall dressed perfect, with perfect hair and perfect make up my first thought is “I wonder how she really feels.”  I used to do that dress myself up so that hopefully no one would notice how miserable and lonely I was. No more conversations where we tell each other “my kids are so well-behaved they never give me any trouble.”   Tell each other where we struggle.  You may find that we can build each other up and give each other strength by admitting that we struggle every day.

I love my kids.  I really do have great kids.  They are not perfect.  They get on my nerves, often annoy the heck out of me.  They can break my heart and melt my heart all in one day.  I have days when I can not get enough of them. I have days when I can not get far enough away from them.  This is every mothers life.  Even if we do not admit it to ourselves or our friends.  We need to start being honest with ourselves and each other.  Moms rock!  We have the hardest job on earth.  Let’s not make it harder by setting unreasonable expectations for ourselves and each other.

There are two songs that I used as a source of encouragement when I am having a day when I just don’t know how to keep going.

Keep Breathing By Ingrid Michaelson and Safe to Land by Jars of Clay. I cold not figure out how to link then to the page but you can cut and paste the address to take a listen. for Jars of Clay for Ingrid Michaelson

I have been contemplating this entry for the last couple weeks.  I need to preface this entry with a warning/explanation.  I am going to be talking about girl-friends from my past.  Even changing the names some Facebook friends will recognize the ladies I talk about.  Each of them were very dear to me at one time and in some respects still are.  Anything I speak of is not meant to be malicious-it is just accounts of how I felt during these time periods.  These are my thoughts and feelings of My accounts and no one else.  Certainly if my old friends were to write their accounts may be different.

I have always been a lonely sort.  One to be able to feel completely isolated in a room full of people.  I think this is because I always wanted a sister.  I always have felt like an outsider, even in my own family.  I seemed to fill that void with girl friends from a very early age.  There is a long list of the ones that got away.  Some of the ends of these friendships were assuredly my own fault.  I would find fault where there was none, or I may have just been too demanding.  To me when I love someone, I love with 110%.  Putting my whole self into relationships often set me up for disappointment and heart ache.  Hoping that others would return the affection with 110% of their own is too much to ask of anyone, whether it is a friend or a lover.

I mentioned in my post earlier this week about the girl I moved in five houses from when I moved to North Carolina.  She was and still is such a vibrant personality.  I was intimidated and enthralled with her, and her life. I so badly wanted to be a part of it.  When we got to high school we just started to go in different directions.  I was not cut out to be popular.  The cliques at CHS were suffocating, and it was even worse to not be a part of one.  Worse yet was to become a target.  Another girl fell for my friend.  It was easy to do.  She was a blast, and hilarious.  This other girl saw to it to make my life hell.  Ironically I was never really angry with my friend, just more hurt than anything else.  Almost twenty years later and some of the memories of words said will still sneak up on me and punch me in the stomach.  Luckily I had a saving Grace through that experience.

Let’s call her Grace.  Grace stood by me through all the bull shit through high school.  She was some how just as out of step with fitting in as I was.  We could always have fun.  She managed to remain neutral with the popular girl and myself.  Looking back I can not imagine how much of a struggle that was for her.  After graduation we worked together, partied together, and a few times I am not sure how we walked out unscathed.  In fall of ’94 she and I went to ECU to see friends.  I was drinking, as was everyone else.  An older guy that I had a crush on for years turned up at our friends apartment.  Long story short-he raped me.( It has taken me years to reconcile this).  She didn’t believe me.  She told the a roomful of people who I had sex with this guy, including the guy I was seeing at the time.  He was the only one to believe me, after I showed him the bruises on my back and legs.  I still stayed friends with her for about a year after this, but something broke in me.  The rape has had long-term effects on me.  It was the elephant in the bedroom through out my marriage.  Not until last summer was I able to finally face what happened  and admit that even if she did not believe me-it was not my fault.  I said no, he didn’t listen.  It did not matter then, nor does it matter now-who believes me.

I met Ya-Ya the first time in early 2000.  She helped me while I was shopping for maternity clothes.  I encountered her again, while shopping for maternity clothes in August of 2001.  I went in to buy  jeans and ended up walking out with a job.  A  few months later as we were hanging stock I said to her that I had intended to not be friends with her cause girlfriends suck, but that I could not help but feel like she was the sister I should have had. Ya-Ya is one of those friends that you call at one am because you can’t sleep and she goes to Wal-Mart (she and I had epic Wal-Mart adventures).  I have never had a connection with a female like I did with her.  She stood witness to the wreck that was my marriage.  She let me cry and complain. She included me in her family.  She was just always there with me and for me.  In ’04 she made a much-needed career change out of retail.  That started our drifting.  Then I got a promotion at work and that furthered the drift.  When my ex left I went a little crazy.  She did not take well to this, and from my perspective was very judgmental of me.  I was hurt and confused by this because she had been encouraging me for years to kick the Ex to the curb.   When I met My Dude, well that was the icing on her cake.  She did not like that he was younger and was turned off by his appearance. Calls quit being returned, emails have gone un answered, and it has now been over a year since I have seen or heard from her.  I have made small attempts to reach out over the last month or so with no response.  This time around it feels like someone has died.

Each of my old friends that I have written about have impacted my life and my approach to friendship.  Friendship breakups are so rarely are talked about. There are no support groups for it, and I think all women have had ones that have gotten away.  It hurts like hell. Years later we can all recall their names and faces.

Now I have to say that I have also had those girl friends that have stuck by me.  I can count them on one hand.  We can go months without talking and when we do we can start-up mid conversation.  Friends move away, life pulls you in different directions, and well crap happens.  I hope that I learned enough from all these friends that I can pass on good advice for my kids, my daughter especially.  As women we can be vicious and hateful.  Then in the next breath be compassionate. I know that I am not always now, nor was I then, a perfect friend.  I am sure that if you were to ask any of these women they could tell you of an instance of when I hurt them.  I know that there are times now when I do not return friends phone calls, or cancel plans at the last minute.  Surely my friends know that I care about them though.

I truly hope that if you are reading this you are not lonely in a crowded room.  That you have a best friend that you can call and bitch to, laugh and cry with.  That you have the kind of friend that is your first call for good and bad news.

Cherish your friends, even if they got away, you (and I) have been blessed with a unique experience of a girlfriend.

At the age of  twelve I was in sixth grade in Findlay Ohio.  The year was 1986, and I was just becoming aware of fashion and what was considered “cool”.  The colored Reebok high tops were all the rage.  There was a girl in my class named Amy, she had those shoes in every color.  She was also allowed to wear make up, she had long red hair, and everyone wanted to be her friend.  I was awkward, chubby, and had two-inch think glasses.  I think I was one of those kids that just tried to hard and ended up being annoying.  This was also the first year I started to become aware of social and economic differences.

The summer before seventh grade I wasted away to nothing.  I became obsessed with my weight and looking like everyone else.  My Mom saved money and took me to the mall in Toledo for school clothes.  I was so excited! Fancy jeans, a Coca-Cola shirt and a Benetton tee.  I thought for sure that I would fit in.  Not so much. I recall being at a football game and a girl named Heather in a huddle with a bunch of other girls turns and asks me” “How many pair of Guess jeans do you have?”  Then they all cackled when I said none.

Two weeks before the end of seventh grade we moved to Cary, North Carolina.  I went from  awkward, four eyed, bully bait to hitting puberty with a vengeance and not wearing glasses.  Add to the culture shock of moving from the north to the south, I moved in five houses down from one of the popular girls.  I entered into middle school under the wing of her popularity.  The social culture shock was overwhelming.  Those first few months of school were difficult.  Not only was I adjusting to a new school, new people, there were cultural differences I was not prepared for.  I can recall being cornered in the bathroom at West Cary by two girls as they explained to me that I was not allowed to be friends with black boys or I would get a bad reputation.  I was so confused, I couldn’t understand why being friends with anyone would get me a reputation.  So added to the confusion of a new school, new people there were these unspoken “rules” I had to follow to stay friends with the “popular girls.”

All these memories have come flooding back as I prepare to send my oldest to my old stomping grounds at West Cary.  Luckily my Tyler has always had his own sense of fashion and he could really care less what everyone else is wearing.  He likes what he likes, and tends to be a leader rather than a follower.  I have a feeling that if he were to get cornered and told not to be friends with someone because of their skin color he would be strong enough to tell them to shove it.  I hope that he loves middle school and high school and doesn’t become as label conscious as I was.

I hope that as my children get older that they are all well-adjusted enough to be secure in who they are, and not what they wear.  I do not want my kids to grow up with the expectation that things are just handed to them.  My Mom had me get a job as soon as I was legally allowed.  If I wanted to go to the movies with my friends I had to pay for it.  If I wanted new shoes because “that is what everyone was wearing” I had to pay for it.  At the time I often resented that I could keep up with the girls I hung out with, but as I have aged I appreciate the work ethic that my Mom instilled in me.

I worry about this generation of young people.  Every time I have had to hire at my store I get the most ridiculous young people in.  They walk in expecting to get paid $10 an hour, work when they want, and the act as if they are too good to take out the trash.  I actually had a young women come in to pick up an application wearing a skin-tight tee that read” One Crazy B*%#H.”   I have sat behind school buses as middle and high school girls walk off carrying Coach bags as book bags, and I wonder if they can appreciate the life they have, when right around the corner girls their same age can’t afford lunch.

Every parent wants their children to fit in and have friends.  I pray that I balance giving them what they need with giving them what they want.  I want my children to understand the difference between necessity and excess.  I want then to understand when it is too much.  I want them to appreciate the cost of things.  As they have gotten older and started asking for more expensive things I have been telling them how many hours of work it costs me.  Equating my time away from them with the cost of things has started to change their perspective.

Yesterday I had the honor of being a guest at a very lovely wedding.  I do not know either the bride or the groom.  My Dude went to high school with the groom.  This was the second wedding I have attended since my marriage ended.

The first was my brother’s, less than a month after the Ex left.  My brothers wedding was difficult for me, was the first time I had been to a wedding single.  I had to face all my family and friends that I had not seen in a long time.  I felt branded.  As my brother was launching into a new part of his life.  I was a walking failure to and end of a chapter in my own.  I was excited for my brother, and excited to be gaining an awesome sister-in-law.  Of course I was a bit jaded towards the concept of marriage at that time.  Knowing that y brother is a better man than my Ex was did give me hope that love cold still be real.  I am upset that I let my own circumstances interfere with getting to truly enjoy their day.  My little brother is almost like my own child to me and I feel that I jipped him by not being fully present for his special day.

On the drive to the wedding I said to the Dude “I love weddings.  The innocence of it all. That for that one day that one moment the only people who matter are the bride and groom.”   Dude feels a bit jaded about marriage too.  I was not disappointed by the ceremony.  The bride (Elizabeth) only had eyes for her groom (James).  They both looked so young, almost childlike. You could ell that the bride had put so much thought and planning into everything.  The bridesmaids wore a shade of blue that looks great on everyone.  The flowers were everywhere!  All the groomsmen looked polished.  The parents glowed, the siblings gushed.  The party afterwards was a blast.

I was reminded of the romance of a wedding.  I still don’t know if I want to get married again, at least not anytime soon.  I know that I love my Dude more and in a different way that I ever loved my Ex.  If I do it again I won’t have the big to do that I went to yesterday.  I will want it to be about us and our future. Yesterday I proved to myself that some of my bitterness has subsided.

Yes, I had a bad marriage.  My wedding was pretty.  My Mom worked hard to get it all pulled together.  I ended my wedding day in tears being yelled at  as we pulled into the resort we stayed at for our honeymoon.  I hope for the sake of my children  the Dude and I can teach them what a good healthy relationship looks like.  I hope that my boys grow up to be the kind of men that make great husbands and fathers.  That my daughter believes in romance and learns that marriage doesn’t mean that you “argue and are mean to each other.”

I want one day to help plan beautiful weddings for my children, and more importantly am able to lay the foundation for them to have beautiful marriages.

  • None
  • mom: You may not remember but I was there when Dr. Woodruff told us, there is his heart and it's not beating. I remember how hard it was to watch my baby
  • mom: you have always been the perfect person that God meant to make. I'm sorry as your mom that I couldn't instill that belief. It takes a lot of pain to
  • Bless: I had some tough times in middle and high school too. We went to school with lots of kids that were handed things (expensive things). It made it har