Fat Bottom Girls. . . .

Ever since jr high I've been, shall we say, "well endowed." It is something that I cannot control nor can I hide. I do my very best to not let the girls hang out nor do I show them off unless a fantastic theatre role comes along that calls for such cleavage, and then I am all for it! However, even though I keep the girls covered, it doesn't keep men (and even women) from talking about them. It seems no matter where I go or who I'm with, I find someone to always point them out as if I didn't know they were there.

Sometimes I find it funny that they come up in conversation, sometimes even flattering, but for the most part I find it humiliating. Especially when they talk about them as if I can't hear what they are saying. It makes me want to crawl into my bathtub and hide from the world. I know I'm not the only one who deals with this issue, so for those who sympathise, just nod along for the rest of the blog. But for those who have no idea what I'm talking about, welcome to class students you are in Big Boobs 101.

First off, big boobs are expensive. Here's why:

When you measure for a bra, you first measure your rib cage or the area just under the girls. That measurement can range from 30 inches to upwards of 44 inches and even more. I am a 36 band size. Next you measure the girls across the nipples or largest part of the breast. For every inch you measure there above your band/rib cage size, you add a cup size starting with A. A=1 in. B=2 in. C=3 in. and so on. DD or DDD translates into DD=E and DDD=F. My current breast size is 44 inches making my total bra size a 36H. (Welcome to hell people.) Now you can find bras in almost every store that sells clothes. Even the dollar stores sell bras.  They range from 32A to a 44DDD and sell for as little as $10. They come in very cute colors and designs and even coordinate with little panties. Notice my size is not in that range. DDD cup sizes don't usually start until you reach a 38 band size. So usually I'm screwed. I have found my size in larger department stores like Nordstroms but they usually start at about $69 and go as high as $139 per bra! Then they tell you you should have at least 3 bras, one to wear, one to wash, and one to rest in the drawer. Ya right!! Are you following my pocket book here? Specialty stores like Lane Bryant are finally starting to expand their cup sizes but they still don't go above a DD in a 36 band making my boobs still SOL.

Secondly, big boobs hurt. Here's why:

My boobs weigh approximately 5lbs each and are only attached by soft tissue and thin muscle. If I shimmy too hard, I can actually tear my muscles and injure myself. But imagine if you will, a ten pound bag of sugar hanging off of your chest every day. Can you picture what that can do to your back? Sometimes when I take off my bra at night I could almost cry at the pain my boobs feel deep inside just from the weight of them. Now throw a poorly fitting bra into the mix and you are constantly in some sort of pain from them. Some insurances even cover breast reduction surgery as a way of eliminating pain in a woman's back. And let's not forget how much more there is to fill with menstral cycle related hormones each month. There are days they just ache with pain because my body is filled to the brim with estrogen.

Thirdly, nothing ever fits over big boobs. Here's why:

For me specifically my waist is a lot smaller than my girls on top. So in order to find a shirt that fits nicely over my boobs, I end up wearing what looks like a tent around the mid section. The same is in reverse, if I find something that fits great around the waist, there is no way the girls are tamed uptop. So basically I end up doing a lot of tailoring to make my clothes fit. I buy what fits my boobs and then take the rest in. But forget about button up tops entirely. They never fit.

Fourthly, big boobs never stay still. Here's why:

Big boobs always fall out of their bra. Whether it's on top or on bottom, they never stay in one spot. I am constantly adjusting them to make sure my cleavage isn't out of control, that I don't have muffin top boobs, or that they aren't falling out. It's a constant battle, day in, day out.

Fifthly, nursing is an even bigger problem. Here's why:

When I was nursing, their size doubled. I was literally wearing bowling balls. I was always over lactating. Sometimes there was so much milk my nipples would no longer stick out enough for my little one to latch on and eat. I cried every day when I was nursing. If I didn't feel fat enough as I was, nursing was going to make sure I did.

Sixthly, you can't run with big boobs. Here's why:

It is a sight to see when a big breasted girl goes running. So much that they invented the tv show Baywatch. I have yet to find a sports bra that actually does what it's meant to. Seriously, I wear two bras to go running. An underwire full coverage one and then a sports bra overtop. And I still feel them bouncing away as if they are waving to spectators in a parade. And let's not even get into what they look like in an aerobics class. Good heavens a girls could knock herself out in one of those classes.

Seventhly, they are messy.  Here's why:

If you drop or spill anything while you are eating, it will land with a dramatic thud right on your boobs for all to see. Upside to this argument is that your pants are always clean. Also if you lean over the table, or anything really, you don't always feel that you just dipped your boob into the mashed potatoes and are now wearing them like the long lost nipple ring you never had and don't even notice until you go to the bathroom and look in the mirror because what big chested girl can look under her rack? Not me.

Eighthly, they always get in the way. Here's why:

Take that previously mentioned 10lb bag of sugar and put it back on your chest. Now fold your arms. Now sit in a booth at a restaurant. Now give someone a hug. Now try and do any sort of stretch on the floor where you bring your knees to your chest. Now try and wear an apron. Now do anything that requires you bend over. Now try and pass someone in close quarters. I could go on and on, but did anything get in the way for you? I rest my case.

I seriously could continue on at all of the examples of why big boobs are bothersome, but at this point I'd hope you'd understand. My point being that having big boobs is not always fun. We battle with them daily. We do not need men pointing out to us how huge they are or gawk as if they've never seen a pair before. We don't go around laughing at all your little weenie bulges. (Or at least I don't.) I do believe that men are always going to look and that's because men never truly grow up. This is just me venting yet another issue that pissed me off. But it's pissed me off for over twenty years and what better way to talk about it than in a blog.

I wish I was one of those women who could confront creepers and tell them to f*** off, but I'm not. So to make myself feel better I just remember the wise words my dad once told me when he caught me crying over a comment someone made about my boobs. He said, "Heidi, one day someone is going to love you for those boobs." And that someone sure does. He gets to fall asleep on them every night. So stick that in your tiny weenie bulge and jacket.

So I ask you, do you have big boobs today?

Love. . . .

So tomorrow is Mother's Day and Mother's Day for me is usually filled with family, dinner, school pictures and flowers. I am usually so excited for any sort of holiday, especially ones where I receive gifts. But, this Mother's Day, I seem to be struggling as a mother. Johnson and Johnson's came out with a commercial about a baby and what he would say to his mother if he could, it still makes me cry.
What parent out there actually feels like they are doing a good job? I'm not asking this question to be flippant, but to reflect upon myself because I never feel like I'm doing a good job. I find myself every day feeling less than who I should be. As a wife and mother, I have this sense of who I "should" be.

~For my Husband: I "should" be thin, fit and sexy with a libido that rivals any man's. My hair should always be lustrous and curled and my eyes always alluring with just the right amount of heavy mascara. Dinner is always well prepared and makes him moan with delight at each bite. The house should always be clean and smelling amazing so that at the drop of a hat people can pop in or we can decide to make love at any location in the house the moment the kids are out of sight.
~For my Girls: I "should" be home. Home to clean, do laundry, do dishes, help with homework or projects. Always have their beds made with clean sheets. Their rooms smelling like fresh laundry. Help them be prepared for every church activity/project/award/service/etc. Run them to friend's houses and back, to dance, piano, and soccer because we can afford it. A snack for them after school and a very well balanced dinner freshly prepared from my amazing coupon filled shopping trip where I saved enough money to take them to Disneyland. Oh, and a room mother.
~For my Job: I "should" be on time, looking amazingly professional, always remember everything I was taught, impressing, eager to be promoted, fill every second I am on the clock with job related activities that improve the company, willing to work extra hours and wear a smile.
~For my Church: I "should" be perfect and have enough time to serve in multiple callings.
~For Myself: I "should" be content, capable, and fulfilled with all of the above.

Now I know the details are all different for everyone, but I'm sure most of you will put yourself at the bottom of this list too. Slowly breaking under the weight of all the "should's" you should be doing.

For the most part, I really "want" to be able to do all of those "shoulds". I want to be able to do it all so my family will be at their full potential and so I can say I am a good mother. But I just can't do all that. I only do what I can and most of the time it's to the point of exhaustion because I tell myself it will be easier tomorrow if I just stay up a little later to finish all of the dishes tonight. But is that really "good enough"? Are pancakes for dinner because you forgot to plan dinner really good enough? Are early morning homework sessions because you ran out of time to sit down with your ten year old yesterday really good enough? Is a C in History for your thirteen year old because you didn't notice she was struggling until now really good enough? Is allowing your six year old to wear shorts and a sweater because you didn't do laundry again really good enough? Is asking to be on the bottom because you are so tired and you know it will be over faster really good enough? Honestly, is any of this really good enough?

I want to take you back to your childhood for just a moment. What do you remember? Do you remember the laundry? the dishes? Do you remember all those times you were late to dance class because your mom didn't get out of work in time? Do you remember how little money you had as a family so you didn't get the upgraded hotel package on your vacation? Do you remember only going to McDonald's once a month instead of every week? What do you honestly remember? Well for me, I remember how I felt. Certain events or every day livings are strong in my recollections, but what I remember the most is how I felt. I can't tell you what my parent's budget was, or how many times we could go out to eat, or any of the times I was late to something, or how many times my mom drove me from place to place, or how much my school clothes cost for tenth grade, or even who was at my graduation. I just don't remember those things. But I do remember how I felt when my sister and I would share a Coca-Cola from 7-Eleven. I do remember how much my dad loved fishing and how he made me feel so happy every time we fried up those rainbow trouts. I do remember feeling inadequate as a daughter in my mother's eyes. I do remember the feelings I had as a kid.

It has been difficult for me to not be able to give everything to my family. Everything I think they "should" get from me. But I devote all of my energy to making sure one thing is given to them every day. I make sure they feel loved. I'm not always successful at it, but I make sure they feel like I made those pancakes with pure love. I do everything I can to make my daughter feel like homework at 7:00 am is the best way to do homework. I make sure it's understood that a C in history is not how I measure the value of my daughter. I make sure my eclectic six year old feels like a supermodel in her green sweater and orange shorts with matching over sized crocheted headband she insists on wearing even though it's no longer winter. And I make sure my husband knows he rocks my world regardless of what position we are in.

I know I will never be rid of all the "shoulds" that hang over my head but at the end of the day, all I pray is that the love I show for them, the love they feel from me, will out weigh any expectation that comes along with the title of Mother. So I ask you this, Have you shared the Love today?

I Won't Give Up. . . .

I'd been divorced for quite a while, and at my age, most of the men I was dating had been too. The most difficult hurdle I'd faced in dating was that the divorced men didn't want to get married again. They didn't want to marry but most definitely wanted everything that would traditionally come along with it. They wanted it all, but didn't want to feel the drowning weight of the gold band wrapped around their finger. It didn't make sense to me why they didn't want to be alone, yet not want to be married. In my mind's eye, they were a living oxymoron and needed to be behind glass at a museum for all to gawk at. But I just chuckled at them for the most part, sometimes cursed a few colorful words or two and moved on.

I'd come to realize that it wasn't the getting married that scared divorcees, but it was the chance of getting divorced AGAIN that scared the pants off of them, whether they admitted it or not, self included. So when I stood at the bridge of marriage once again, memories of my first go-round started to flood my mind and cloud my vision of what a "fanciful" wedding it should be.

When I pictured my wedding with Handsome, I realistically didn't want one. I wanted to run to Vegas or pay the extra $30 for a judge to perform it, walk out in my jeans and green chucks a married woman, then continue as normal having nothing be different. But because of my Chickadees, I knew they needed something special because their life was going to dramatically change and be forced to find a new normal. So a wedding did in fact need to be planned.

Handsome, being older than me, wanted a traditional wedding. He wanted me in a dress, him in a suit, girls all girlied out, flowers, cake, dinner, music, etc. I got the feeling he wanted it done right because he knew I was Mrs. Right. This battled with me. I didn't want a dress, I didn't want to walk down the aisle, I didn't want a reception, I didn't want crowds of people, I didn't want gifts, I didn't want music, I didn't want a wedding cake or even a topper. I didn't want there to be a big deal made over us getting married even though I knew he was my Mr. Right. Why you might ask? Well I asked myself the same thing. It was because I didn't want to get divorced again. If I wasn't married, if I didn't have all the neon glow of the basic wedding package hanging over my head, I wouldn't be screwing it up all over again and get divorced. If it was quiet, personal, and only ours to share, it would stay that way and be safe from the outside forces that cause divorce.

My paranoia grew as each time I tried to make my wedding small failed. First it was to be Sunday evening in front of the sunset filled windows of my grandmother's living room surrounded by my closest family. The height of the eight foot ceiling and small number of people held in my nerves and gave me the comfort of privacy I had wanted. But for whatever flippin' stupid, &*%#ing reason it is, an LDS wedding cannot be performed on a Sunday. (Notice I am still bothered by this.) So I searched for different sources of authority to perform it, but nothing seemed right. If I wasn't getting married in the temple, I wanted the next best thing. So we changed the date.

Now my grandmother's home is not your typical reception size. At best we were going to squeeze in about 40 people. But soon family members who were not originally invited wanted to come and so I down sized my personal friends list to make room for them. But soon, that got ridiculously out of hand and we needed to move to a larger venue two weeks before the date. We ended up at a church through the magnificent work of some wonderful, wonderful people, and I was so grateful. However it was the antithesis of what I wanted for the wedding. The thought of having it there brought on moments of agoraphobia and panic. To me, it made this whole day way too big of a deal.

So many wonderful people came and helped me. It was almost like they were more excited about my upcoming wedding than I was. But the day came, everything was ready and I found myself running late, as usual. I had Handsome take the Chickadees down to the church to greet people and help entertain until I got there. My hair was done, make-up on, dress was on and tears were in my eyes. The day was very scary for me. My metaphorical marriage bridge was in front of me. I'd wanted it to be small, short and quick, but it was Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom size with crowds of people on both sides as spectators to watch me cross and possibly fall. Handsome knew I was scared. He knew my irrational fears were overwhelming at that moment. But he took my hand and crossed with me.

I could've easily stayed safe. Stayed on the single side of my bridge never risking the fall of divorce again. But I loved him and wanted him to be mine. More correctly, I wanted to be his. We had a moment during the tearful ceremony to say a few words to each other. He spoke words of deep love and  I chose to sing a song that reflected just how I felt about him and in that moment, it was just us. I didn't care if anyone heard what we said to each other because nothing else mattered. We were married and very much ready to make the most of it.

I was finally happy with it all now that it was over. I could enjoy the food, music and company. But most importantly I could enjoy being married. As the days continue, I am less and less fearful of getting divorced again because I am more and more sure of what we have created. The more confident I am about us, the more I want to share. I have never experienced such happiness. I do feel like we've come so far to get to where we are now and the fact that we have both been divorced changes the way we work at marriage. Neither one of us would've crossed that bridge if we weren't focused on what we really wanted in a marriage. I truly believe that we and our marriage is worth it.

So I ask you, do you have something worth it today?

One and Only. . . .

PART THREE:

My heart stopped as I straightened my shirt, fluffed my hair and said a quick prayer before my hand reached the silver door knob. I paused for what seemed like a minute, but in all likelihood was only a second, as to not seem too eager to open the door. With composure and gentleness I turned the knob and greeted my date.

All evening long I'd prepped myself for that moment. I even gave myself a pep talk to help stay focused. "Wait until the end of the date to kiss him." I told myself. "Wait. Give the evening a chance to take place before the hormones kick in." I laughed at myself for the train of thought. "Heidi, you didn't want to kiss him last time, what makes you think he'll kiss you now?" But he was different, I was different. I wasn't nervous anymore. The first date I went on out of routine, this one I was going to go on out of connection. I had never been more excited to go out on a date with someone in my life. It was as if my soul was pulling me much like a magnet drawn to another towards the door like she was going to take me right through it and join forces with the man on the other side. I don't know where the turning point from the first date to the second date took place, I was just glad it did.

I smiled as my eyes caught his and I remembered the nights of conversation that preceded this moment. I felt as if I was meeting him for the first time. Anxious, giddy, girly, and all the other emotions an awaited date could bring. He stepped inside and quickly embraced me as I let the door close. I had never wanted to be so close to another individual. He smelled sweet and delicious and the feel of his leather coat against my skin brought delight to my senses. His arms would not let me go, nor did I want them too. I giggled at the imbalance the extended contact caused me. "You don't want to let go." I laughed. "Because you feels so good." He responded.

We stayed there for a moment longer and then he broke away just enough to place his left hand behind my neck and kiss me. *sigh* So much for that pep talk.

Once our lips broke away from each other, he took my right hand in his left and began to dance with me to Adele playing in the background. Needless to say, we did not make it to the party. Sorry Larissa.

I fell in love with him at that very moment. I still want to dance with him every time I hear that song. As we danced, I imagined us as in a romantic comedy where the two antagonists, after years of loathing each other, finally come together and fall in love. We spent the remainder of the evening on the couch talking and kissing. I never wanted to leave. Fitting that in that apartment alone, he also proposed to me on that same couch. I will be sad the day we get rid of it.

All the wonderful details of our short courtship are kept secret only for he and I to enjoy. However, I will tell you this, he is no longer called Creeper. He calls me Beautiful, and I call him Handsome.

Stay tuned for the wedding post, here to come.

Crazy Girl. . . .

PART TWO:

I remember quite vividly almost crying as I prepared for the date with Creeper. I remember saying to myself over and over, "Why am I even going out with this guy?" I even talked myself out of canceling more than once. So when I locked and closed my front door at the awaited end of our evening out, I literally shook my head and asked myself the same thing, "Why did I even go out with this guy?" My nerves were so strong and my confusion because of his more than forwardness caused me to breath a huge sigh of relief as I walked downstairs to my twin bed alone.

I quickly forgot about Creeper and moved on. Even dating a guy I'd known from jr high that was in town for the week. But for some strange reason, about two weeks after the bizarre date, I couldn't get Creeper out of my head.

Before our first date, I remember talking to this guy on the phone the day before. I was at work. It was a slow day and so I decided to mop the floor. I mopped myself into a corner as my phone rang. It was him and we chatted for a bit as I sat on the bathroom counter waiting for the floor to dry. Now don't get me wrong here, I thought he was a decent guy or I wouldn't have gone out with him in the first place. So I somewhat enjoyed the telephone company. So two weeks later, I found myself mopping the floor once again on a slow work day and remembering him as I mopped myself into the corner of the men's bathroom. As I sat there on the counter waiting for the floor to dry, what he said kept pounding in my head like my heart after a good run. "I think I could make you happy."

"I think I could make you happy." repeated over and over again in my head. Almost hauntingly until I began to itch from the stress of it. I thought to myself, why on earth did after one date he think he could make me happy? I almost got angry at all this hypothetical thinking. An almost "how dare you" attitude began to react to his voice echoing in my mind. Then it struck me, he never called me back. Oh how my fiery emotions began to boil. Who does he think he is? Basically posing an eternal question at me on our first date and then disappearing. That "how dare you" attitude finally reared it's head.

Now to set the record straight, he did send me a message online thanking me for the date and telling me he had a good time, but I ignored it afraid he'd ask me out again. Boy did that come around and bite me in the butt!

He began to haunt my days and for almost a week I struggled with this. Thankfully I had my big move into my very own apartment to distract me. Or so I thought. All the unpacking kept my hands busy but fueled my mind because of all the quiet hours to myself. That itch of stress kept building until I finally, out of curiosity and anger, texted him a simple, "Hi how are you? I haven't heard from you for a while. How have you been?" I was bound and determined to stop thinking about him by finding out why he thought he could make me happy.

Four days later. . . .

I was a bit sad at him not responding, but again, I did ignore his first after date communication and so deserve whatever bed I made. So I continued onward in my life, until he responded.

I was oddly giddy at him getting back to me. I even teased him about his response time. But ended up talking to him for an unknown amount of time that night. I think it was almost four hours or so. Then again the next night, and the night after that. I had this strange draw to tell him about me. Like I needed, more than anything, to have him understand me. And so I talked. I talked about things only the walls heard me say. I could've easily been afraid or nervous, yet I was happy with him. So happy I asked him out. I invited him to a friend's Christmas party three days away. He responded with a yes, but only if I agreed to go to his work's Christmas party the following Saturday. I agreed and the dates were set.

The day of our second date came and after work I frantically fed and gathered my girls together rushing them out to be with their dad so I could come home and get ready. I cleaned the house, lit sweet smelling candles, vacuumed the floor so the carpet tracks were new, showered, and got myself ready, bouncy curls and all. I remember thinking to myself, "Why am I so excited to go out with this guy?" It was such a dramatic difference in myself between our first date and our second that I was questioning why as if I was going crazy. Then he knocked on my door.

Stay tuned for PART THREE.

Creep. . . .

So. . . I got married. Wanna hear the story?

PART ONE:

Well, I dated this guy for a few months and I so thought he was the one. Until one day he told me that he had no intention of marrying me but that he was just looking for friendship. So I told him I don't kiss my friends and dumped him. I really wanted to say F*** OFF! but retained my composure and lady like demeanour.

Once that ended, I really didn't want to date. I was sick of the whole dating world. I hated the thought and even felt exhausted any time I tried to go on one. I wouldn't let myself NOT date because to me, that defined myself as "giving up", and that was something I was simply not about to do.

So back to the online dating world I went. Creeper after creeper came my way and away they went. Until one creeper caught my eye. First thing out of this creeper's online mouth was, "You're beautiful. Want to go out?" I simply laughed at the forwardness of this man.

Now let me back up. I had read many dating books and sought out many opinions and techniques on how to snag the perfect man and they all told me to not be too picky. To not look for perfection right off the bat, but to basically go out with a guy to simply breed competition over you in other men. So a while back, after F*** OFF! man broke my heart, I chose to always respond to anyone who said hello regardless if I wanted to date him as to put out the good energy of dating and hopefully cause the right guy to finally ask me out. Translation: Talk to guys so guys will talk to you. Treat others the way you want to be treated. This notion leads me to my response to "creeper" and why I thought he was one (at least at first).

I basically told him. "Thank you, but I'm not interested. Good Luck to you."

He responded with, "Why not?"

"Well, even though I do think you are very handsome, I am looking for a good LDS guy." I responded. (He had no religion posted on his page at the time.)

"Actually I am LDS."

"Well, that's wonderful! However, I think you are just too old for me." (He being 14 years older than me making him a "creeper".)

Our conversations continued as we spoke of religious topics and our own personal opinions on them. I had hopes that he would simply catch the net and leave me alone, but because I promised myself I wouldn't ignore anyone, I kept talking. Until one day he said, "So Sunday? I'll pick you up about six?" I decided to say yes and go out with him so I could finally be rid of him.

Sunday came and I was less than excited for our date. Almost to the point of dreading it. I don't think I even showered that day, that's how lax I was about the upcoming evening. But I did dress up, curl my hair and put on my evening make-up and heels. He picked me up right on time and away we went. Dinner was ordinary and at the usual first date location of the Olive Garden. -Why guys think that's the best first date dining I will never know. The conversation was led by his smile and followed by my nerves and shyness. I felt so uncomfortable. But then he scored points by taking me to a play. *He was the first and only guy to take me out based upon what he read in my profile. ie. Favorite things to do: I love the theatre!* Unfortunately for me, it was the play my brother was teching for at the U. My brother knowing I was coming, promptly greeted us as we entered. I felt embarrassed because it was so obvious that he was older than me and being that I was totally planning on not going out with this guy again, I knew my brother was going to ask about it later making this date seemingly unforgettable and not something I could simply sweep under the rug.

Anyway, the show started and he insisted on holding my hand and gently tickling it by rubbing his fingers along my palm. I hadn't been given affection like that for months and so I told myself, "enjoy it!" And enjoy it I did, under my coat so no one else would see.

Show was over and the date neared it's end. Or so I thought. He felt like ice cream and took me to 31 Flavors forcing me to endure another hour of awkwardness and nerves as he distracted my conversation with the tip of his right index finger gracing the back of my left hand.

Finally, we were headed home. But suddenly he pulls over just outside my neighborhood and my mind screamed "CREEPER!" I had no idea what he was doing. I was more than nervous at that point. I leaned towards the passenger door planning my escape route as the began to say, " I think I can make you happy." I did not expect that out of his mouth and instantly shut down. We talked about many things, nothing that registered as coherent for me at the time. I basically shot him down and he said, "I really like you. I think I can make you happy, but maybe not at everything. We can just be friends."

The shock of what just happened hadn't sunk in as he walked me to my door. He wasn't a creeper, just a very honest guy. But when he asked for a kiss I said no, gave him a hug, and quickly shut and locked to door behind me ending the most bizarre date I had ever been on.

Stay tuned for PART TWO.

For Good. . . .

Have you ever put a theme to your life? Better yet, have you ever put a motto or mantra to your life? Well I do, constantly. I am continually chaining them. They basically evolve as my life evolves. So, here's the blog on my current one.

Yesterday I met up with an old friend from college. We laughed and talked over an early dinner and came across the subject of children. Specifically the way we each raise our own kids. This handsome gentleman and I found out that we each have a daughter with eclectic fashion sense and have had days where we wondered if they should be seen in public wearing their new designs or not. But what made this conversation even more interesting is that we both revealed our mothers are way too similar in their reactions to their respective divas. We both believe that our mothers would most definitely try and "fix" the outfit for public viewing. Where we both viewed the outfit as not harming anyone and therefore not worth making the child feel bad about themselves or their creativity by trying to change it.

We laughed a bit at this coincidence and then it triggered a thought that led me to stand upon my soap box for a moment and talk about how I handle such situations in my household. Two weeks ago was Stake Conference in my home ward. It was such a wonderful conference. My Stake President spoke about his family and the ways of the world and such and he said something that stuck with me so much that it has become my new motto. He talked about how kids today have a hard time because in a nutshell, they don't feel very loved. And even in times of trial or stress, he would always tell his kids "because I love you the most!" That stuck with me so much. Almost hauntingly.

I realized that more often than I'd like to admit, I have a hard time with my own mother. We tend to clash with our parenting styles and with the way we view the world around us. Now, I love my mother, so very much. But I do feel that way sometimes. That thought made me fear that my own girls might at some point, think that way about me. So I decided to take that lovely quote, "because I love you the most!" and put it to good use.

There are times in everyone's life when we question. We question the way we were raised, the way our lives are going. We question the ones who love us and have led us along the pathways of life. And because of those questions, we make choices. Some are better than others and some leave us feeling less than a worthy person. I having made many choices in my life know the affects, good or bad, it can have on a person. So when I see my daughters struggle and rely upon my love, all I can do is hope I have invested enough of it in them for them to feel the security it offers. The more love I give them, the more secure they will feel. The more love I give them, the more accepted they will feel. The more love I give them, the more loved they will feel. The more love I give them, the more they will trust it and me.

I hope that every time I praise my beautiful daughters, a small sheet of batting is layered around them. I hope that over time there will be a thick, warm blanket of love protecting them from the storms of life. I want my love to be what protects them. I want them to know that I love them more than a clean room. I want them to know that I love them more than an A+ paper. I want them to know I love them more than what other people think because I love them the most. Out of everyone else in this entire world, I am the one who loves them the most! I want those words to encompass them daily so that if their choices leave them feeling low or struggling, they will believe that I STILL love them, because I love them the most.

This small little quote, this small little concept has ultimately changed the way I think for the better. I have come to realize that nothing in the world is more important than my girls. Not my needs, not my desires, not my dreams because no matter what I want my future to look like, if I don't invest in my girls' lives today, my future will not be so bright.

So I ask you this, What have you loved the most today?