I decided to get a free Botox consultation today.

There really is no way for me set that up, and most of you who know me will not at all be surprised that I would be interested in Botox. So, while half of you are rolling your eyes, I am going to assume the other half of you are like “Botox, please, you do not need that!”

It is important to remember this was a free consultation. I just want to keep my options open. Also, the office was right next door to my doctor’s office so I took it as a sign.

A charming little office that offered an option of coffee, tea, water, and an assortment of freshly baked pastries. This was my kind of office. Since I kind of just showed up without an appointment, I had to wait around for a bit. No problem! I helped myself to some freshly brewed coffee and half of a croissant.

Even though this was just a consult, and no needles would be entering my skin, I was still nervous. I did what I always do when I am nervous, I pace. I am now pacing, while guzzling my coffee with one hand, and cramming half of a croissant in my mouth with the other. No an easy thing to do.

Hanging on the wall are about ten different “before and after” pictures of women of various ages and ethnicity. I could not help but notice how these women looked pretty pissed off in the “before” shot, yet in the after, they looked about five years younger. As I took another bite of my buttery croissant, I noticed a “before” picture that had no “after” picture. Hmmm. I wonder why that was? Upon closer inspection I realized I was looking at a reflection of myself. Immediately, I spit the croissant out, with my only goal being how to achieve the “after” with the most minimal cost possible.

As I was contemplating my “plan of action” (perhaps I could plug their business on my blog in exchange for a sample procedure) I realized that this place would not be interested in my blog, or the 10 followers I have. On to “Plan B!!”

There was no time for me to figure out a “Plan B”

As my name was called by a lovely young woman who spoke as if she knew me for years, I was ushered back to the consult room. Which looked more like an OR. She told me to lay back on the table, and under the harshness of the flourescent lights, this very nice young woman took some sort of baby wipes out and started wiping my makeup off. “Yeah, I am just here for a consult. You know, explore my options.”

She never stopped with the wipes. In her high pitch a little too cheery voice she exclaimed “The doctor needs to get a full clean look of your face without the makeup on.”

Great.

For some reason it took her eight wipes to completely remove my makeup. Honestly, I did not even have that much on, which makes me wonder exactly what was coming off of my face. She offered me something to drink, told me to relax, and the doctor would be in shortly.

This should have been the time where I took out my cell and captured some pictures of the room I was in. You know, if I did not make it out alive, but I once again got distracted by the “before and after” pictures displayed on the wall. This time, an entirely different set.

Shortly there after the doctor came in. A tall, beautiful blond, who looked to be in her mid 50’s. She looked good. Not full of plastic, Botox, or fillers. I must find out her secret!

We started chatting, and I explained to her that I was only there to explore my options, get an estimate, and see if she could do anything about my mouth. She reached in to her starch white jacket, pulled out some glasses, and got all up and personal with my face. And now…..I am uncomfortable. She took her hand, tilted my head in every direction imaginable and would just quietly mutter “I see” “Hmmmm”

As quickly as she put her glasses on, she took them off and told me to stand up. She took a few minutes, was looking me up and down and then said “You do not need Botox, what you need to do is smile more. You have muscles in your cheek and if you do not use them they will atrophy, that is what will form the lines around your mouth. Just smile more, use your cheek muscles. When you are in your car, smile. When you are in your day-to-day life, smile. Trust me. You will save 500.00 if you just smile more.”

Clearly this woman does not know me at all. I do not smile. I am the perfect example of “Resting Bitch Face.” I mean don’t get me wrong. I was a little giddy that this beautiful, classy well put together doctor did not think I needed Botox, but at this point I figured it would be easier to pay 500.00 instead of making an effort to smile more.

I made my way to the wall of the “before and after” pictures and explained to her that I want to look like the after.

And then, then she got all serious and pulled out another pair of glasses. This time I am assuming they are just the every day wear glasses.

“Have a seat.”

I took a seat.

“Do you have children?”

“Yes. Four.”

“Do you have a husband?”

“Yes. One”

( I thought that was funny, nothing from her.)

“How is your health?”

“Great!”

“Tell me a typical daily menu for you.”

“Huh?”

“Your eating habits. Breakfast lunch and dinner, what are they?”

“Well, first thing in the morning I have a cup of coffee. Then when I take my children to school I pick up another coffee. Then around noon or so I will have some chocolate (I could tell she was not happy with that one.) Dinner usually consist of whatever my children refused to eat, or some god awful chicken recipe I found online.”

“Do you exercise?”

“Well, no, but I always have every intention to.”

“When you consume coffee, do you do drip or go to a coffee shop?”

This was an easy one.

“I do both! Drip in the morning, coffee shop when I take my children to school.”

“How many times do you go to the coffee shop?”

It was at this point that I began to wonder if the room was bugged. My family, along with everyone else I know, are all in agreement that I go to the coffee shop too often.

“Oh, well, it just depends on the day, my stress level, the budget, you know the drill.

The beautiful doctor who seemed to be itimidating, but not really, then broke out her calculator and started to rattle numbers off to her self.

“This is what you need. You need goals, you need a plan. You do not need Botox. What you need to do is make the changes now, so when the time does come, you will have the money saved up. You need to write your goals so you have a visual, you need to put it in your car, in your bathroom, in a notebook. You need to slowly ween yourself off coffee, the coffee is not doing anything for you. It is a false hope. The sugar? That is no good. Sugar produces the same type of chemical that cocaine produces. There have been Harvard studies that say……..”

Did she just tell me to get rid of coffee?????

So to recap she wants me to smile more often and ween myself off of coffee. Does anyone else see the irony in that? To me, that just does not seem possible.

She was not finished yet.

“You see this, all of this (and she either pointed to some part on my body……or was referring to my entire body) all this can go away if you get rid of coffee and sugar.”

She then ordered me to follow her to her office. I took a seat as she reached for a scratch sheet of paper and started to write passionately. I mean if I wrote with this same kind of passion that she had, I may have been published by now.

Goals

Write goals on paper.
Decrease caffeine
1 in the am
1 in the pm
drip, cream, no sugar.

She also mentioned something about drinking chia seeds, saving my coffee money for Botox down the road, if that is what I decide to do, fresh veggies and exercise.

I was overwhelmed. Not going to lie. A needle piercing my skin ten times seemed less nerve-racking than this. I mean was I certain I was even the right office? Maybe I entered a wrong door, instead of the Botox office, I ended up in the office of a life coach?

“I want to see you back in four months. In four months we will reconnect, and if you made the proper changes, then I will be more than happy to go over the basics with you. For now, work on these goals. Feel free to make them your own. Do not say you want to lose 20 pounds, you say you want to release 20 pounds. It is all about being positive, and changing the way you think……”

Just then, the office door opened. “I am sorry to interrupt, your 10:30 is here.”

The doctor quicky said good-bye, made me promise to come back in four months, and handed me the scratch piece of paper that she wrote her notes on.

Before I knew it, I was back in my car. Some good ol Blue Oyster Cult playing on the radio while I was examineing my face in the rear view mirror, taking the last forty five minutes all in.

Hmmm.

I had the scratch piece of paper in my hands, “Burnin For You” blasting from the radio, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Maybe she is on to something, and perhaps, it really does begin with a smile.

(but this whole smiling thing will take some getting used to, so no one better give me a hard time over that!)

Gracie is my 11-year-old daughter.

Gracie was diagnosed with autism two years ago. A late diagnosis that has brought plenty of challenges. For those of you that have the pleasure of knowing Gracie, you know she is feisty yet quiet, hesitant yet has no fear, an over-thinker like her father, and creative like me. She wants to learn, yet gets easily confused. Always worried about what others think, but does not have a problem calling you out if you upset her. Gracie is my third child, my first daughter, and has taught me so many life lessons along the way.

Last year, Gracie was in 5th grade, getting ready to say good-bye to elementary school. Her dad and I had to go through the agonizing decision of “what now?” It was time for middle school, and we had two options. Two options that my husband was not pleased with. If he had his way, I would be homeschooling Gracie.

Many meetings were had with Gracie’s teachers at her elementary school. Which school, which program, would best fit my daughter?

I was doing my research behind the scenes.

Finally, collectively, Gracie’s support system had narrowed it down to two schools.

School 1~ A self-contained classroom. Usually having a small group, between 5-10 students, with one on one teaching from a special ed teacher and a para. Self contained classrooms help children with special needs feel safe, while also learning.

School 2~ A resource room classroom. A separate classroom that helps students with educational disabilities. Students are given specific instruction and help, while slowly getting them used to general ed. (transitioning classes, mainstreaming)

Clearly, I wanted Gracie in a self-contained classroom. With her transitioning to middle school, I knew it would be too hard, she would get over stimulated, trying to navigate the hallways to find her class. PE. Forget it. I already knew Gracie would have issues with changing into the PE uniform. Even at 11 years old, she still needs help getting dressed.

Yep! Self contained classroom, that was Gracie’s best fit.

Imagine my surprise when Gracie’s “team” disagreed with me. Although they were supportive (Teacher, Speech Therapist, School Psychologist) they assured me that they had all the confidence in the world with Gracie. There was no doubt in their mind that she would blossom in a resource room setting.

I of course thought they were nuts.

My husband and I talked it over for hours on end. Each and every night, we would talk, weigh the pros and cons, go over everything with a fine tooth comb. Finally, we relented and said we could try to do the resource room school. In all honesty, the only reason we ended up agreeing on that is because the school in general had better reviews than the school that offered the self-contained classroom.

And so a new journey begins.

When my husband and I took Gracie to her new school to pick up her new schedule, she had a breakdown. A full fledge breakdown. Crying, yelling “I hate this school, I am not coming here!”

When I took Gracie to 6th grade “camp” at her new school (a time for the new 6th graders to get to know their new school) another breakdown.

When the principal came over, Gracie had no problem telling him “I want to go home and I want to go home now!”

The principal gave us permission to go home.

At this point, I was beating myself up for not pushing for a self-contained classroom, and my husband was thisclose to telling Gracie she did not have to go to school.

I was fighting an uphill battle.

My new school routine with Gracie.

I could only walk her to her class when there were no other kids around. I had to make sure the halls were empty, and, the school grounds were clear.

When her teacher walked her out at the end of the day, I had to make sure I was standing right there, in my same spot, next to the flag pole.

I had to straighten her hair every day and pack her the same lunch of a ham sandwich, juice box, a bag of sour cream and onion chips and an oatmeal Little Debbie.

I could not ask her about her day. If I did, a breakdown would follow.

Every night before bed she would tell me “I just want to die, I do not want to go to school”

Every morning when I would wake Gracie up, I was greeted with “Do I really have to go to school today?”

I was blaming myself. I should have fought harder, I just KNEW Gracie was not ready for a resource room atmosphere.

My husband and I were struggling. Do we let this play out? Do we ask for a transfer to a new school? A school that offers a self-contained class room? Do we put Gracie through the stress of adapting to something new again, when she is already struggling? It was hard. Lots of fights, disagreements, questioning on if we were good parents.

Then, something started to change.

Gracie would have lunch with another autistic boy, in a quiet place away from the stress of the cafeteria.

When I would take Gracie to school, she would look at me with her almond shape brown eyes and ask “Can I walk by myself to class?”

When I picked her up from school she would tell me “School was boring, but I will come back.”

Gracie no longer needed to see me standing by the flag pole. It was now safe for me to sit on the benches….a safe distance away from the flag pole.

When I gave Gracie the opportunity to stay home from school because she would have a substitute in all of her classes for three days straight, she told me “No mom, I have to go to school so I do not fall behind.”

This is pretty powerful. It shows me that Gracie is willing to go through the hard things now, because she knows it will make her future things easier.

A shift was taking place.

The same kind of shift her former teachers knew would happen, but I was too blind to see.

Let me explain. These teachers are trained to see things that sometimes, we as the parents cannot see. We, as parents, want to protect are children, keep them safe and help navigate them through life.

These teachers, Gracie’s teachers, old and new, Gracie’s support system, at her former school and current school, saw the bigger picture. They were able to see things neither I or Gracie were able to see.

They were able to see Gracie’s strength in a different view.

Her teachers and I were looking through the same lens, just from a different advantage point.

My daughter is making progress.

That is all I ever wanted, that is what I need.

What we need.

Progress.

Progress at Gracie’s pace.

~Jennifer

She was sitting at her computer in her tiny three bedroom duplex. It’s barely after 10pm. She has a house full. Any hope of getting any kind of work done is quickly forgotten about. Aside from her own children, there were two toddlers occupying her living room and her space. Not just her physical space, but her mental space too. She was in a bad place. Something needed to give or else she would break.

Twelve years ago, Christin and I had a much-needed night out. The following is our take on that night, one story told by two different perspectives. A night, that in many was the end of the beginning.

It was Friday night. After a long week at work and dealing with the daily stress that comes with being a single working mom, Christin, Shawn and I decided we deserved a night out. Babysitters had been in place since Monday, outfits were a last-minute decision. Just because I was now a full-time mother, I still wanted to look pretty, well, as pretty as I thought I could. Christin and I were on a tighter schedule than Shawn, yet we made it work. Just a few hours out, at the local bar would do me some good. An opportunity to regroup without worrying about dirty diapers, playdates or the usual stress from work. The plan was for Christin and Shawn to meet me at my apartment by 9pm.

There we were, the three of us. If you were an outsider, you would say you could not find a more diverse group than Christin, Shawn and me. An insider would know we all had more in common than one would think. Little did we know, that by the end of the night, our bond would be even stronger than it already was.

My alarm went off at its usual time of 6am. With it being Friday, I was feeling pretty good for only having four hours of sleep. It’s Friday, just need to get through today, then I can relax. I jumped out of bed telling myself my daily mantra of “Let’s do this!”

As soon as I got out of bed I tripped on something. Most likely a cat. The screeching “meow” I heard kind of tipped me off. Dumb cat, you would think they would know my routine by now.  At this time, I knew I only had five minutes to make it to the bathroom, our one and only bathroom mind you, before Vinnie, my 15-year-old, made his way in there. I will grab my robe and then make a mad dash to the bathroom before he takes his usual 30 minute shower. Problem…I cannot find my robe, and being that I have a house full of people, I need my robe.

Okay…where is my robe? Why does everyone touch my things? I bet Joe moved it as he was getting ready for work, and now I am clearly annoyed. I do not touch his clothes, unless I am doing laundry, so why does he feel the need to move mine?!

The bathroom door slams closed, which means I now have to wait 30 minutes to take a shower. Crap! Why does my son take longer to get ready than I do? I yank one of Joes shirts off the hanger and throw it on. I justify this by telling myself “Well…he moved my robe so I am moving his shirt, on to my body, so HA!”

I manuever my way to the kitchen while tripping over another cat. Thankfully, it is not the new cat that I kinda snuck in the house, two weeks ago. Hmmm. I wonder if my husband has noticed, or is he still playing dumb? Whatever, it is too early for this. Coffee, I need my coffee! I make coffee every single day of the year, all 365 days I make coffee. So, why, why is it on this particular morning can’t I remember if I poured the water into the keurig or not? Probably not. I pour the water in, grab a K-cup and I wait for my much-needed coffee.

Coffee pot overflowed. Apparently I had previously filled the keurig with water. Whatever. I cannot deal with this. I still need to find my robe, and I need the bathroom, and coffee, and….oh my god, did I seriously just trip over another cat? How many do I have now? Well, it does not matter, because all of my cats (except one) have been in this house long enough to know my routine.

Now I am 30 minutes behind schedule, yet I am not quite ready to wake up the kids…so……I will jump on Facebook! Who knows if I missed some important update of a picture of someone’s breakfast.

Finally my 15-year-old emerges from the bathroom reeking of Axe body spray. Kill me now. Don’t get me wrong, the “scent” of Axe body spray is so much more appealing than body odor, but…really? It’s a thing with me. I adore cologne on guys. With the right scent, cologne is a very classy addition to your every day look. Axe Body Spray, well, that just does not do it.

Trying to control my gag reflex, I listen to my son tell me his schedule for the day. “Mom…what are you wearing?” Ugh. Why does he feel the need to critique my pajamas of all things. I mean I have not even had coffee yet, and I know he is going to make fun of me for something. “Are you wearing dad’s shirt over your robe?” What is he talking about? I look down, oh, well look at that, I must have fallen asleep with my robe on.

Let’s recap. I have been up for an hour. I am 30 minutes behind schedule. I spent about twenty minutes looking for my robe, that I had on the entire time. I tripped over a few of my cats, and somehow screwed up my coffee.  All in the span of an hour. I am afraid to see what the rest of the day has to offer.

I am just going to bullet point the rest of my day, otherwise we will be here all night.

• Got into a slight argument with the principal at Gracie’s school.

• I was totally winning the argument until he realized that I was the mother of Vinnie.

• Almost fell asleep during some parent meeting at Sofia’s school.

• Probably best for the PTA president to NOT fall asleep during a meeting.

• Extended an olive branch to one of my three mortal enemies.

• Almost got hit (AGAIN) in the school parking lot (not by my mortal enemy, by a car)

• Apparently I am in denial about having a cold.

• I never get sick, so it is very important that I keep this record going.

• My 101 fever tells me I “might” be sick. (but this stays just between us)

• I wonder how many people I came in contact with today? Does not matter, because I am not sick!

• Gracie told a woman in the school office who was picking up her “son” that she was too old to be a mother.

• Come to find out Gracie was right, the woman was the grandmother.

• I was gifted a Starbucks coffee travel mug this morning, which makes my coffee story, (or lack there of) even more funny.

If you ever wondered how it is I came about the name of Vodka Calling…..well…now you know.

~Jennifer

The holidays have always been a special time for me. It started as a kid when my grandma would decorate the house from top to bottom. She would direct my grandpa as to where to put the boxes. Slowly and methodically, my grandma, cousins, aunts and me would pull out each out knick-knack and décor, placing it where grandma thought it would look best. I now have passed this tradition on with my own kids. Every year we would pull out the totes of decorations, taking everything out, admire each one and ultimately find the “perfect place” for it.

Until this year.

Here it is, a couple of months before Halloween and I have a certified Pinterest addiction. Any given evening you can find me making bloody candles (search it) and scary Halloween wreaths made out of laundry baskets. (I’m not kidding!) Well, there I was sitting in between piles of branches I am making into a Halloween tree (google it), and the kids walk in from school.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“I’m making Halloween things—aren’t you guys excited?? We can put the Halloween decorations up soon!!”

“Mom—you are ridiculous. It’s too early to put up Halloween stuff.”

“Mom—I don’t want to put up Halloween decorations this year”

What?!

I paused for a moment. Was it indeed too early to be putting it up?

Fast forward a few days later. I’m on the phone with Jen and she happens to mention that she will be putting up her Halloween decorations soon. I relayed to her my kids’ thoughts on the subject.

“It’s never too early to put up Halloween!”

Well, that did it. My faith was restored in decorating my house. I am going to go all out this year. I don’t care if it’s still September.

On another note, the kids are getting older. The things that we used to do together when they were younger is beginning to change. No more excitement when pulling out the holiday ornaments and wreaths. It will most likely just be me and my cat admiring the talking skeleton and glow-in-the dark pumpkins. I will be the only one stretching the cobwebs from one end of the house to the other.

On my mission to find everything I needed to make my vision a reality, I rounded up the kids and we were off. First stop, Goodwill. I love this place. You can find anything and everything you need here. Of course, the kids wanted to find their perfect Halloween costumes.  10 stores later I found some great additions for my “haunted house”, and well, the kids did not find their costumes, but at least I have some pictures that will be very useful in either a) blackmailing them into doing their chores or b) getting revenge on them when they are older for all the sleepless nights and dirty diapers I had to change.

Happy Halloween!!

-Christin

I was exhausted Friday night. It had been a very long day of running around. Even though my body was tired, mentally I was not ready to go to sleep. Joe however, did go to sleep early,  he had to be up at 3am. I was sitting on the sofa, watching “The Fosters” on Netflix, contemplating if I wanted three out of the five chocolate chip cookies that were calling my name from the kitchen table. Of course I wanted the cookies. Usually, at this point I would talk myself out of devouring them in mere minutes. Not this time. I absolutely deserved those decadent chocolate chip cookies. I was going to take them all. All five would be mine, forget having just three, and I will not feel guilty at all.

I found a lump. Not on the cookies mind you, a lump on my underarm. It started out as something small. I figured I nicked myself shaving or something. I do that a lot. Except, two weeks later this lump was not going away. It was actually getting bigger, with a new pea size lump forming. Crap. Of course, in my rational state of mind, when realizing I now have one large lump and a new small one, I went to Google. I Googled every possible thing I could that pertained to lumps, and I did so while eating my chocolate chip cookies.

The thing is, it could be nothing (cyst) or as we all know, it could be “something.” Just knowing is could be “something” , already has me freaked out. I was putting the laundry away today, and out of the blue my mind took me to a place where I did not want to go.

“I have to write notes. Lots of notes, because if it is “something” then Joe will need notes. I will have to be specific on letting him know when to put the summer clothes away and when to bring out the winter clothes…and he will need to know that usually in the month of May, he will need to do summer shopping for the kids…..and the school uniforms, he will not be able to handle picking out the school uniforms….and if it is “something” then I have to write many many letters to my kids, but give them to a person who will take care of them, because it’s guranteed they will get lost in this house…….”

Clearly I am jumping the gun, but c’mon, you all know how I am now. I do not know if it is just me or not, but it is funny how your outlook may change when “something”could potentionally be wrong. Certain things seem different, definitely there are some things that do not even matter, and then others, well other things have now made their way to the top of the list.

This could either be the start of a new chapter in my life, or just a little detour. Either way I wanted to write about it. I did not want to forget the different kinds of emotions I have been having for the past few days, and since writing is kinda my thing, then you understand why I wanted to write about this way.

Also, and I am excited about this part. Right next door to my doctor’s office, a new skin care, laser service clinic just opened up…and I signed up for a free consultation! I will also be writing about that too.

~Jennifer

2001 was a year of big changes for me. I moved back to Washington State from California in May 2001.  In July 2001 I turned 21. I could finally drink and go to clubs. Not too important in the scheme of things, but at the time it was a huge milestone. I was surprised with some new roommates in August of 2001, Jen being one of them. I didn’t think this would be very important at the time but here we are 15 years later revealing our life stories on this blog and collaborating on some other things.

And yet, September 11th stands out amongst everything else that happened that year. It started out as a very ordinary day.

I hit snooze for the 5th time. It was 6:30am and I had to be to work by 7am. Reluctantly, I got up, threw some clothes on, and grabbed my blue Wal-Mart vest with the cheesy smiley face on the back. Everyone was still asleep as usual. Alphonso and Jen had worked the late shift the previous night, so as expected, they were passed out. I grabbed my purse and keys, shut the door behind me and made my way down to the parking garage. Luckily, the store was only 5 minutes away. Just enough time to clock in right at 7am. The work day began as any other. Starting with putting away the “return carts” in my department. Zone the department and scan all out-of-stocks were next on the list. Somewhere in the middle of zoning (organizing) my infants department, the boy’s apparel department manager came by to chat. Val and I talked about an upcoming clearance sale for our departments. Right above our department sat 2 TV’s hanging from the ceiling. They usually played an endless string of Wal-Mart commercials and promotions. Val and I were in the middle of the conversation when we looked up. The TV’s were no longer playing the monotonous commercials. What kind of movie was this?

Somewhere in the midst of watching a building explode and listening to a confusing monologue about an attack, both Val and I realized it was real. This was happening in real time. A moment later, I took note of my surroundings. The store, which is usually busy with screaming kids and chatter was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. Eerily silent. It was 8:57am. I remember looking at time on the T.V. A group of employees joined us in watching. Shock, confusion and worry kept everyone quiet and attentive to the news broadcast. There was not much new information being shown just a repeat of the attacks on the twin towers and talk of other possible attacks. An announcement over the intercom urged all the department managers to the back. All 30 of us crammed into the lunchroom. Everyone sat silently while the Store manager informed everyone on what was going on.  There was a terrorist attack in New York and  possibly another attack aimed at the Pentagon. Some of my fellow managers were visibly upset and shaking. Later, I found out they had family members and/or friends that lived in the area of the attacks. We were told by the store manager that they might send us all home and close the store. They were waiting on the corporate office to make the call if that was going to happen or not. Until then, we were to continue the day as usual and we would be kept up to date on further news.

After the impromptu meeting, I went to the fitting room. I had to let Jen and Alphonso know what was going on. I called the apartment. Ring, ring, ring, ring. No answer. They were probably still sleeping. I tried again.

“Hello” Jen answered, still half asleep.

“Jen..There’s planes falling out of the sky!”

“What are you talking about, Christin?”

I repeated myself. A few times I think. I couldn’t quite get her to understand what I was saying so I resorted to telling her to turn the news on. The conversation ended and I got back to work.

Except it really wasn’t back to work. In between watching the news on T.V. and getting updates from other co-workers, there wasn’t much work that got done that day. The store stayed empty for the entire day. People weren’t out shopping for shampoo or a pair of jeans on this day. They were at home, watching the horror of the attacks on not only the people of New York but the country. Our Country.

It was an attack on innocent men, women and children. A day that people will never forget.  Never forget.

By the end of the work day, I had seen the twin towers explode hundreds of times. I rushed home and flipped on the T.V. Images of people running for their lives flashed on the screen. People crying, people bloody, people in crisis.

I was too young to really comprehend everything at the time. However, over the years, I have heard the stories of strangers saving strangers and firefighters running into the rubble to come to the aid of those in need. All is not in vain. The hundreds of stories of heroism and courage on this day outshines the story of what those terrorist did on that September day.

-Christin

“What do you mean there are planes falling out of the sky?!” I had no idea what Christin was talking about. My lack of sleep did not help. Christin was hysterical on the phone.  Was this one of her weird jokes? She always gave Alphonso and I a hard time for sleeping in. We worked the late shift, sometimes not getting home until 1 am!

Christin hung up on me, and  I went back to bed. “What’s going on?” Alphonso asked, half asleep but not wanting to miss out if Christin was trying to pull one of her jokes on us. “I don’t know, she said something about planes falling out of the sky.” I laid back down on the sofa, while Alphonso continued to toss and turn on the other. “Planes falling out of the sky?”  Alphonso asked once again.

Alphonso and I laid there on our respective “beds” for about three minutes in silence. We both had the same thoughts. “Well,maybe we should turn on the news, I am sure it’s nothing?” I made my way to the t.v.  Alphonso reluctantly got up to start the coffee.

It was a matter of seconds before we realized this was no joke. Christin was right. Everything after that happened so fast. Alphonso and I are glued to the t.v. Not wanting to miss a thing. Both of us had family in New York. My grandfathers kitchen window offered a spectacular view of the World Trade Center. Is this really happening? Are we really under attack? Neither Alphonso nor myself had a cell phone. We had a land line. Alphonso and I  took turns calling work, calling our family, making sure everyone was as safe as they can be, while the other was watching the coverage.

I remember I called my dad. I was worried for him. Although he was no longer living in New York, his dad, my grandfather was. The conversation between dad and I was so sporadic. Nothing made sense, how could it? I asked dad if Grandpa was okay, if he had talked to him. In between my dad’s sadness and anger he told me that my grandfather saw the attack happening from his window, “Those Bastards, those Bastards attacked my city.”

Alphonso and I did not say much. We went through our routine of getting ready for work, and made the five-minute drive. The store was empty. The Wal-Mart t.v’s has non stop coverage. We had associates and store managers watching along with the very few customers and a homeless guy. I felt so helpless. Why am I even here? The USA is under attack and I am here.

It was not until later that evening, when Alphonso, Christin and I were sitting in front of our tiny 19 inch t.v watching the continuous coverage. We all knew, all three of us knew, that we would never forget, we would never forget where we were, what we were doing, or how we felt, when the world stopped turning.

~Jennifer

“This is a photo I took an eternity ago. It was taken from the kitchen window of my parents apartment in New York. It’s where my brother and I spent much of our childhood. Seeing those gorgeous towers every morning as we started off to school…. Seeing them beautifully lit up at night before bed……..
Then one horrendous day, they were gone. God forgive me, but there is still hate in my heart.
I will never forget.”

-Don

First, I just want to tell you how lucky you are. He’s an amazing man. Don’t ever take his kindness or giving heart for granted.

Because I did.

And I regret it every day of my life. Everyday.

You see, there was a time before you, that he would have moved mountains for me. He actually did. He met me at a time where I was alone, both figuratively and literally. He gave me hope that all guys aren’t the same. He treated me with an unconditional respect and love.

And I loved him.

I still love him. Love doesn’t go away with time or circumstance. Mine didn’t at least. I’ve tried to wish it away, wash it away, forget it away— it’s still here.

Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, I was too young to see the big picture. I thought there were a million just like him. Many years later, I still look for him in anybody, everybody. I still haven’t found him.

He’s irreplaceable. One of a kind.

You are the lucky one. You have the life I was supposed to have. The man I was supposed to marry.

You get to wake-up every morning and see his beautiful face. You get to rely on him during bad times and celebrate with him during the good times.

But it’s the times in between the good and the bad that I envy. Everyday moments like sitting on the couch together or cooking side by side—those mundane times are what I miss. I still miss him—your husband.

I know it’s not right. I swear I’ve tried to not miss him, think about him or love him.

But sometimes it’s not that easy. Love isn’t black and white. You can’t just shut it off when it’s no longer convenient.

But here’s the good news.

He loves you. He wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t. He wouldn’t have made a life with you if he didn’t.

You got more than I did. More moments, more future plans, more everything. All I got was a ring and a few years and a lot of promises.  Promises that never came to fruition because of me.

I guess that’s my payback for leaving him.

Yes, I left him. Not on purpose but in the middle of following my own dreams, he got left behind.

I didn’t mean to.

But I guess that’s where you came and picked up his broken pieces and glued them back together for him.

Thank- you for that. He deserves to be happy. I hope you do that for him.

I would be lying to you if I didn’t secretly hope that one day him and I have another chance. A second, real chance at love.

It’s not that I’m wishing anything bad for you. But I know life always takes turns that can’t be foreseen…

You don’t have to worry.

I’m not a homewrecker, mistress or side chick—

I’m not going to call him, message him or stop by your house. I believe that karma has a way of coming back around and I don’t need that.

It still doesn’t change how I feel about, think about, or love him, though.

And I just thought you should know.

-Christin