Married, not dead.

You are right.  You are married, not dead.  Absolutely.  Look to your little heart's content.  Visually appreciate every scintillating inch of flesh that struts past.  Drink it all in with eyes that match the sky.  Really.  There's no harm in looking.  And, you didn't turn in your 20/20 at the end of the aisle.  You weren't required to sacrifice your perfect vision at the altar.  You are married.  Not dead.

Know what is dead, though?  Your right to pursue other women.  Yes, you traded in each and every opportunity you could have had when you chose the one you married.  You sacrificed the freedom of choice when you CHOSE.

So, if you want to watch me from across the room... cool, but stay over there.  Don't sidle up and introduce yourself with a smile designed to make panties drop.  You want to talk to me?  Cool; but, somewhere in the first three sentences, you have to use the words "my wife".  You want to ask for my number so we can "get together"?  Cool, but unless you're planning on inviting me over for brunch with the wife, save your cell plan minutes.  And, if you want to start something you already know you cannot finish...cool.  I can do the same thing at the most inopportune time you can imagine.

I am not the married man whisperer.

Not only can I not help you get over whatever you deem to be a problem in your marriage, I don't want to.  You don't want to be married?   Fine - do her a favor and leave her.  You don't want to be faithful?  Fine - do her a favor and let her know you've decided she isn't enough for you anymore.  You just want to see what I would be like?  I don't blame you, so here's my advice:  Do yourself a favor - grab a tissue and let your imagination soar.  Because I'm not interested in being anyone's other anything.

Marriage isn't the death of a man.  It's just the death of the single man.  You still get to do all the things you did when you were dating, you just only get to do them with your wife.  Not the next hot thing that crosses your path.

And, hey, you still get to have other women in your life.  You can have all the friends your marriage can handle.  Some of my favorite people are married men.  We joke and talk and text and support each other.  The line is quite clearly defined, though.  They don't touch, flirt, ogle or in any way disrespect the women they chose to marry.  No, this has nothing to do with being friends.  This is about dating.  

I am not suggesting it isn't possible for married men and single women to be friends.  I am saying it isn't possible for married men to date. Not to date me, at least. 

One more thing, if you're not going to wear a ring, than you must start each and every initial conversation with, "My wife would..."  An example:  "My wife would kill me if she knew I walked over here, smiled, flirted in a seemingly genuine way, asked for your number, then was completely surprised that you're not a complete idiot and you do your homework - thus discovering that she exists."  This way, the woman who was minding her own business before you sauntered over would be aware that your sparkle comes dredged in bullshit.

Bottom line:  You will get caught - if not by the woman at home, than by the woman with Internet access and the experience to know better.

Listen

You know that voice in your head?  The one that says, "turn left here...I know you usually turn right, but not this time."  The one that says, "no, don't speed though this light, wait."  The voice that says, "I know this is different, but go with it."

Listen to that voice.

Maybe you'll miss a terrible collision.  Maybe you won't get the next speeding ticket.  Maybe you'll meet someone who will change your life.  Hell, maybe you just won't be rushed to get where you don't want to be anyway.  It doesn't matter.  Just listen.

Because, maybe something will happen.

I've had a lot of instances when I wondered if it was coincidence or if the universe was guiding me to small moments.  

This evening, I turned around when I normally would've gone the long way home.  I sat at a light for what felt like forever when normally I would've already been in my driveway.  I had my windows down even though it was way past the temperature that usually has me face first in the air conditioner vents. And someone I thought I would never see again drove right back into my life.  If I had done any one of the "normal" things, I wouldn't be grinning right now.  If I had ignored the voice that gave me directions, he would still be in the past.

So, listen.  Turn left.  Slow down.  Go with it.

Maybe it won't save your life, but it just might turn your evening around.

Confidence or vanity

Conversation between Sofia and Maya last night during pick up time:

"Maya, you have to help pick up too!  You're just sitting there!  The sun doesn't shine on only you, ya know!"

"Yes, it does.  See....my skin is darker than yours....so the sun shines on me more."

From the other room, I smiled.  Half a second later, I cringed.

Because, see, Miss Maya does believe the world revolves around her - and not just in that general way every kid thinks it.  She genuinely believes she is (or should be) the center of everyone's universe.  And, I worry that I'm not doing enough to curb that misconception.

Are some kids just born with insanely large egos?  Maya is stunningly gorgeous, smart, hilarious, and caring.  But I try not to over-emphasize any of those traits.  Specifically, lately, I find myself not telling her how pretty she is because I don't want her to lean on that.  I know too many girls who grew up only being "the pretty one".  Know what happens?  They become really ugly on the inside.  I imagine that, if all you hear your whole life is how beautiful your packaging is, you think having beauty on the inside is irrelevant.

So, I don't tell Maya every day how her face stops me in my tracks whenever she rounds the corner.  Instead, I tell her how impressed I am that she got all of her spelling words right.  I no longer point out how most people wish they had skin like hers.  But I give out high-fives galore for reading a book from cover to cover.  Yet she still begs me to take a picture of her whenever she strikes a pose.  And, she seems completely flabbergasted that someone wouldn't compliment her on each new outfit.

My youngest child truly seems to have been born with an ego too big for her tiny neck to hold up.  And, I worry she'll become one of those girls that no one likes - not because she's too beautiful, but because she knows she is.

"Maya, that's ridiculous.  The sun revolves around the earth.  Not you."

"I know that, Sofia.  You're not the only smart one.  I'm just saying it likes me better cuz you're so mean."

"Whatever.  Just pick up or I'm telling mama."

The room never did get picked up, by the way.  Sofia gave up, Eva fell asleep, and Maya had to read me one more book... About a fancy girl no one understood.

2,116

I'm convinced the universe gives us school mornings to make it easier to leave our kids with strangers for the majority of the day.  Why else would we have to wake up long before the sun, place plates of hot, healthy breakfast in front of cranky, half asleep kids, pry open jaws to force in a toothbrush, spend twenty minutes getting their braid exactly the way they want it, search through disorganized drawers to find matching socks, run back into the house to get the calculator they forgot they have to have, and wait in the world's stupidest daily traffic jam five days a week?  Seriously, if not for the dramatic lessons in self control, I would probably home school.  Well...maybe not, but if I did, lessons would definitely start after 10.

Anyway, this was a typical morning.  By the time I got Maya to release my hand, I was free.  I practically ran to my car.  (I say practically because there was an abnormal amount of hot dads at the school this morning, and one cannot simply rush past such views, but that's a story for another day).  I leisurely strolled the aisles at the grocery store and blared the stereo in my car for the first Monday this school year.

Then, while putting away the groceries, I found Eva's retainer case.  Uh oh.  She has been so excited that she doesn't have to wear it all day since school started.  Unfortunately, she's still used to leaving her retainer in, so she must have forgotten to take it out this morning.  It hurt my heart that she was missing out on her little reprieve from the appliance.  So, while my pie shell was firming in the refrigerator, I walked the case up to the school for her.

Eva always has a million questions.  A million.  Before noon.  I love her, but really.  Enough with the questions.  But, as I was walking the case up to her, I thought about some of her more frequent questions.  The one that I've heard the most is "How far is it from our house to the school?".  I've already told her how long it takes me to run there.  Today, I timed the walk.  29 minutes.  On the way back, I counted the steps 2,116.  When I got home, I counted the blisters.  2.  Because that's too far to walk in cheap flip flops.  I can also tell her it's far enough to get stopped by two different guys who know me despite the fact that I've never seen them before in my life.  It is the right amount of distance to allow too many thoughts to drift in and out of my short term memory.  And it's far enough that, at 88 degrees, I was smelling less than fresh by the time I got home.  Most importantly, though, the distance from our door to the elementary school is exactly far enough to remember why I'm so lucky to be able to do silly things like count the steps between us.

2,116.  Close enough to walk but far enough that I can still miss them by 3:25 pm.

I don't get it..and neither does my waistline

How can I be a size 2-4 in my closet, but a size 10-12 in the mirror, and a size busted can-o biscuits in the shower?

I don't get it.

I haven't owned a full length mirror since I once saw a picture of me from the back, and I don't miss it.  In my bathroom, I have a mirror big enough to make sure I got the toothpaste off my mouth. If I want to know if my shoes match my outfit, I ask my six year old... Who usually reminds me that my outfit isn't cute enough to worry about coordinating, but that's beside the point.

Unfortunately, my shower has been broken for a couple of months and I haven't found anyone to fix it for free yet.  So, I've been using the girls' shower.  Usually, of course, it's 4:30 in the morning, I'm half asleep and have no contacts in. The perfect way to be naked, in my opinion.  Since they started school, though, I can go back to taking runs in the morning.  Which means taking showers afterward.  Which means, bright light, wide awake, 20/20 vision.  This morning, I ran my quick 5 miles, stripped naked in the laundry room and paraded through the empty house to get cleaned up.  All while being very careful to not look down, of course.  Then, I opened the shower curtain to step out and gasped.... Straight into the giant mirror looking back at me.  Well, maybe it isn't giant; but, it's definitely wide angle.

And all I could think was, "that can't be right".  That's not what the tag of my jeans that require a belt to hold up says.  That's not what my wrists that are smaller than my 9 year old's say.  That's not what that idiot yelled out the car at me.  That's not why I do more than 400 squats a day.  That's not why I haven't finished a cupcake in 7 years.  And, where the heck is my towel so I can cover that up?!

So, I don't get it.  How can my waistline change so drastically from one room to the other?  And, why can't I just live in my closet where I'm oblivious to it all?

First Day of School 2013

It's here again... the first day of school madness.  Am I happy?  Am I sad?  Am I ready?  Oh yeah, are they happy/sad/ready?  I always think I'll know how we'll do.  Then the middle of August sneaks up on us, and suddenly we're pulling back into the crazy station.  In so many ways, this day surprises us all.  And, in others it feels like we just did all of this yesterday.

 The notes were written.

The lunches packed.

Backpacks loaded.

Look out 7th grade.



 

 Ready to take on 4th grade.

 All ready to show 1st grade how it's done.

I woke up at 1:45 this morning.  Eva got her stress sores in her mouth.  Maya got up at 2 am and struggled falling back to sleep.  Sofia slept too late to get in her morning shower.  So, yeah, this morning wasn't exactly the ideal conditions to start the school year off right.  But we persevered.  We sat in the drop off line at the middle school for a stupid amount of time, as usual.  And, Sofia hopped right out ready to go.  As soon as we got out at the elementary school, however, my little go-getter turned into a no-thanks-let's-go-back-home-r.  I had hoped this year would be the year she didn't cling to me, but she was very hesitant again.  So, I stayed to get her settled before wandering down to check on Eva.  Of course, she was busy at her desk; so, a quick wave was all she needed from me.

Then, I was free.  I saw a friend on the way out of the school building who asked "What are you going to do today?" wink wink.  "Wouldn't you like to know?"  wink wink

Know what I did?

I stalked recess.  Yep.  I stood outside the fence and waited for my baby to come out to play.  She was still struggling and came right over to hold my hand through the barrier and beg me to take her home.  She broke my heart with her big tears.  I did the brave mama dance, though.  ok... I bribed her a little.  I promised her a prize if she went and played with her friends.  Hey...I know her currency.

And, now I sit in a quiet house again.  I have orders to fill and I should be working on those.  I'll turn on the music and get to the job at hand in a minute.  After I finish staring at the pictures of the faces I've been waiting all summer to send back to school.  I miss them already and can't wait to pick them back up in a couple of hours.  Then... about six minutes later if history is any indication.... I'll be ready to take them back to school.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part X

I bet you're wondering why I think I'm qualified to give you this advice.  I imagine you've read through this series and thought "what the hell does she know about a successful relationship?".  As much as I would like to believe that, by the time you need these tips, I will have gotten it right - history shows me that I probably won't.  So, here's why I hope you listen to me...

I have made every mistake.  I have chosen every wrong path.  I have been every don't.  And, I don't want you to feel the way I do.  I want to have made those errors on your behalf.  I want to believe that I went ahead of you and laid down all the Caution!, Do Not Enters! and Crime Scene tapes.  

I want you to be hopeful.  I want you to believe.  I want you to love.

I want you to choose what happens to you.  So, choose someone who makes you happy.  *you don't have to swing from chandeliers, but light up the room in your own way*

Choose the one you catch watching from across the room with a quiet smile.  *unless you've already taken out a restraining order against him.*  

Choose someone who makes you laugh.  *especially one who makes you laugh at yourself*  

Choose someone because your best friend approves.  *not the slutty friend who uses you to hold her purse, the true friend who tells you the truth.  She can see things in you that you can't and she will only approve of the man who is good for you*  

Choose someone who challenges you.  *you don't have to win every fight to win every fight*

And, know when to let go.  I never found out if you just know when you've met the right one, but I am completely sure that you just know when to let go.  Don't wait or barter or excuse.  It doesn't get better with time.  Beginnings are the fun, exciting part.  Middles are where the love comes (or doesn't). But the ends are where the most hard fought lessons are learned.  Don't be afraid of that.

Finally, make some mistakes.  Some of the best times I've had started as huge errors in judgement.  Most of the people who effected me the most came into my life at surprising, inopportune, or dark times.  And, while I may not like the scars, I don't regret the experiences.  Mistakes don't define you - thank goodness.

Relationship advice.  Believe.  Love.  Try.  As many times as it takes.

I love you all.

Accusations

I grew up around substance abuse.

Drugs.  Alcohol.  I'd say men, but there were never any of substance around.

I was surrounded like a lifetime movie marathon.

I know what kind of life that is, and I have no interest.

I know what that kind of environment does to children and I would never, under absolutely any circumstances, do that to my girls.

So, people can say I'm too hard on them about cleanliness.  Or I'm too focused on their behavior.  Or I don't allow them to relax as often as they should.

But no one gets to accuse me of exposing them to an inappropriate lifestyle.

I have never done a single drug.  Other than allergy medication, I don't even take over the counter meds - not even an aspirin for my migraines.

Other than their father, I've never brought a man around my children.  Ever.

And, with very few exceptions, I don't drink in front of them.  

Yes, when they are gone I occasionally go out.  And, I have a good time.  I drink and act silly and do all the things a fully grown adult woman is allowed to do.  But, the moment their little voices filter in through the front door, mama mode is back on.  Heels and skirts go back in the closet, sweatpants and ponytails come back out.

I know what the strung out, falling down drunk, take every random guy from the bar home "parent" looks like.  I am not her.

And I know what the scared, lonely, nervous kid looks like.  My girls aren't her.

If there is any further question, feel free to bring it to me.  I'll be home focused on my kids for the next two weeks, but I would love to discuss it with you further the next time they're gone.  Because the only other thing my children have never seen me do is set someone straight, and I won't allow you to make me break that rule either.

Selfish

I would walk through fire for my girls.  Jump in front of a train.  Shield them from bullets.  Take on a charging bear.  So, why was staying in an unhappy marriage too much for me?  Why couldn't I have continued to suck it up and trudge along for them?  It's the question that slams my soul every time they ask if he's coming back.

The details of that relationship are not public.  I'm not one to talk to people about my problems anyway, and this isn't the forum to air such issues.  I will just say that at it's best, my marriage was lonely and sad.  At its worst, it was violent and vile.  But it was nothing I couldn't handle.  I've never lived a fairy tale, so I can take just about anything that's thrown at me.

And I took it all for thirteen years for those girls.  For the idea of giving them a whole family.  For the image of a normal two parent household.

So, why did I suddenly get so selfish?  What made me decide it was enough?  Why did I take that family from my girls?  How can I say I would do anything for them when I couldn't suck it up and be unhappy for them?

It seems so small now.  I've never been a deeply happy person, so what was the big deal?  I could've survived another ten or twenty years.  For them.  It was my choice.  I chose to destroy their peace.  I tore apart their world all because I didn't want to be there anymore.

Tonight my child told me her heart was broken.  I did that.  A good mother wouldn't have been selfish. A good mother would've kept trudging along, putting her children first.

In the real world, protecting them from fire and bullets and trains and bears isn't what they needed from me.  All they really needed was for me to put them first.  And, as I sit here after a long evening of three crying, confused kids; I can't, for the life of me, define why I wouldn't do that.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part IX

Ok, as my captive audience for the first two decades of your lives, you know that words are the most important things.  The placement of them, the tone of them, the creative lack of them.  Words are to be used carefully and clearly.  We don't mumble, and we say exactly what we mean all the time.  Not everyone follows these rules, though.  We call these people men.  Many of these creatures use a coded language that it takes time to sift through.  Some things are easy to decipher (roll over) and take only moments.  Others can take years, so I am going to give you a bit of a head start.

Stop nagging me = I heard you.  I know what you want me to do.  I know I should be doing it right now, but that would interfere with what I want to do.  So, I'm going to blame you reminding me to do x for my excuse to do y and z instead.

Just try it, you might like it = I will like it - you definitely won't.  But, I will talk you into doing it once and that's good enough for me.

She doesn't understand me like you do = I mean, you get that I deserve to do whatever with whoever whenever I want.  Right?

Don't overthink it = You're thinking again... You know I don't like that.  Just follow along blindly like a good girl.

Anything that starts with I'm only human = I don't have a good excuse for this, but you can't argue my place on the food chain.

I'm not ready/I just got out of a serious relationship/let's just be cool for now and see where it goes = this is about sex, so roll over.

I wasn't thinking anything = Yep, not a single thought going on in here...unless you'd like to roll over now?

There are others, of course.  But I can't give you all of their secrets.  And, no, not all men use codes.  Some use hand gestures, others try morse code, and there are a select few that speak clear and concise English.  Once you get the hang of your man's particular dialect, you can play along with them.  And, you know your mama raised you to win.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part VIII

You're going to want to do it.

You're going to think it'll make him like you.  Or make him love you.  Or make him stay with you.  Or make him choose you.

He's going to tell you it might work.  He's going to look at you with the eyes that make your skin tingle.  He's going to reshape the air in the room to the point that you can't not touch him.

It's going to seem like a good idea.  Like the great plan.  Like the only way to go.

It isn't.

Girls, I promise, sex has never fixed a broken anything.

In itself, sex is a great thing.  And, in twenty years when you're out of college and living on your own with your wonderful husband in a house with a fence and a hypoallergenic dog, feel free to do it to your little heart's content.  It'll be a great way to spend a few minutes.  And, after you've taught him how to do it properly, it will even be an extremely fine way to spend an evening.  Yes, you will have to teach him so pick a smart man who is good with his hands and isn't afraid to stop and ask for directions.

But, please believe me when I say "it's not a band aid."  

If he's a jerk, sex will just make him a jerk with a smug smile.

If he doesn't love you, sex will make him not love or respect you.

If he's leaving, sex will only delay his exit for a few inevitably unsatisfying moments.

And, if there's a choice between easy sex and a woman he has to work for, he'll take the free samples while saving up for the quality goods.

Every time.

You want him to like you?  Be you.  If that doesn't work, nothing will.  Do not sleep with him.

You want him to love you?  Be you.  If that doesn't work, nothing will.  Do not sleep with him.

You want him to stay with you?  Be you.  If that doesn't work, nothing will.  Do not sleep with him.

You want him to choose you?  Be you.  If that doesn't work, nothing will.  Do not sleep with him.

However, if the man you love faithfully loves you, chooses you, and stays with you - hand him a beer and let him hang out with his friends.  And sleep with him.  Not necessarily in that order.

No one to hear my confession(s)

I don't know if a tree falling in an empty forest makes a sound, but I do know that making a bunch of stupid decisions when your only confidant has left you still results in some nasty consequences.  And those consequences come without the uneasy giggles that your friend would've inspired to lighten the mood.  

I have had only one person to tell my idiocy to for the past year.  When she wasn't beside me allegedly in an alley or maybe directing me through the rain, she was the first person I called.  It went a little something like this:

1.  Do something really, insanely, immeasurably stupid.

2.  On really off nights, do it again.

3.  That one time, do it a couple more times for good measure.

4.  Laugh uncontrollably at my stupidity.

5.  Slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the meltdown because the witness/victim/accessory is still standing there.

6.  Swear the inner voices to secrecy because no one can ever know this has happened.

7.  Allow 3.6 seconds to pass.

8.  Pick up the phone because she has to hear about this one.

Unfortunately, one of those stupid things wasn't very funny and I lost my partner in crime.  Even more unfortunately, this has not deterred the ridiculousness.  Oh no, that continues.  Just without my focus group to run it past.

I wish I could say the tree fell and made no sound.  Instead, I must report that the ramifications of poor judgement still knock me down - even without the hand that used to help me back up.  Oh well, I'll just grab my chainsaw and get back to clearing this path through the forest.

Word for the day

Desire.  

What a good word.  

"Want" is so boring and fleeting and fickle.

"Urge" is momentary and pedestrian and easily suppressed.

But desire.  It just rolls off the tongue. 

Desire.

I want and feel an urge to be desired.  Craved.  Longed for.

My own list isn't very long, but it is quite specific.

I desire tattoos.  Nothing tribal, cellblock, barbed or misspelled though.

I crave strong arms.  Some girls go for backsides, some fall for abs.  Me?  I'm all about the triceps.  Weird, but true.

I long for eyes that tell the truth.    Although, a nice set of honest, juicy lips wouldn't hurt either.

Desire.

Don't get me wrong, I want employed.  I have a pretty strong urge toward the motorcycle owning.  And, I wouldn't argue against a good, strong 401k.

But I crave and long for the kind of desire that keeps you up nights and dreams away your days.  Heart racing, toe curling, can't-fight-it-for-one-more-second, they-write-novels-about-this-under-assumed-identities desire.

Mmm.

Yes, please.

Oh, and I also desire cake that doesn't make you fat, coffee that replenishes itself, and world peace.

But I'll start with the arms.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part VII

There are people you're friends with and there are people you fall in love with.  The problem?  They're rarely the same people.

Girls, you're going to meet some really great guys in your lives.  They are going to make you laugh, they are going to be there when you need them, and they are going to tell you the truth.  They are going to be the best men you ever meet.  And you're going to friendzone them.  You're going to "love them like a brother" and "feel no spark" and "not want to risk losing their friendship".  

I met my best friend when I was 17.  He's the only man who has never lied to me.  He's still the only person I can pick up the phone to call without hesitation.  And I don't have to tell why I need him - he just says what I need to hear and we move on with our lives.  He is, without qualification, the single best man on earth.  And, I would give anything to have fallen in love with him when I had the chance.  He's someone else's husband now, and she gets the honor of being married to the (nearly) perfect man I know him to be.  I'm not jealous of many people, but I envy her laughter like no other.

My advice:  The obvious - fall in love with a friend.  Let stability trump sexy.  Allow honesty to outrank handsome.  If you find someone that you trust to catch you when you fall on your face, fall in love.

Good guys stay good guys.  They just do.  They will pick up the phone when you need them and you will have their shoulder for life.  But someone else will get their heart if you don't.  So, let your friends be your lovers.  Look at the way they go out of their way to make you smile and let that be sexy.  Watch the way they laugh at your stupid stories and let that move you.

The friendzone isn't just where stupid girls send good guys.  It's also the waiting room where smart girls go to find their prizes.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part VI

So, as my daughters, you have inherited a few things from me.  A couple of these traits you might even be thankful for.  Most, however, you would probably like to give back.

You are all incredibly smart.  You're welcome.

You each have some form of my quick wit (and one of you has a tongue almost as sharp as my own).  Hold your applause to the end, please.

You all rely on glasses to see beyond the edge of your noses.  Sorry about that one, but you do look smarter when you're not running into walls.

If any of you make it beyond 5'1", that's all me.  Though, I suppose you could blame me for choosing to make you with a pre-teen size man.

You can all spot sarcasm at the first hint of irony.  Yeah, and the first sound of my voice too.

And, each of you ladies will one day get to blame me for just about every other thing you don't want to take responsibility for.  It's my role as your mother to accept such charges without pointing out that you chose to run away and join the circus - I only drove you to it...I mean drove you to the bus stop.

One big thing I hope I don't pass on, though, is the draw to bad boys.  I pray for that harder than I hit my knees for world peace.

Bad boys are just that.  Bad.  I would like you to adopt a policy of "look but don't touch" when it comes to this particular species.  I know what they looked like when I was younger, but they could have different details now.  The basic description, however, is the same.

Goes left when you go right.

Forgets his wallet when it's time to pay at the super classy bar/gas station/liquor store/Applebee's you drove him to because his license is suspended over several misunderstandings between him and a breathalyzer.

Smacks your butt in greeting rather than taking your hand.

Eyeballs your friends like they're the next course.

Gets eyeballed by your friends because the bad boy syndrome is widespread.

Hides his phone like it has military codes he would have to kill you for.

Answers questions with vague and mysterious words like "huh?", "no way, baby, they take away all the sensation", and "you're crazy, that wasn't me, I was home thinking about you!".

And, probably most telling, a bad boy is the one to which your mama says "no, love, take that idiot out of my house.  We're calling him a cab".

You'll want to defend him.  You'll think he's sexy and exciting.  Then, once that wears off, you'll think you can change him.  You'll do all of these things with the purest of intentions and the strongest of desires to defy me.

I pray this doesn't happen.  I have my fingers crossed that you're the first generation to lack the bad boy magnet gene.  In the likely event that you fall victim, though, you can blame me.  However, I have warned you about the catastrophic effects, so I'm not paying the psychiatric bill.  Check the fine print on our contract, full disclosure nullifies my financial responsibility.

That's one more thing you could've inherited from me - the art of a well placed word.  Thou art welcome.

Relationship advice to the girls. Part V

You are all so beautiful.  With your perfect shades of olive skin tones, gorgeous thick dark hair, and deep chocolate eyes you are the kind of beauty that makes people sit up and take notice.  You will be complimented, fawned over, and probably stop traffic at least a dozen times in your lives.  Eventually, you will perfect the humble blush, though I beg you not to bat your eyelashes.  Girls, you should appreciate the gorgeous view you give to those around you.  But you should never choose a relationship based solely on the outside... yours or his.  Don't let some guy have entire conversations with your chest.  More importantly, make him have conversations with you.

Don't let it only be about what you look like.  

Let it be what you think about.  What you know about.  What you feel about.  

You've got the beauty.  You've got it in the ease of your confidence.  You've got it in the quiet way you tuck your hair behind your ears and the singular way you stride into a room.  Those are easy to see.  Make him look further.  Show the rest of your beauty.  Show it in the way you discuss the last book you read or your hard won talent to be the best at who you are.  Show it in the tremendous sense of humor you inherited from your mama.  Show it in the heart you manage to hold open despite the cold beating down your door.  

Make sure he talks to you.  And, more often, listens.  You have something to say.

Make sure he respects you as much as he does himself.  You are whole human beings who deserve to walk beside someone, not behind them.

Make sure he eats your cooking.  Unless you didn't learn it from me...then make sure he pulls the chair out for you when you go out to eat (even if it's to get another look at your backside).

And, yes, make sure he always sees how stunningly gorgeous you are.  You deserve to be oohed and ahhed over.  I've been doing it since the day you were born.  I'm not saying the cover of your book isn't important, I'm saying the story of who you are deserves to be appreciated beyond the pretty packaging.