I'm sitting on the side of my bed debating my next move on Words with Friends when my bedroom door gently opens and my freshly-turned (as in today) 17-year-old daughter bounces over to me with a small box in her hands.

"Look what I bought today with the money I got from Nana and Grandpa."  She opens the gold ornate box to reveal a palette of shimmering bronze, gold and brown eye colors.

"Wow," I answer.  "Those are really pretty."  As I say those words I am at the same time wondering how my daughter turned out so different from me.  In this very blog I could envision me writing about the problems with women feeling they need to hide their faces in color.  I would write about how cosmetic companies market to women to make them feel inferior--that the features they are born with will never be good enough.  But at the same time  I am torn, because for Sxylar the freedom to play with these colors is a form of expression.  For her it is an art.  She doesn't see the act of wearing makeup as limiting.  She sees it as limitless.

She and I are so different.  And I realize this is okay.  And I also realize I am not always right.

I remember an entry I wrote back in March.  In regard to Clara having Down syndrome I mentioned that none of our children turn out the way we expect them to.  They don't.  Let them be who they are and they turn out better.

I look at this young woman sitting beside me and I smile because I raised her.  And she is beautiful.  Happy birthday, my baby girl.  I'm so proud of you.  Thanks for helping me see the world through your eyes.

Your bad decision changed all of our lives, but I'm sure it wasn't the first bad decision you've made.  I couldn't have been so lucky to catch you on your first offense.  I'm not naive enough to believe it.  I am lucky that I caught you at all.  I am beyond thankful that I caught you.  Otherwise, I would still be with you and you would still be violating us.

I saw the anguish on your face that day in court.  I know you are in pain.  I know you regret that you got caught.  I know that is all you regret.  Because now you have to find someone else to violate and you were so comfortable here violating my baby girl and God knows who else.

I don't want to write you to berate you.  You will get plenty of that for the rest of your life or at least while you're registered as a sex offender.  I hope you have to register as a sex offender, because then at least your next potential victim will have warning that I never had.

I don't miss you.  I've moved on and I'm quite happy with life as it is.  I do, however, still live with the guilt that you were sneaky enough to win my trust and do this to us.

I never want you back.  I don't even contemplate it, and I haven't since that night.

You did not break our hearts, and you did not break us.  What you did made us stronger because now you can never hurt any of us again.  If we have to be around you, we will be watching you.

Take your pervert phone and enjoy it while you can.  I feel strongly that karma will find its way to you and justice will prevail.

I'm done.

down syndrome is okay

I originally started this blog as a place to release the pain I was dealing with upon learning Clara, still in utero, had Down syndrome.  As I learned about Ds I became more and more comfortable with it.  When she was born I absolutely and unconditionally loved her but wished I could still take that extra chromosome away from her.

Today, just under two months shy of her first birthday, I wouldn't change who my little girl is for the world.  I love her as she is.  I now believe, contrary to what I was saying a year ago, that this is who she was meant to be.

I see other parents in such a rush to get their kids caught up with typical children and it makes me feel guilty that I am so accepting of Clara as she is.  I question my parenting.  Should I be pushing her harder?  Am I at fault if she isn't meeting typical milestones?  I don't know what the right answer is.  I want her to be happy, and I guarantee she is getting unlimited amounts of love from a mommy who is damn proud.

bath time

There are times I find myself trying to seer a moment into my mind, as if to tuck it away so I can retrieve it in my later years when I need a happy memory.  Or maybe it's for if I go to heaven, I want to remember the beautiful things I experienced here on earth.

One of those moments was tonight.

The babies always bathe together.  It's easier that way.  I bathe Clara first and I always let her end her bath with splash time.  She sits up after being scrubbed down and looks between her feet and pats the water.  She loves it.

Tonight Lxkas was sitting next to her and  lightly splashed along with her, but minding his own water territory.  He is twice her size, but with their wet, dark hair and smooth, brown skin they were equals in their love of the water and it was a beautiful sibling moment.  I wished I had a camera handy but I don't even think it could have come close to doing the moment justice.

new job

Yes, I have joined the ranks of the employed working as a temporary social worker for the state.  It will last at least four more weeks but I have an interview at the end of the month for a permanent position.  I want it bad.

letter to him

After work today I had an appointment with my therapist.  She is concerned that I'm bottling my pain.  She suggested I either write him a letter (but not to deliver, of course) or talk to a chair in which he is pretend seated.  I told her I didn't think I could pull off a Clint Eastwood but that I would give the letter a go.  I'm going to try and accomplish that task this weekend and post it here.  I think I might have a lot to say.

are you a princess?

I was changing the sheets on the bed a bit ago and Lxkas was in my room doing what Lxkas does (getting into things he shouldn't), and he saw a jeweled crown his dad had purchased from Bath and Body Works for my birthday last year to compliment some lotions.  He asked, "Are you a princess, Mommy?"

"Yes," I said.  "Mommy is a princess."

I have some good news that I will share in my next update, but for this update I dug out a journal entry I wrote several years back and I hopefully improved it.  I wanted to post something fun that has nothing to do with my problems as of recently.

Sometimes I feel like I have  lived many lives as I have so many diverse memories.  This is a good one for me:

James Brown declared it and Gwen Stefani confirmed it when she sang: “The moment that I step outside / So many reasons / For me to run and hide.” It is a man's world. As women, we often find ourselves tightly holding the hand of a man so that we too can enjoy certain experiences typically reserved for men, such as enjoying the great outdoors. Of course, it's not mandatory that we have a man at our side, but I don't think any woman can argue that we aren't safer with a trustworthy male to see after us. After all, there are creepy people who lurk to harm us, animals that hunt us, and situations where only muscle and brawn can save us.

I believe I was in the fifth grade when I learned it was a scientific fact that by puberty boys were on average physically stronger than us girls and it would remain that way for the entirety of our lives. It was devastating news to me, and it angered me. I had a brother one year older and I had never hesitated to meet his challenges when we would butt heads. Upon learning this my world changed forever and I learned to back down in non-obvious ways to my older brother, now knowing he would eventually mop the floor with me if I didn't. I never let him know of my fear, but from then on it was there.

A lot of times life doesn't seem fair to the physically weaker sex, especially when it comes to exploring nature. If you're a single woman who wishes to venture out into the wilds you will soon realize willing men to act as escorts aren't always to be found, especially if they know they will get nothing in return. Yes, you know what I mean. And don't look that way, because even if you're a guy, you know this is true!

I was lucky one summer to have the friendship of a lesbian who like me, loved to fish. But I just enjoy being around natural water. Take me sailing, fishing or snorkeling, there is nothing more freeing than enjoying untamed nature. Water can't be tamed, though we might think we have control of it with our man-made dams and lakes. But, if you throw a torrential season of thunderstorms onto that, we soon find it's the water that controls us.

But anyway, for one summer, with Jules by my side, I was able to experience what it was like to explore nature as a fisher(wo)man without restrictions. Jules and I would fish after work, late into the evening and often continue into the early morning. We'd trek across fields after dark to find fishing holes. We'd park on the side of roads and sit under bridges. No body of water was off limits if it looked like it might be a good hole for catfish.

There is one excursion that always makes me smile when I think back on it. One of our co-workers hosted an annual mid-summer hog fry, which with my invite we both attended. I remember the sky that day. It was beautiful, vast and blue accented with fluffy, dreamy clouds. We were sitting under a shade tree exchanging stories with various acquaintances and on the front porch were about six men--three with fiddles, three with guitars--strumming, stringing, and singing western songs that brought me memories of my grandfather.

Everyone knew Jules and I were close, and together, I felt there wasn't anything that the two of us couldn't conquer. I'll admit, sometimes that facet of our friendship could cause us to find ourselves in some tricky situations, but it was never dull and it was almost always fun. One of the best elements of my friendship with Jules was that together we were impulsive, and at around 5 pm while everyone was just settling in for an evening of music and drinking the urge to go fishing struck us, and we were off to the lake.

We had a favorite spot. We had made various fishing buddies at our favorite spot. In fact, Jules had almost made a boyfriend at this spot but she ended up refusing him. I think she enjoyed the game. We had sat through rain and whole nights at this spot, and it was known by anyone who frequented the area that this was our spot. Fortunately, on this night it was also vacant so we unloaded the car, packed everything on our bodies, made our way down the steep, rocky banks of our cove and eventually found ourselves seated quietly with our poles toward the water enjoying the sounds of the outdoors. Julie was by nature a loud, sometimes obnoxious gal, but when we were fishing, she became quiet.

As the sun began to set, I felt a small nudge and a hard pull. I yanked my pole and began reeling. I told Jules it was a big one. She hustled to the edge of the water for an informal meet and greet with our feisty catch. When he came splashing ashore she wrestled him in and ended up on top of him. I ran to her with the stringer and it took both of us to get control of the situation. He was not a happy cat and he let his anger and strength be known. By his size it was obvious he had spent years avoiding this fate. We estimated he weighed between 12 and 15 pounds. His head was large enough to put a whole hand in his mouth, which Jules did, becoming surprised when he clamped down. The excitement adrenalized us and we settled back in for what was sure to be an active night.

For the next three hours we didn’t catch a thing. To appease her restlessness Jules would break the silence to comment on how big “Junior” was and she would visualize how she was going to catch his sister. And all this time she had been drinking beer.

I had known early into our friendship that Jules more than liked her beer. Since I was driving I had quit early on. But now it had gotten dark and cold. The night wind was drying my sinuses and the alcohol from earlier seemed to only be adding to my discomfort. I decided to go to the store to get us something to eat along with a Pepsi for myself. I also wanted to get the jacket and rain slicker out of the car to keep us warm.

When I returned I could tell that she had reached her alcohol limit because everything she said was getting on my nerves. I just sat quiet, sipping my Pepsi--until she tangled her line into my line, a rookie mistake a more sober Jules would not have made. She was also sitting too close to me. She started to stand up to get us untangled, but she never made it to an erect position. Instead, I watched her crumble down into the large rocks of our steep bank, her body rolling into two open beers (neither was mine), the tackle bag and my Pepsi. I think I cursed at her as she was struggling and wallowing in the beer and Pepsi mess just below me, trying to get her bearings about her.

When she finally got settled back in, she cracked open another beer. “You really think you need that?” I asked.

“Nope,” she answered. She poured it out and asked if that made me feel better, to which I replied in the affirmative. But it didn’t make me feel better. My Pepsi was gone and my rain slicker, which she was wearing, was muddy and smelled of mixed drinks.

Around 11 pm I told her I was packing it up. After we got everything to the car I went back down to the water to fetch Junior, who had been actively thrashing and threatening us the whole time. I pulled him from his home and passed him up the bank to my friend. As I was crawling up I heard a noise and looked up in time to see the backside of Jules rapidly descending upon me. I put my hands up to stop her, catching her rear, and she kept struggling to get back up like a trucks tires stuck in mud.

I told her to hand me Junior but she ignored me and kept trying to climb with him. I grabbed the back of her jacket and said a bit more sternly, “Give me my damn fish.” I snatched the stringer from her hands and climbed up past her. If she had fallen back into the water I thought I wouldn't have turned around for her. At least, at that moment I liked thinking I wouldn't have. It was a fun thought, even if I knew it lacked truth.

Once we had everything packed I put Junior on the pavement and backed the car up to turn on the headlights. We shot some pictures with him and then I filleted him as Jules quietly watched. On most occasions we filleted our catches as a team, but I think she was starting to sober up and had enough sense to know it was time to let me have my space.

On the drive back to the city I stopped at a convenience store for a better cleaning than the lake water offered. The scent of fish guts on my hands was more than I could bare. Jules obediently followed me inside and purchased a fountain drink while she waited her turn for the restroom.

As I was digging for change to pay for my fountain drink I noticed the clerk looking at Jules standing behind me and I smiled. I’m sure we were a beautiful sight. My pants were wet from the knees down, my tennis shoes were soaked and untied, my long hair was a mess from the wind; my sweater was striped, but the shirt underneath was plaid, and I had fish scales in my eyebrows (from the shad). Jules wasn't fairing any better: she smelled like a brewery and adorned mud all over her pants from rolling in soda and beer, her hair was disheveled as well, the raincoat she wore was in same condition as her pants and she wore shiny gold hoop earrings that didn’t make sense compared to the rest of her. But when you took the sum parts of us and made them whole? We were both damn satisfied.

Jules has since moved to Florida, and I'm sure she's enjoying catching even bigger fish out there, but I'll never forget her and the summer she taught me how to live freely, despite the obstacles that women must overcome to enjoy that freedom. Sure, she had her imperfections, but hers were a lot easier to swallow than the sexist judgments often bestowed on us by the opposite sex. From her I learned diamonds are not a girl's best friend. Lesbians are.