As many of you know, I volunteer at the school my ten-year-old daughter attends. She is now in 5th grade and has been at this particular school since kindergarten. Over the years, both my daughter and I have been blessed with some outstanding teachers. Each one of them, so different, yet all sharing the same passion for teaching.

When my daughter entered the second grade, this is when I became active in the PTA. My daughter’s second-grade teacher, just like the ones prior, was simply amazing. I refer to her as the “Snow White” of teachers. Any parent would be lucky to have this teacher teach their student.

When my daughter was ready to enter 3rd grade. I had done my research. Although I did not personally know him, I knew what teacher I wanted for my daughter. He has a strong personality and does not coddle the students. He is a veteran teacher and I just knew, he was the one. So I did what I do best and fought hard for my daughter to have him for 3rd grade. I asked around, I did Google searches, I watched from a safe distance. Although I had never been formally introduced to him, never did I have any doubt my daughter belonged in his class. And that is exactly what happened.

As my daughter enjoyed her year in 3rd grade, I slowly began working in the classroom as needed. By the time my daughter entered 4th grade, I was a Room Mom for her former 3rd grader. Now, with my daughter in 5th grade, this guy cannot get rid of me. I have found where my passion lies. Volunteering for a special group of 3rd graders who are pretty lucky to have this particular teacher.

Over the last two years, I have seen it all. I have seen this teacher go above and beyond for his “kids.” I have seen him teach the unteachable. I have seen his excitement when one of his “kids” understands a new math lesson. I have seen him make his class stand up and sit right back down until they get the concept of “voices are off.” I have seen 3rd graders who unfortunately do not have the best of a home life tell him “Why are you even a teacher, you suck!” I have seen him teach a class of twenty plus students while literally standing in between two students who are ready to “throw down.” I have seen him having the physically take a student out of the class because this student could potentially be a danger to the rest of the class, and in the process, this teacher gets kicked or scratched. I am not kidding you when I say I have seen it all.

Yet, just when I think I have seen it all, there is always more to see.

Yesterday afternoon, as the school day was coming to a close, I had my oldest daughter in his class. Sometimes this happens if I am killing time or there is more work to do. My daughter, Gracie, who has autism, knows this teacher. He is one of the very few where she feels comfortable enough to sit in his class. As I am working on a project with three other students, the teacher wrote a long subtraction problem on the whiteboard for the rest of the class to complete. This was a hard one, and I can only assume he came up with this particular problem to “kill some time.” As I am watching over the three students who are helping me with a project, I notice Gracie. She is sitting at the table, the same table I sit at during the day, and she is focussed on the teacher and the whiteboard. I then notice Gracie takes a pen and writes something on her hand. I am still preoccupied with the three students I am working with. I make a mental note to ask Gracie what it is she is writing on her hand when there was a stack of notebook paper right in front of her. I know some of you may not understand this, and some of you will totally get it, but her writing on her hand is an autism thing.

Twenty minutes later when the class leaves for the day and this teacher makes sure to shake the hand of each of his twenty plus students, I go to Gracie and ask her “Sooooo, what is on your hand?” Well, she wrote the math problem down…on her hand. The same math problem that the teacher wrote on the whiteboard, she wrote it on her hand. “What’s the big deal?” you may say? I will tell you. In a room full of chaos. In a room full of twenty plus students, each one of them on different tasks, Gracie was focussed enough to write the problem down. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She wanted to because she was focussed. Gracie has a comfort level with this particular teacher where she is able to tune out what she wants and focus when need be, and although Gracie gets much credit for this, so does the teacher. Yet the beauty of it all, he had no idea that he had her attention. He had her attention because he is an excellent teacher.

Now if that was not enough, now is the time to pay attention. I know this is a long one, and I apologize. Just stick with me.

Today in class, another teacher came in to talk to the 3rd graders about bullying. Bullying in 3rd grade?!?! Yet, sadly, this is what is happening. The 3rd-grade teacher and I are sitting back, listening to the speaker tell past stories of his experiences. At some point, this class filled out a survey on their thoughts and fears regarding bullying. It is sad, it is depressing and it needs to change and it needs to change now. The speaker who was leading the discussion about bullying gave us the sad fact that in that class alone, a good portion of the students is afraid to come to school because of bullying. Again, this is 3rd grade.

I am sitting there listening to the speaker. I am listening and feeling the pain, the sadness, the frustration, and anger. Then, one of the most powerful moments I have seen since I have been at the school happened. The 3rd-grade teacher politely interrupts the speaker. He gets up and points to six of his kids. “You, you, you-you-you and you, all of you stand up.” All six students stand up. “This is how many of you, just in my class alone, are afraid to come to school. This is unacceptable, we have a problem and we need to fix it and we need to fix it now.”

At this point, I had to dig my fingernails into my hand just so I would not cry. What an emotional yet cringe-worthy scene. To see six little 3rd graders who do not even feel safe at school. I scanned the class. Trying to gauge the reactions of the students. A very sad thought crossed my mind. What are the odds of one of these little 3rd graders growing up and being the victim of domestic violence? An even more depressing thought, what are the odds of one of these little 3rd graders growing up and committing domestic violence? It’s a depressing thought, however, this teacher is determined for his class at the very least to not be a statistic, because he cares, because he knows when you know better you do better. This teacher is a class act, and over the years has become more than a teacher to me, he has become a friend.

……

Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis (that would be all four of you) you know Christin. Christin and I share a sixteen-year friendship. We have seen each other at our worst, we have seen each other at our best. Christin lost a family member yesterday to suicide. Christin carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. More so now than ever. We will see her through this because, in times of crisis, we look for the helpers.

Now, because Christin knows everything that goes on in my daily life (as I do hers) Christin and the 3rd-grade teacher somehow conspired against me.

A few weeks ago when our local Seattle Seahawks played my beloved NY GIANTS these two decided to take advantage of my weakness for my team and made a bet with me.

I will not bore you with the details. All you need to know is I lost. So here I am trying to make good on my bet. The bet was I would have to write a blog singing the praises of the 3rd-grade teacher and Christin while proclaiming my love for the Seahawks.

Easiest bet ever.

You see, I do not have to sing their praises because their actions speak for themselves. Spend thirty minutes in the classroom of this 3rd-grade teacher. Have a phone conversation with Christin while she is working on homework, cooking dinner, and being a mom to her children. Be a fly on the wall when I am at a weak moment, venting to either of them about my own inadequacies, and you will see what I already know. I do not need to sing their praises because if you are lucky enough to know them, then you already know what I know. These are good people, and that is what this world needs more good people……more helpers.

As far as the Seahawks go. Although they are not my number one team, they are a close second. I have been in Washington state for seventeen years. I believe Russell Wilson does amazing work at Seattle Children’s Hospital. A hospital that Gracie has been to by the way. Currently, I believe in the Seahawks more than I do my own team…..who happens to have the second worse record in the NFL this season.

I believe in good.

I believe in this 3rd-grade class, I believe in the teacher, I believe in Christin and I believe in the Seahawks.

I believe in looking for the helpers in times of crisis…..but most of all, I believe in being a good person, because that is who I learn from.

I am a better person because of them.

And I am a better football fan because the Seahawks force me to show loyalty in times of crisis.

~Jennifer

With Thanksgiving quickly approaching, Christin and I decided to do a small Random Act of Kindness here on the blog. Both of us have been the recipient and the giver of Random Acts of Kindness.

Here are two of our stories.

Christin (The Giver)

It was about 5 years ago on a hot day in July. It was a few days before payday, I had exactly $20.00 to my name. As I walked into the grocery store with my young son in tow, I noticed a young man in his late teens or early 20’s sitting on the side of the building.  He looked dirty, defeated as he sat in the 100-degree sun, with no clouds in sight. I took my son’s hand as we proceeded into the air-conditioned store. I pulled out my list: Milk, eggs, and bread. Calculating the prices in my head, I quickly grabbed the items and got in line. I’m not sure what it was but the young man’s face flashed in my mind. I grabbed my stuff off the conveyor belt as my son followed me to the back of the store.

“Mom, where are we going?”

“We are going to do something nice for someone who needs it,” I said, grabbing some bologna, another loaf of bread, a gallon of water and some bananas.

We got in line again, again I mentally calculated the costs of everything, hoping I would have enough.

“$19.29 ma’am.”

I gave him the $20.00.

We grabbed the bags and walked out the door.

With my son next to me, we walked over to the young man, whose head was hanging low.

“Here, I got you some things,” I said, nervously, holding the bag of groceries towards the young man.

He looked up and for a moment, his eye met mine.

“Thank you so much,” he said, with a hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome,” I said, returning the gesture.

As we walked away, my son turned to me and asked: “Mom, why did you give that stranger food?”

“Because we should always help people when we can. You never know when that could be you.”

He nodded as if he understood.

It might have been a small gesture, but sometimes that’s all it takes to make somebody’s day a little better.

To this day my son still talks about “that time we gave groceries to the guy.”

It was a learning lesson for him to do for others, even if you don’t have a lot to give.

I hope this holiday season you find an opportunity to practice random acts of kindness, you never know how you can brighten someone’s day with a free coffee or even holding a door open.

Jennifer (The Recipient)

November 2002

I was a single working mom of two boys. A toddler and a 9-year-old. Times were tough. I had no idea how I was going to make a Thanksgiving Day meal. In a way, I was lucky. I knew at any time I could call my family, tell them the situation, and they would either send money or a gift card to a grocery store so I could purchase a turkey and all the fixings. It was not an option for me. I did not want my family to worry about me. I did not want them to feel sad while they were having their Thanksgiving Day meal, knowing I was close to rock bottom. So I played it off and never said a word to them.

Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving, I am working on my budget or lack thereof. My boys were young. They would not know that tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I had enough money for some chicken tenders and french fries. One of their favorites. I figured I could cook a Thanksgiving Day meal when I got paid, and turkeys would be half off.

I will never forget the next few moments.

Standing in front of the open refrigerator, looking at nothing. I made a mental note to call my friend Alphonso, who just lived upstairs. I was going to ask him to watch the boys while I walked to the grocery store to buy chicken tenders and french fries.

As soon as I closed the refrigerator door, there was a knock at the door. Everyone I know just walks in, so, this was weird. I make my way to the door, slowly opening it. There was no one there. What was there was a large cardboard box. I bent down, almost expecting to find a kitten, for no other reason than I just love cats. There was no kitten. What there was, was something I will never forget. 

Inside the box was a turkey and two boxes of stove top stuffing. I looked around on my very small landing. Nothing. Cautiously, I made my way down the stairs. There is a guy, carrying another box. He passes me, goes up the stairs, and places the box right next to the other.

“Hi, excuse me, I think you have the wrong apartment.”

He pulls out an index card from his jacket pocket.

“Is this Apartment B-303?”

“Yes, I am Jennifer, I live here.”

He places the index card back in his pocket.

“This is the right place. It’s my mother, she does this every year.”

He kinda of motions his head in the direction of the parking lot. 

I see an elderly lady with a cane, walking, carrying a small plastic bag.

“I am sorry, I am confused?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

He walks off, meets his mother. Gives her a hug. His mother then turns around and heads back to the parking lot, while giving me a quick little wave.

At the same, I start walking towards the mother and son.

The guy meets me halfway, hands me the plastic bag, and turns around to leave. I look inside the plastic bag and find three pies in there. Two apple and one pumpkin. 

I am more confused than ever. 

The elderly lady and her son are already at their car. I head bag upstairs to look inside the second box. A five-pound bag of potatoes, three cans of green beans, corn, dry milk, and cranberry sauce were looking back at me, along with a small ham.

I sat there for a good 8 minutes or so, just stunned, going through the boxes.

There was a note.

“Happy Thanksgiving. I know times are tough. Remember, this is only the journey, not the destination. When you are able, pay it forward.”

 I cried. 

To this day, I have no idea who these people were. 

And now, well now I am in a position to pay it forward.

And that is exactly what I am going to do.

In honor of Random Acts of Kindness, we are giving away a $50.00 gift card to Wal-Mart for your Thanksgiving Dinner! Please like & share our Vodka Calling page and comment your favorite random act of kindness (given or received). We will draw a random name on Friday, November 10^th @ 8 p.m. (PT)

Stay tuned for more flash random acts of kindness giveaways!

Have a Vodka Calling holiday from Jen & Christin!

 

 

 

 

 

The Bet:  Jennifer and Christin share a sixteen-year friendship. Over the years they have shared it all. All, except for one very important thing. Their favorite football team.

Jennifer, a lifelong NEW YORK GIANTS fan. Born in Queens, NY. On any given Sunday, you would find her father rooting the GIANTS on, or perhaps cursing at the t.v. That would all depend on how well they were playing.

Christin, a SEATTLE SEAHAWKS fan. In her early twenties, Christin came into her own. It was also at this time where she took on THE HAWKS as her one and only team.

It’s been a few years since the GIANTS and HAWKS met up. All will change this Sunday.

And…..just like any good game, comes an exceptionally good wager. Jennifer, having faith in her underdog team, Christin, believing that her team is where they need to be. It all comes to head this Sunday.

The Wager: Jen and Christin will be putting everything on the line. Their dignity, self-respect, and even egos will be sacrificed on Sunday. The losing team will have to provide a video of themselves, professing their love and admiration for the winning team. Said video will then be uploaded to the blog for all to see. Stay tuned for the debauchery that is about to bestow you, may the best team win.

Christin: Let’s look at the facts… Giants have won how many games this season? 1. That’s right folks, 1 game, a fluke some might say. To say that the Giants have a chance against the Seahawks is like saying the 49ers have a chance at going to the Superbowl this year. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

We have one of the best Quarterbacks in the NFL. Russell Wilson. That says it all. We have one of the best defenses in the NFL. Enter Legion of Boom. Kam Chancellor, Earl Thomas, Richard Sherman. If you don’t know about these guys, look em’ up. They are beasts.

It doesn’t even matter that O’dell Beckham is out for the rest of the season. Nope. The truth of the matter is, we are stronger, faster and we play harder.

Tune in on Sunday for the game. My prediction for the score is 42-6, Seahawks, of course. Sorry, Jen. I’m not sure another loss for YOUR team will even matter at this point. Go Hawks!

Jennifer: I am coming at this from a different perspective than Christin. Christin is giving you the facts as they appear on paper. I am giving you heart, emotion, perhaps even what some may call a fairytale. I am giving you the Eye of the Tiger.

When the GIANTS played the Broncos last week, missing their number one wide receiver Odell Beckham, team morale was down. The GIANTS had not yet won a game, and with two of their main guys out, they were certainly the underdog.

No one saw it coming, most of all the fans of both the GIANTS and Broncos, yet, the GIANTS got their win. Their first win of the season, but a win none the less. What changed for them? Did they get a good talking to from their coach? From their quarterback? Who knows.

My theory is my guys wanted to prove to themselves that they could pull off a win without their number one guy. It was not about the NFL, it was not even about the fans. They had to show themselves that they have in them to win…..and they did. This is why I believe, although it will not be easy, they will give us another win against the HAWKS……and this time, not only will it be for them, but this win will also be for their die-hard fans who have stuck with them.

I know they have it in them. I know they can do this, especially in their own house. They will pull off a win for all of the new little girls who may be sitting at home watching the game with their family member, just like I did many years ago. They will pull off a win because, at this point in the game, there is no other option.

 

 

Let me explain to you how Sofia’s school morning drop off routine works. All the kids meet in the gym. This is done for safety reasons. Each class has their designated spot. Every day Sofia goes to her designated spot where her class sits, while I stand back against the wall, waiting to hear the morning announcements before starting my day.

Yesterday, Sofia and I got to school a bit earlier than usual. I tell her goodbye. Sofia goes to take her spot on the floor, while I grab my coffee and take my spot on at the wall, right behind her class. I am doing the usual. Checking messages on my phone, checking Facebook, and planning my day. Every now and then I glance up and make sure Sofia is doing okay.

Now, Sofia cannot see me unless she turns around, but I have a perfect view of her and her class. This is when I noticed it. Sofia is sitting next to a group of five girls. All five girls are talking to each other, but no one is talking to Sofia. I put away my phone and pay better attention to what may or may not be happening in front of me. Five minutes pass. Still, no one is talking to Sofia. Ten minutes pass. Still, no one is talking to her.

I start to wonder what is going on. Did something happen between Sofia and her fellow classmates? Is Sofia sitting there, feeling embarrassed because she has no one to talk to? Should I go over there? Of course, I cannot go over there! My heart is hurting for my ten-year-old daughter. I remember my days in elementary school. On the bus, at lunch, even in the classroom, no one would ever talk to me. I felt dumb, I felt there was something wrong with me. The last thing I want is for my own daughter to go through that.

A teacher, who is also a friend,  makes her way over to me. She has some PTA questions. Right before she leaves, I ask her “Lisa, look at Sofia, does she look okay? Do you think it’s concerning none of the other girls are talking to her?”

Lisa takes a moment to evaluate the situation.

“I think it is fine. Remember, Sofia is not a big talker, typically she does not like people. I have no doubt that if Sofia inserted herself into the conversation, those girls would talk to her. In some ways, Sofia is socially awkward, but she is fine, there is nothing to worry about, I will keep an eye out for you!”

I could feel the tears coming. In mere moments I would be standing there talking to Lisa in a gym filled with 300 plus children….and staff, crying. Quickly, I take my scarf and wipe away my tears. “Lisa, say something funny, I cannot have anyone see me cry!” It took Lisa a whopping five seconds to utter the words “Well, I for one think it is hilarious that you do not know how to cook.”

Mission accomplished! I was now laughing. Trying to fix my makeup, but laughing. “You good?” “Yes, I am good, thank you.”

I spent the rest of the day thinking about Sofia. How was her day? Does she have anyone to play with at recess? What about lunch? I mean I know there is assigned seating at lunch, but who wants to eat lunch and not have anyone to talk to? I used to eat lunch in the bathroom because I did not want anyone to see I was “that” kid who had no friends. The same cannot happen with Sofia.

……

At the end of the day, I am back at the school waiting to pick Sofia up. Prepared to do any sort of damage control that I may need to do. I will even order pizza for dinner if that’s what it takes to lift her spirits. I had Gracie with me. If anyone can give Sofia a boost of confidence, Gracie can. I mean just this week Gracie got in trouble for telling a boy to “mind your own damn business.” Gracie is my perfect wingman.

There I am. Sitting at the table in the school foyer. Gracie is bored out of her mind, and we are waiting for Sofia. I am nervous, kind of sad, not sure what to expect.

Finally, Sofia and her class make their way down the hall. It’s the moment of truth….

“Hi Mom, Hi Gracie!

“Hi Sofia, how was school?”

“Mom, seriously, it was the best day ever. I never in my years at school had such a good day at school.”

“What?!?!?!”

“Let’s go, I will tell you all about it in the car.”

Gracie is looking at me like I am nuts, while Sofia has the biggest smile on her face.

In the car I ask Sofia “So tell me about your day, why was it the best day ever?”

“I don’t know mom, it was just different. I had so much more confidence and I wasn’t shy. it was just a good day! How about you, how was your day?”

I figured it was not the best of times to tell her I was crying ugly tears in the gym because I was worried about her.

“Oh, you know, the usual.”

……

Joe is already home by the time I get home with the girls. We walk in the door, and Joe ask “How was everyone’s day?”

“It was the best day ever dad, just amazing!”

Joe glances at me, expecting me to elaborate. I got nothing.

While the girls are talking to Joe, I sneak outside to call Christin. I give her the rundown of everything I just talked about here.

After a few moments of gathering her thoughts, she said to me “Jen, it’s important to remember that our kids have their own experiences, their own feelings, their own highs and their own lows. We have to give them their own space and not assume they are going to deal with their problems the same way we did.”

After much overthinking, I came to the conclusion that both Lisa and Christin are right. Sofia chooses not talk to some people. Not because she does not like them, maybe because she is just getting ready for her day, and prefers to do that in silence.

A situation that I took as a negative, was really nothing. It had no impact on Sofia’s day. She did not even mention it. The moral of the story, Sofia is okay. She is more than okay. Sofia is coming into her own, in her own way. What may have shattered me as a child, does not have the same effect on Sofia.

As for me, I need to learn to let go of my fears. I need to realize that my past experiences and how I reacted to them will not be hers. My kids, they are just a better version of me.

And that is exactly how it should be.

 

 

Jennifer’s #MeToo Story

Many of you have heard about the #MeToo Movement that is taking Social Media by storm.

Now, my only complaint about the #MeToo Movement is I do not need “all woman.” If you tell me you have been sexually harassed or sexually assaulted, I will believe you, because you are enough. Your one voice is enough. If you are a woman if you are a man I will believe you because as a human, it is my job. It is not my job to judge, it is my job to believe.

With that being said, here is my story.

I was a single Mom, in my mid-twenties who found myself in a less than ideal situation. My very good friend and her husband graciously opened their home to me and my young boys. They were offering me a chance to get on my feet while allowing me to save some money so I could move on to the next chapter of my life.

I had been living with them for a month. Things were going well. The boys and I became part of their family. We would cook dinner together (Well, I would watch them cook) we would have “Movie Nights.” At one point when a guy show interest me, they told me he was not good enough, to never settle.

I was introduced to their extended families. On occasion, we would spend the night out, at her sisters beautiful home. I had the entire bottom floor to myself. I felt good, I felt relaxed, I felt as if I was getting better.

One weekend, my friend was booked up with church activities. I had the weekend off from work, my boys were in a safe place. It was just me, alone for the weekend. Without my boys there, I did not know what to do with myself. I had the entire weekend free and yet found myself depressed. Listening to Matchbox Twenty on repeat. At this point in time, I had not yet learned how to be “me” without my boys.

My friend called me from her church activity. She encouraged me to go to the Bite of Seattle with her husband. She wanted me to get out of the house and not sit around feeling sorry for myself.

With some prodding from her and her husband, I finally agreed.

The Bite of Seattle was nothing I had ever seen before. There were food vendors, music, and wine tasting galore. This was a part of Seattle I had not seen before. I was in heaven. Her husband took pride in showing me all the ins and out of the Bite of Seattle, and I took it all in. Especially the food. My friend was right, I needed this.

As the day was coming to a close, we sat down on a hill, listening to the grunge music that Seattle was best known for.  The Husband and I talked about dinner. We decided on pizza. That way, my friend would be finished up with her church obligations.

Somewhere between talking about pizza and the band switching to a ballad, things took a change. As I was sitting there on a lush green hilltop, sipping on my coffee, he scooted in behind me. His arms went around me. “Turn around kiss me.” I was frozen. What is happening here? “Ya know, we have some time to kill, there’s a motel not too far from here. I can show you a thing or two.”

I had every emotion you could imagine going through me. First I was mad. I was mad that he would put me in this situation. I was mad that he took advantage of his wife’s good heart. His wife trusted him. She trusted me. I was mad that he thought he had the power. I was mad that if he had his way, he honestly thought he could take me to Motel 6 and “show me a thing or two.” I was mad that I now had to drive back home. I was mad that I now had to make very quick choices that would change everything. I was hurt. He took the private conversation that I had had with him and his wife and used them to his benefit. I was sad I that I had allowed myself to open up to him, telling him my concerns about finding a good guy, he took that and used that in the hopes to get a quick lay. I was hurt for my friend, who is one of the nicest, most generous people you will ever meet, I was now hurting for her. I was in disbelief that this guy who at best would be a 3, thought he was something more. I now had hatred. I hated this person, for everything he tried to break.

My struggle had only begun.

It was only a matter of time before people at work found out. Naturally, everyone picked a side.

I was at fault for agreeing to go with him alone to the Bite of Seattle. It was all my fault. There was only one person who had my back. Who made sure through all of this that I was okay.

His wife.

Now the one person who had no reason at all to show me support was the one person who did. While everyone else at work was saying to her “I am so sorry, I am sure she asked for it.” “Do not blame your husband, he is a good guy.” “What was she wearing, that could have contributed to it.”

My friend stood by me, as I did her.

As my friend was working on her marriage, and I was working on my reputation, my friend said to me…

“Jen, I get it. Years ago, it happened to me too.

Christin’s #MeToo Story

We had said Hi in passing several times while working at the store. He was very friendly, always smiling, engaging, even a little charismatic. From another country, I found his accent interesting, always asking about his native home and how it was there on a few occasions when we would coincidentally be eating lunch in the breakroom at the same time.

When I found myself shopping at the store on a day off, he approached me like any other day, a smiling, friendly face.

“Hey what are you doing?”

“Shopping. What are you up to?”

“I’m just getting off my shift.”

“Well, that’s good. I have to finish up some shopping, so I’ll let you get going.”

“Hey, you want to hang out for a little bit.”

“Sure.”

The only thing that was waiting for me was my little studio apartment and my hamster, Hammy. I was in a relatively new state with no family, a handful of friends, and a lot of free time.

“What do you want to do? We can grab a movie or maybe some dinner. There’s a cute little place off Monterrey Hwy.”

“How about San Francisco? You want to take a drive there, I know a little restaurant on the bay.”

I hesitated.

I didn’t know him very well but he was a well-liked guy. Besides, I could’ve really used another friend in the big, busy city.

“Okay, let me put my stuff in my car and we can go.”

I left my car in the parking lot as he insisted on taking his car.

We made small-talk for the next 40 minutes, talking about our families and where we come from. He was a good conversationalist and an even better listener.

Driving into the city by the bay, the place is one of my favorites. The people, the buildings, Fisherman’s Wharf, Ghirardelli’s… everything.

He and I walked around for a bit, enjoying the sights. Turned out he loved the city too.

We chatted some more as we made our way into the quaint restaurant overlooking the bay. The sun had gone down, the bright moon reflecting off the dark water.

Dinner was nice, mostly small-talk.

It was getting late, I was ready to go home.

He paid the check after my insistence to pay my part.

“Don’t worry about it. I got it”

We found our way back to his car, making the short drive back to San Jose.

“Hey, it’s late, do you want to just stay at my place tonight?” he asked as we got off the freeway, about 10 minutes out from Wal-Mart.

The question caught me off-guard.

“No, I have to get home. It’s late.” I said, looking at the clock in the car that read 11:09 pm.

“C’mon. My apartment is just around the corner, you can have my bed and I’ll take the couch.”

My heart began to race. My hands became sweaty.

“I can’t tonight. I have some things I need to get done in the morning,” I said, trying to convince him.

Anything to get out of this car.

“It’s fine. I can bring you back to your car in the morning. I promise.”

“I really need to get home tonight.”

“My place is close by. I can give you ride in the morning. It will be okay.”

None of this seemed to be okay. As my heart and my mind raced, I began to formulate a way out.

I looked over and his smile had dissipated. He was now serious, and me telling him “no” was only agitating him.

“I have to get something out of my car,” I said. “I really don’t want to leave it in there overnight.”

“Okay, so you can grab it and then we can go to my place.”

I sat in silence, waiting for the glow of the blue lights of Wal-Mart to appear. The parking lot was desolate besides the few cars belonging to the overnight stockers (Before the stores became 24-hours).

I put my hand in my jacket, making sure my keys were easily accessible. My purse was next to me, ready to be used in any way necessary.

He pulled up next to my car and before the car came to a complete stop, I pulled the handle, jumping out. I hit the unlock button on my keyless remote, grabbed pulled the door open on my car, just as he was jumping out of his. He grabbed my arm just as I was getting into my car, I pulled as hard as I could, shaking out of his tight grasp.  I pulled my door closed and locked it, as he was pulling on the door handle. With my hands trembling, I pulled my keys out and tried to put it into the ignition as he began banging on my windows, screaming at me, through the window, his face inches from mine.

I finally got my key in the ignition through the tears and shaking. I slammed on the gas, and sped out of the parking lot, straight to my nearest friends’ house.

I was violated that night. Maybe not physically, but spiritually and emotionally. My trust was violated. My sense of peace was violated. At 20, my outlook on the world was violated. One person took my good nature, trusting, open vulnerability and tried to take advantage of me.

For many years after, I always thought it was something that I did. Maybe if I hadn’t been so friendly. Maybe if I had insisted to pay for my meal. Perhaps I led him on in some way unintentionally. Only until recently, when preparing my own daughter to go out in the world on her own in 4 short years, did I realize that it wasn’t me, it was him.

It could happen to anyone. It happened to me, too.

“Ring, Ring, Ring.”

I rolled over, looked at my phone. It was “South Carolina” calling.

Does she not realize that there is a three-hour time difference? Does she also not realize that I am sick, and the kids do not have school today and I have not had any coffee so it is just too early for me to even try.

I quickly made the call go straight to voicemail, making a mental note to call her when I am awake and have coffee in me, and it is daylight outside.

*****

Thre hours later.

“Ring, Ring, Ring.”

Are you kidding me? South Carolina again. I slowly I grab the phone while wrapping myself up in my comforter. It’s chilly this morning. Probably one of the many reasons I am sick with a cold. Change in weather. What time is it anyway? I do not hear the kids. I am slowly finding my way to the “talk” key, and realize she hung up. Fine. I will get up. Check on the kids, make some coffee and give her a call back.

*****

One hour later.

By the time I got up, got the kids breakfast, threw a load of laundry in the wash and made the very important coffee, I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to call her back.

With a nice hot cup of coffee by my side, I started the morning dishes. Vinnie was up, sitting on the kitchen bar stool in front of me. Both of us were enjoying morning chit chat on how our day was going to play out.

“Ring, Ring, Ring.”

With soapy hands filled with dishes, I look at Vinnie.

“It’s South Carolina calling.”

Crap. I forgot to call her back.

Quickly I dried my hands on my t-shirt, turned off the water and reached for the phone in lightening speed before she had a chance to hang up.

“Hello…”

“Hi Jennifer, have you heard about Theodore Roosevelt?”

“Who?”

“You know, your brothers ship the Theodore Roosevelt.”

My heart sunk. What was happening and why would she be the one calling and not anyone else? My brother. Only a week into his second deployment. No one is able to talk to him.

“Oh my God, what, what is going on tell me now!”

Vinnie gets up from the familiar bar stool and is quickly by my side. Making sure to give me my space, while being there for support.

“Okay calm down, it is nothing bad.”

“Then why have you been calling me all morning?!”

“President Trump just put in orders for the USS Theodore Roosevelt to head to the Korean peninsula.”

I do not remember how long I was silent for. I suppose I was processing what she was telling me?

“Jennifer, are you there?”

“Noooooo. This is what I was afraid of, this is what I was worried about! How do you know?”

“Calm down. It’s a good thing. Your brother’s ship is meeting another ship. There’s 7,500 Marines and Sailors. Trump is doing that for security reasons. Get on your computer, go look it up. Your Aunt saw it on the Drudge Report,  you know what that is? It is a …..”

“I KNOW WHAT THE DRUDGE REPORT IS!”

“Well, just calm down, and let your father know if he does not already know, but do not tell your sister, and also, your Aunt is not going to forgive you or Alyssa.”

Of course, she is not. This woman can hold a grudge like no other. A grudge that began seven months ago, and a grudge that will follow her to her grave. Of course, she will not forgive us. Why would she? That would mean she has seen the error of her ways. That would mean that she finally realizes we were not out to hurt her, in all this mess she was the one and only voice of reason. My aunt will never see it that way, and, now I have more important things to worry about.

“Okay, well…..thanks for the call!”

We said our brief goodbyes.

*****

Immediately Vinnie wants to know what is going on. I fill him in, making sure he realizes that we do not know all of the information and we probably need to turn on the news. I do not even have time to think, which will later turn out to be a very bad move on my part. Vinnie takes over the dishes as I gather my phone and coffee and head to my balcony for privacy.

I do not even have time to think, which will later turn out to be a very bad move on my part. Vinnie takes over the dishes as I gather my phone and coffee and head to my balcony for privacy.

I had to call Texas.

“Hey Jen, feeling any better?”

“Ummm, no! Have you heard about Trump and Anthony’s ship?”

I gave him all the limited information I had. We decided that each one of us would get to googling to see what we could find. However, we knew. In our heart of hearts, we knew. We did not have to go to Google. We knew. Anthony’s ship is on its way to the Korean peninsula, and it sucks. The only thing we did not know is that it would be happening this fast.

*****

Quickly, I get to work on the computer. Desperately trying to find whatever information I can regarding the Theodore Rosevelt. I made a fresh pot of coffee while wondering if 11:00 am is too early to have a drink?

AJ, my oldest son, comes home for lunch. He walks in the door, takes one look at me.

“What’s wrong?”

For the 3rd time in the span of about 30 minutes, I give him a brief rundown of the morning events.

“Well, what does that mean, is Korea bad?”

Vinnie and I look at each other, silently agreeing that AJ should have paid more attention in school, or perhaps to the news.

Then I notice something I should have noticed from the very beginning. Vinnie. He is crying. Of course, he is trying to pretend he is not crying but he is. How could I be so blind? How could I be so wrapped up in my own emotions that I neglected to see his?

Vinnie and Anthony have a pretty cool bond. I am not sure why or even when it began, but those two, they are connected. When Vinnie gets in trouble, I always use “What would your uncle say if he knew about this?” It’s never the grandparents, never the Aunts. Always Uncle Anthony. Plus, Vinnie actually watches the news. He gets how serious this may become.

*****

Joe walks through the door. I look at the clock on the microwave and realize that it is Friday. Joe always gets off early on Friday’s. He looks at my tear-stained face, he looks at Vinnie and his blotchy red eyes. “What’s going on?”

Once again, I recap on what I know. President Trump issued orders for the Theodore Rosevelt to make it’s way to the Korean peninsula.

“Oh shit.”

Joe makes his way to the t.v. Still, in his work clothes of black slacks and a navy blue button-down shirt, he grabs the remote and together, the three of us start watching the news, watching live youtube clips. Trying to find anything we can. Joe, God bless him, is able to gather strength I do not have. He patiently yet knowingly explains to Vinnie that the Theodore Rosevelt is protected by the Destroyer ships.

I get it, and I think even Vinnie gets it. My brother, along with 7,500 Marines and Sailors on the Rosevelt are protected by the Destroyers. Anthony is safe, as safe as can be expected.

There is precious cargo on the Rosevelt. Irreplaceable cargo. As God as my witness, nothing better happen to that precious cargo.

*****

Aj now emerges from the bathroom. He smells as if he took a bath in his Axe cologne spray. He looks at Joe, Vinnie and myself, glued to the tv, desperately trying to find something.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on in Korea?”

*****

And now, it’s time for a drink…

and apparently a History lesson.

~Jennifer

 

 

 

 

My brother has been on deployment for a whopping three days. I mean he probably is just barely out of California, and yet I am in a funk…still. Everything that happens, or does not happen, will always come back to “Well, my brother is on deployment!”

Did not do the dishes ~ My brother is on deployment, I am depressed!

Forget to pay the car payment ~ My brother is on deployment, what more do you want from me?!

Drop the wrong kid off at school ~ Hello, deployment, I can only do so much!

Roots showing on my hair ~ What’s the point, my brother is on deployment!

Well, I finally got things in order. I paid the car payment and colored my hair. As far as the dishes and the kid goes, we will work on that tomorrow.

Now, I need to paint a picture for you. I have Nice & Easy, soft black, in my hair. The kids think I am coloring my hair purple, that is how dark of a color this is. But, I needed to do something. Who knew grey roots aged you? Even though my brother is on deployment, he would kick my ass if he knew I was allowing my roots to show.

I am now in the shower, rinsing out the Nice & Easy “soft black.” I am now standing in five inches of blue-black water.

I am now standing in five inches of blue-black water.

Crap, the drain is clogged.

I have two options.

Option 1. Continue to rinse out the color and pray that my legs do not get stained from the “soft black” that looks like purple in the standing water.

Or…..

Unclog the damn drain, because if I do not do it who else will. And, my brother is on deployment.

And, my brother is on deployment.

So there I am. Hair color in my hair, standing in inches of cancer-causing chemicals, completely naked. Naturally.

I decided it is just too much trouble for me to get dressed only to unclog a drain and then get back in the shower. So…I went to work. Naked, and with hair color in my hair.

I knelt down, being very careful not to immerse my entire lower body in the cancer-causing chemicals. I worked hard on that drain. I was determined. I can do this because my brother is on deployment!

Twenty minutes later the drain is unclogged. I mean my hair may be ready to fall out because I should have rinsed the color out about 10 minutes ago, but that’s okay. I totally got this.

Slowly, I rise, from the dirty cancer chemical infested water. My legs start to wobble. Wait….something does not feel right. I am losing my balance.

I have no idea if my legs were asleep, or the Nice & Easy slowly dripping into my eyes was throwing me off, or just plain clumsiness on my part, but I knew I was going down. I was going down hard, naked, with purple/blackish hair color, and still somewhat standing in three inches of colored water.

Quick! What do I do?!?!

I reach for the shower curtain. My Frosty, the Snowman shower curtain is staring back at me, with his corncob pipe and button nose. I reached for it like I was reaching for Jack in the freezing waters that the Titanic met its fate in.

Well, just like the Titanic, I crashed…..as did my Frosty the Snowman shower curtain.

There I am. Naked, laying in now two inches of blue-black water. My Frosty the Snowman shower curtain inches away from my face, yet somehow not covering the important areas.

This is how I am going to die. In cancer-causing infested water with Frosty the freakin Snowman looking back at me.

Ya know, if I was Sandra Bullock and Joe was Matt Damon, Matt, after hearing a loud “THUD!” would have rushed into the bathroom, scooped me up in his arms and saved me from my demise.

However, I am not Sandra and Joe is not Matt.

Instead, as I am laying there, trying to find the strength to get my ass out of the cancer-causing chemical infested water, I notice a paw under the bathroom door. My cat! One of the smart ones. It’s like he is trying to talk to me. He knows what happened. He is coming to save me.

“Mango, go, go get Joe, you can do it!”

Perhaps I watched one too many episodes of Lassie when I was a little girl.

Mango did not budge. His little paw stayed firmly in place right under the crack of the bathroom door.

Do you want to know why…….because my brother is on deployment!

Once I finally realized no one was coming to save me, I decided to reach into my inner Wonder Woman. I can do this, I can save myself. Not only can I save myself but I can save the world, however first I should start by saving myself.

I wrapped myself in my Frosty the Freakin Snowman shower curtain, made my way to the bathroom door. At the very least, I had to let Mango in. Surely the little guy was worried about me.

“It’s okay Mango, I am fine, just a little sore, but I am okay.”

Mango rushes in the bathroom, makes his way to the toilet, not giving me a second glance, and drinks the water.

Of course, he does……

because my brother is on deployment.

~Jennifer

 

 

 

 

 

 

That pretty much summed up my day today.

To begin, I somehow managed to nick a very important body part in my daily grooming process. I have no idea how this happened, but it did. This minor injury has left me walking much like The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Although if you ask my boys, they say I have a new “swag” to my walk. I decided I am going to take that as a compliment. I have a very busy week, so this little injury needs to hurry up and go away, or else I will have a lot of explaining to do.

Christin introduced me to the “Buy Nothing” sites on Facebook. You know the ones, it’s pretty much an online yard sale, except there is no “sale.” Someone will post a picture of a coffee pot. “Need gone ASAP, first one to be able to pick up, it’s yours!” I am only three days in, but an intervention may be in order. I have already received four coffee cups with matching placemats, an unopened bottle of NyQuill, a few unopened packets of Top Ramen, a crock pot and my personal favorite, a gaming chair.

What makes this little endeavor of mine absolutely perfect, is all items I pick up will be saved for a “Holiday Bazar” at Sofia’s school. And incase you are not paying attention, that means no money will come out of the PTA budget, and all money raised will go directly towards the school. My mission for the next three months is to collect all I can, so this school can have the biggest and best Holiday Bazar it has ever seen.

For some reason Vinnie thinks this is illegal, while AJ now calls me “The Hustler.” However it is important to note that I do disclose to all people who I pick up from my intended use. So, pretty much I am a genius.

I had to pick up a gaming chair today and took Vinnie with me. This was not a “porch pickup” (where said item is left on the porch) and in the event that I would be coming face to face with my killer, I wanted Vinnie there as a witness.

Naturally, I walk up to the wrong apartment, because I cannot even read my own handwriting. As soon as I realized my mistake, I crossed the building to the correct apartment number. I politely ring the doorbell, while Vinnie is standing guard on the bottom level. Behind the closed-door I hear Cujo. Great, I am going to be mauled to death, and I smell like bacon.

A lovely gentleman opens the door, quickly comes out while slamming the door on Cujo’s face. We then make a long walk to his garage where I could not help but think this would be the perfect spot for a kidnapping. My parents always taught us kids to “always be aware of your surroundings.” Aware I was. This garage was secluded. My saving grace was not Vinnie, it was the fact that this lovely gentleman seemed to be a hoarder. Even if he wanted to kill me, there would be no room for my body in his garage. Packed floor to ceiling with “stuff.” Stuff that I am sure will be posted on my new “Buy Nothing” site.

Naturally, the lovely gentleman started talking to me, because I guess I just have one of those faces. I learned that he was a Green Beret, he showed me all of his tattoos, he told me his apartment complex sucks and he  is moving to Tacoma. He did some weird “flexing” thing with his arm, which to me looked like something a heroin addict would do to find a vein, but who am I to judge?! I learned that his daughters go to the same school as Sofia, and then I was finally able to relax. Vinnie wanted to hear more about his Army days, but at this point, I was ready to leave. Remember that “minor injury” I was talking about in the beginning of this post, well, it was “acting up” as I was talking to this gentleman. Most likely I looked like I needed to find a restroom ASAP. I am just grateful he did not offer me his. Cujo would not approve.

Tomorrow, I am getting my yearly mammogram……and as luck would have it, you guys are coming with me! Yes, you read that correctly. I decided to document it all, with hopes to show some women out there that a mammogram is easy peasy, and it is pretty important. Be your own advocate! So I will bite the bullet and document it all….minue the boobs of course. You are welcome.

I am sure some of you are taking that as a warning to stay away from the blog tomorrow.

Just be thankful I am not posting pictures of my “minor injury.”

 

~Jennifer

 

Once again, Christin and I are working hard on editing our book. Here’s the thing with the “editing” process. Writing the damn book is easier than the edits. At the last minute, we got the call that our very last chapter needed to be reworked.

I was able to knock mine out pretty fast, while Christin had some other things she needed to tend to. As I am writing, and editing, and doing more rewrites,  I was suddenly taken back in time.

July 2003

For my birthday, my brother sent me a beautifully wrapped gift set of my all time favorite Brad Pitt movies.

Let me explain something.

“Legends of the Fall” came out in 1994. As soon as it came to VHS, I watched it. I watched it in the comfort of my apartment, with my first husband and his sister. I hated both of them. My first husband was basically a piece of shit who did absolutely nothing. When I say nothing, I literally mean nothing. I had to go to my parents, asking for money to buy the baby diapers and formula, because he refused to work.

So when my first husband and his sister wanted to have a “movie night” and watch “Legends of the Fall” I wanted to impale myself. As the two fools are sitting inches away from the t.v screen, I am tending to AJ while trying to clean up my crappy mouse infested apartment. I am not even kidding. I would wake up in the morning, and on a daily basis see at least two dead mice in our toilet….and let’s not even talk about the live ones you would here scampering around on the wood floors.

The two idiots are oblivious to what is going on around them. Fine by me. Maybe I will call my sister when I am finished cleaning.

Then something odd happened. As I am picking up clothes, and sweeping, something drew me to the t.v screen. Before I knew it I was transfixed. I was unable to look away. It was the part in the movie  when Tristan leaves the ranch. In that moment, I knew right then and there I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to perform something as powerful as the story that was  in front of me on the screen, I wanted to do something creative, something artistic that would evoke the same emotion in others as Brad Pitt’s Tristen was doing for me.

Nine years later, a few random auditions for “extra’s” under my belt.

July, 2003. My love for acting and brad Pitt had never faltered. Knowing this, my brother sent me Legends of the Fall, A River Runs Through It, Thelma and Louise, and Kalafornia as an early birthday present. This was an amazing gift. At the time, my brother was only 19, and I am sure his earnings from working at a gym cost him a pretty penny to send me those movies. Yet, he did it because he “got me.” My brother knew I wanted to be an actress and knew Brad Pitt was the one who ignited that spark.

I cried tears of happiness when I saw the movies from my brother. Quickly, I called him, and professed my gratitude.

Later that night, my boyfriend at the time, T, came home from work. We were having somewhat of a “chill” night, and decided to watch a movie. Naturally, we could not decide on one.

Excitedly, I got up, went to the closet, grabbed my movies and showed T. “Look what my brother sent me for my birthday! We can watch one of these, I think you will like Kalafornia.”

It only took a matter of seconds before I realized what I had just done.

The anger took over his eyes. Jealousy took over his body.

“Are you fucking telling me you want to watch some white boy who you want to fuck. And you want me to sit here and watch it with you. Fuck that.”

T took every single movie and cracked it open. He did this with his hands, he did this with using my head. All of my movies, the very movies my brother worked hard for, they were now ruined.

I was crushed. Broken hearted. Shattered.

Not because of the physical abuse. I can handle that. Many people do not think so, but I am pretty tough when I have to be. This time was different. I knew the blood would stop. I knew from past experience it would only take about fifteen minutes before my head would stop throbbing. Easy, not a problem.

What crushed me was, the guilt I felt. I felt I did not defend my brother. I felt my silence was T’s way of thinking it was okay to ruin the movies my brother worked his ass off for. How could I allow T to destroy something that meant the world to me? I was devastated. I hated myself.

……

I never told my brother what happened. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. I also knew that my brother is pretty bad ass and one way or another my brother would have made T pay.

Thankfully, my brother is away on a job and does not have internet access. He will not read this, and I know no one will tell him.

I spoke to Christin tonight about how this particular story was on my mind, and I feel I need to write about it. She said to me, “Jen, have you ever thought about writing an open letter to T on the blog? A way to let your feelings out in a safe place?”

She makes a good point.

However, my letter would only consist of….

Asshole,

If I ever see you again. If you ever come in contact with me, with my family, with my friends, I will kill you with my own bare hands. You are safe in jail where you can be someone’s bitch. I dare you, I fucking dare you to try to find me.

I am not sure why this particular story was so heavy on my heart. Maybe because my brother has been gone. Maybe because of my book edits. Maybe because just tonight we found out 10 Navy Sailors are missing in another “collision.” I do not know.

The only thing I do know is, I am not the same girl I once was….and the acting bug, well that’s never going to leave.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s that time of year again where I write an apology letter to the new teachers that have the pleasure of teaching my children for the 2017-2018 school year.

(If you missed my last two letters, you can read them below.)

An early apology letter to my kid’s teacher

Another apology letter for a new school year.

Dear Vinnie’s Teachers,

Vinnie is now a Junior. As you know, we are trying a different path with him. This path will lead us all to the same destination, which is our end goal.

Vinnie is a good kid, very motivated by making money, very business savvy. He gets easily distracted, while sometimes allowing “peer pressure” to dictate his path. If you can look beyond his baggy jeans and tendency to mumble, you will see he has the ability to be successful.

I need you to see the bigger picture, I need you to see that despite circumstances, he can go places. While I am at home helping Vinnie see his own potential, I would ask of you to believe in him just as I do. Vinnie needs that one person, aside from Mom and Dad to see he is capable of so much more than whatever statistic society may have laid upon him. I am here for him, I am here for you. Together, I believe we can do great things.

 

Dear Gracie’s Teachers,

Second verse, same as the first! You guys know how I am. You know me, you know Gracie. You know what works and you know what doesn’t. My biggest fear with Gracie is that she and her IEP will get lost in the system. I cannot have that. Gracie is a freaking genius, you just have to find that different way of teaching to light that spark.

Art. If you want to know Gracie, give her a pen, paper, maybe a few markers, and she will go to town. If you look closely enough, you will see what she is trying to say. Find that connection, you will not regret it.

Do not let the seizures intimidate you. Look, I know it’s scary. Truth be told you have seen more seizures than I have. Continue what you are doing, while being aware that Gracie needs routine, she needs to feel comfortable, and most importantly, she needs to find that connection, that extra something that may not be the norm. I believe you have it. I will do my part, I believe in Gracie, and I believe in you and her team…..together, we can do great things.
Dear Sofia’s Teacher,

Oh you are going to get so sick of me. I can already see it. Somehow you picked the short straw and got stuck with me as a parent. As you know, I am at your school daily. As you also know you have a student in your class who likes to pick on Sofia. I need to trust you. I need to be able to know that you have my daughters back. Sofia has dealt with this kid since kindergarten. While I am teaching Sofia to find her voice and be more assertive, I need to know you will have my back. Allow Sofia to have her voice.

This is her last year of elementary school. I want her to go out with a bang. Give Sofia her wings for middle school, and in return, I will back you up. A united front. I will do my part, and all I ask is you do not allow Sofia, with her soft voice and shy demeanor to get lost in the crowd….together, the three of us can do great things.

 

Dear Teachers & Staff,

For those days that are challenging, whether it is a student, a parent, or maybe a coworker. For the days that you just want to call it quits, throw in the towel, the days that you go home at night and ask yourself “what is the point, I no longer enjoy this.” I am here to tell you, push through. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. You make a difference. You have made a difference with me, you have made difference with my own children….and I know I am not the only parent.

It can be a simple “Hey, how are you doing today?” It can be “Jack, how’s it going at home?” It can be as simple as asking the right question at the right time, every single one of you make a difference. I appreciate you all, I believe in you, I know you do not have it easy, I also know you have made a difference, and you will continue to do great things….because it is in your heart, it is in your core, and you, each one of you who are reading this, you are the real MVP. You have not only changed me, you have changed my children. You have been that spark….and you will continue to do so.