Mail Time

Okay, who doesn’t love getting mail?  I’m pretty sure everyone gets excited when there’s a letter for them in the mailbox.  It gives us this warm fuzzy feeling that we’re somewhat important, right?  

But three year olds receiving mail….is a whole new level of fuzzy feelings.  Joy on an extreme level.   

Here–The joy of a three year old receiving mail: 



So, I’m finally gearing up to publish the children’s story I wrote & illustrated two years ago. 

 Going Through a Maze.  


When I was writing this story my father was diagnosed with cancer. And actually, it wasn’t a story it was a poem.   My father even had the opportunity to read that poem.  I turned it into a story after he passed away.  And every Wednesday when my mother in-law would watch McKinley I tirelessly sketched and colored my heart out. 

Unfortunately, I’ve sent it out and It’s not a story publishing company’s want to publish.  Mostly, because it’s a children’s story about Cancer and subsequently death.  Shocker.  But, it also happens to be a story about preserverence, love, friendship, and family. You know, like important shit?

Anyways, I wanted to read my daughter something to help explain what our family was going through at the time, and there just wasn’t anything on the market.  It’s important that there are story’s for children about cancer and death because many families experience this and death is simply inevitable– no matter how invincible you want to be. 

So,  I continue my journey and will be now be self-publishing!  I’ll be sure to let my readers know when it’s ready to purchase. I also plan to donate a portion of the proceeds to help fund lung cancer research.


Little Philosophers. 

Three year olds ask the best questions. Those tough-sometimes-you-just-can’t-fully-answer type of questions, don’t they? 

My father called this phase, “The Little Philosophers phase,” because they are curious thoughtful thinkers. And always asking, “why?!”  

This morning, after we all finally got buckled into our cozy CRV, McKinley started out, “Why do we need to save the earth? No no no no..Mama. HOW do we save the earth? That’s what I mean.”

“What a great question McKinley.  There are many reasons to save the earth and many ways we can save the earth.  Like, using less water.  Turning off our lights when we’re not using them.  Recycling. The list goes on.” 

I told her to ask all of her friends and teachers, because there was something to  learn from everyone.  So, I said, I would do the same. What are your thoughts on why we should save the earth and/or how we can save the earth?! 


Okay, so the apple doesn’t fall far. 

“Hiiiiii Momm! Guess what? I bothered all my friends today during rest time!” McKinley excitedly pronounces this to the world first thing when she sees me in the car pick up line. 

Her boisterous attitude reminds me of someone else I know. Hmmm.  Yup, I remember the good ol’ days. 

I remember vividly laying on a blue rest mat using my headband as glasses and pretending to be an alien.  ?  Yeah, I’m not sure why either—I didn’t get a “fuzzy ball” that day. Or all the other days I bothered my friends.

McKinley’s loud and spunky attitude (now that she is in school) has been bringing back a flood of memories.  But, I’ll have to touch more on that later, because she’s litterally starting to strip down to her birthday suit outside. 


One thing at a time.  

It’s days like yesterday when I miss dad the most.  The long grey-color-pallet days of winter and the feeling of 1,000 things gone wrong. Just wrong. All my mistakes and shortcomings and the mistakes and shortcomings of others.

I just need to talk to him. “Dad, I’m having a hard time,” but that’s not actually what I would say.  

It would be a phone call and he would pick up, “Gorrrrdita!” rolling out the “r” for an exaggerated effect. (I forget how, where, and when that nickname actually came to be). His excitement to hear from me is warming, but my heart accelerates and my breath is heavy–

“Hey Dad,” with an exhale.  

“What’s goin’ on?” he says casually to not be presumptuous. But come on–he knows. He always knows. The wooshing wind from his rolled down window distracts me.  No matter what season it is his window is down and  he’s driving—always driving.  

“I dunno. Not much,” I mumble. 

“Uh-huh, well don’t put too much stalk into what other people say.”

“I know.  It’s just…I know. You’re right dad.”

He continues, “Seriously Don’t let other people dictate things for you.  Fuck em.” 

Dad had a way of making things seem OK again. I remember a night 3 years ago after the birth of McKinley.  My anxiety level was at a new high.

I called to talk to mom first, because they worked best as a team.  

“What’s the matter?” mom asks softly. 

Working through my sniffles, “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much.” 

“Oh Georgia, of course you can.  I know It’s not easy–trust me!  But, you are going to be an amazing mother.” 

Then dad.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” 

“Well, shit–you never are.” 

“What am I gonna do when she’s 15? How am I supposed to teach her right from wrong?” 

“Well, just take it one thing at a time. Don’t think about 15…She’s not even 1 month.  Every age and stage is different.  Don’t think or worry about it until you get there.”

I also miss dad on days like today– when the sun is finally starting to break through. When something happy happens and you get that good news

We’re moving into our first home. No extended family this time.  Just our immediate family unit. 4 elements under 1 roof.  And a dog. 

Dad would have embraced me in his tight hug, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “I’m so proud of you kiddo.”  And, he would have said that on my worst days too.