Go Shorty, it’s your birthday.

This is my daughter, Cal.

She turns 12 years old today.

She has been with me forever. First in my heart, then in my belly, and now by my side.

Dear Shorty,

Of all my many blessings, you are the best.

When you were a baby, I used to stare at the bottoms of your feet- how lineless they were, how marvelously smooth…waiting for your life history to etch in the lines, one small stroke at a time. I hope each line forms as you run to the ones you love, to joy and happiness, and to a deep and still peace. I hope you live in rooms full of light.

You da bomb.

Love,
Mom

Cal knows about this blog, and sometimes, she asks to read it. I’m going to let her read this post. If you’d like to leave a note for her, I bet it would thrill her to bits. I’ll be sure to let her know as each new note comes in.

image courtesy of Bonnie Tsang

Monday Dare: This one may kill me. Nice knowing you.

(Like this image? I created it using Someecards
“Create Your Own Card” feature.)
Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.This week: Swallow my pride

I like to give out free advice. Actually, I prefer to be paid, but no one’s willing to fork over any cash, so I’m giving away my golden nuggets of wisdom for free. You’re welcome. 

Sometimes, I give out advice, and I know it’s well-received because no one punches me in the face. Like Saturday. I found out on Facebook that my brother, Marshall, got engaged. I texted him: “Congrats! Also, some free advice- CALL first with any future big news before posting on Facebook. Please.” He agreed. We hugged via text.

His bride-to-be is kind and lovely and so ladylike. Clearly, we are very different people. I’m looking forward to having a sister-in-law.

Well, I already have a sister-in-law….but that brings us to the other times I give out free advice, and people hang up on me.

In Ellen’s defense, I might have spooked her with my stalkerish ways. When I found out that Harv’s brother, Terry, and his wife, Ellen, were moving to the area, I called every week for a whole month to arrange a get-together. How about a family dinner? Let’s get the kids together! Wanna go get our toenails painted and drink cheap champagne?

After five messages, Ellen finally called back and reluctantly agreed to a family dinner. I add “reluctantly” because she was all “Welllll, yeah, I *guess* we can do something together.” Those might have been her exact words. It didn’t bother me. Stalkers never let little things like disdain get in the way. I was determined to be Ellen’s friend…whether she liked it or not.

At dinner, she called me “fancy” and rolled her eyes. She gave one-word responses. No biggie, I thought. I’m gonna wear this homette down until we’re bosom buds. 

Soon after, at another dinner, Ellen refused to say hello and avoided eye contact or conversation the entire time. In my head, she and I were at a sample sale, one of us distracting the masses away from the 70% off sweaters while the other dug through the pile for both of our sizes. I let that fantasy carry me through the whole 90-minute dinner.

Since I’m such a lady, I did what I thought was best. I wrote her a scathing email with a shitload of free advice which may or may not have included phrases such as:

  • I’m more than slightly mortified that we are connected in any way.
  • Your continued insolence is no longer acceptable.
  • I don’t wish ill on you. I wish you the best of luck. Because you’re going to need it.

She forwarded it to my in-laws. I called her. She hung up.

We haven’t spoken since. I’ve been thinking about her lately. Cal doesn’t have many cousins, and if I have to make amends so she can have buddies to raise hell with as a teen, I’m willing to do it.

So, I’d love YOUR free-of-charge advice. Should I reach out to her? Make peace?

I post thoughtlessly insensitive things + funny pictures + thug life thoughts on the Flourish in Progress page almost daily. “Like” the page to see them in your news feed.

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