I will not make anything resembling a resolution. I simply refuse. The reason being that I recognize that I am a perpetual work in progress no matter the time of year. Taking a good, hard , honest look at myself on a regular basis is something I’m actually fairly good at. As I also fall into the “my own worst critic” category, I tend to have no problem constantly tweaking my script to make it run smoother, more efficiently, or just plain look prettier.

More importantly, I have long since learned that life is what happens when we’re busy making plans. You can file all the TPS reports you want to on time, she doesn’t always read them or get the memo.

I see you 2010. You’ve already started out with a bang and show such potential. That’s right, I’ve got my eye on you. Oh yeah, I’m going to take that potential, add a dash of hot sauce, grill it up and serve it with a side of promise and demand you continue to crank out more. Life can keep chucking what she wants at me, I may not control what she chooses to toss my way, but I do control how I react to it. And I am more than ready.

I declare you, 2010, to be fabulous.

For myself, I declare that I will embrace all that opportunity I see you toting. I declare that I will continue to breathe. In with the good… out with the bad baby. I declare that I will continue onward and upward. I declare that I will venture forth all of your 365 days and accompanying nights with a smile on my face for each one. I declare that I shall continue to openly make my voice heard as needed. That my ears will remain available and my shoulders sturdy for those who need them. That my eyes, my mind and my heart will be open longer than 7-11.

I hope anyone reading this is ready, you’ve been warned 😉

I declare, my dear 2010, that you and I will kick some major ass. Yup, I’ve got my eye on you 2010.

I genuinely love this time of year. Like mad, crazy love it. For sooo very many reasons. The snow. The mistletoe. The twinkling lights. The little old ladies with obnoxious sweaters that play jingle bells and ho ho ho at you. The cocoa. The giant catalogue of music devoted to it. The old school, new school, cheesy as all get out Christmas programs. Most of all, I love the love. The spirit of giving that commercialism and society has done it’s best to bastardize. I refuse to allow them to ruin it for me and everyone that I come in contact with. Yes, I am the woman that smiles and says “Happy Holidays!” to everyone. With all honesty, I confess that if any one of the mythical wish granting creatures came to me and said “You have one wish, anything you want, what’s it gonna be girlie?” I would say “I wish that on Christmas morning everyone on this planet, everywhere, no matter what faith they embrace, no matter what beliefs they hold dear, no matter how naughty or nice they are, would wake up and find the one thing that would make them truly happy wrapped with a pretty bow waiting just for them.

All of this should be all year round though. Ok, maybe not the snow. But, that love. That feeling of genuine good will toward others that this time of year reminds us all is so important. Yup, the love. I so wish that would remain all the days of the year.

If you know me at all, you know that our lil monkey family motto is “We’re all about the love.” Not just love for each other, but love for everyone else. So, this is our time of year so to speak. All year long we give love to those whose paths cross ours, but this time of year, people are much more receptive to it. The monkeys have fully embraced the mission and are so good at it. They love to smile at everyone and yell “Happy Holidays!!” And it never fails to bring a smile. Their absolute favorite thing to do though, is accost every bell ringer, every red bucket keeper. My laundry quarter supply has already long been exhausted and if they even remotely see a single in my wallet, they claim it. When they are done gleefully putting whatever I have in the bucket, they always hug the person with the bell, thank them and give them the big ole “happy holidays.” I love that about them. Of course this means that I need to really start budgeting for a “bucket fund” every year now, but where it goes, what it does and the monkey cry “MOMMMMMY THERE’S A BUCKET!!!!” is so worth it.

Even though I love all of this, it’s not easy. There are days when I have to struggle to feel it. To remember why it’s so important. The motto exists, in part, not just to teach them an important life lesson, but to remind myself as well. In some ways, I am selflishly creating my own little cheerleaders.

One of the reasons it’s not easy is I’m waging this lil happy love war on my own. When I say I’m a single mom, I mean single. Their father is an ass of epic proportions and for many reasons. He sees them four days a month at most. Of course he made it a point to have joint custody on paper so he wouldn’t have to pay child support. He’s yet to actual uphold the “joint” in any way, shape or form. In fact, he doesn’t even talk to them the weeks in between visits. All of that I just can’t fathom at all. But, every time he breaks a promise, every time he takes them for a weekend and ignores them while they are there, every time one has a birthday and he completely fails to acknowledge it, it’s me that has to make up for it. To try to explain to them that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them. They’re getting smarter too and it’s becoming so much harder to come up with answers. All I can do is do the best that I can and try not to remember that they deserve so much more. Ironically I am like the Grinch. My little Cindy Loos look at me and sweetly say “Why are you taking our Christmas tree, why?” And I attempt to cleverly spit out a convincing reason they will buy, knowing in my heart, it may not be right.

This is something I know I am not alone in. Not even close. This time of year is said to be for the children. Those of us, no matter what our circumstances are, with children want to make it the most magical time ever for them. The pressures of life as an adult don’t go away at all so we can do so. In fact, sometimes they are more glaringly obvious this time of year. Whether it’s broken relationships, financial stress, that pang of hurt that loved ones lost are not around to celebrate with you or any of the myriad of struggles we are all facing in this crazy thing called life, this time of year can amplify them. So we bobble back and forth and sometimes just fight to keep our heads above water some days. Which makes that little smile, that little “Happy Holidays” so much more important.

Besides the red bucket rampage, we have developed another monkey family holiday mission. We find something to do as a family to help other people. Last year it was picking a name and item for a child in need and going shopping for it and wrapping it together. This year, I have been lucky enough to be drawn to something I feel embraces exactly what we all need this time of year. We as in not just the monkey family, but ALL of us in the area. Yup, all us lil human creatures, great and small.

I had the really good fortune recently of being introduced to an amazing woman named Bernadette Xiong, or Coach Bx as you may know her. She is all about making a difference in peoples lives and that in and of itself is a reason to love this woman. This holiday season, she has come up with an event that is a two-part bundle of wonderful. It takes place on Saturday, December 19th from 2pm-5pm and not only offers so much for those that attend, it continues to give that on to one of the amazing sponsors of the event.

It’s called “Healing Your Heart: A Hopeful Holiday Event.”

Earn a smile while giving one to a child.

Challenging finances, marriages, relationships and family are all difficult subjects to handle alone. This event will provide parents and children fun ways to heal the heart by channeling that energy through artistic and creative means including:

Arts & Crafts
Santa Claus Toy Drive for Charity
Bake Sale & Cookie Decorating
Face Painting, Balloons and Games
Complimentary Gift Wrapping for Those That Donate a Toy
Words from the Heart by Coach Bx

The sponsor I mentioned that will be receiving the toys to distribute is COA Youth and Family Centers. COA Youth & Family Centers helps Milwaukee children, teens, and families reach their greatest potential through a continuum of educational, recreational, and social work programs offered at its urban community centers and rural camp facility. They have been serving children, strengthening families and building community since 1906.

To top it all off- it’s being hosted at Independence First. Another sponsor who is making such a difference in peoples lives. Are you sensing a theme here? IndependenceFirst is a non-profit agency directed by, and for the benefit of, persons with disabilities, primarily serving the four county metropolitan Milwaukee area. Their agency mission is to effectively facilitate empowerment of individuals with disabilities through:

Education, Advocacy, Independent Living Services, and Coalition Building

They promote diversity and multicultural participation in our operation and services.

The four “core” services offered are: independent living skills training, peer counseling, advocacy, and information and referral services to persons with disabilities in the counties of Waukesha, Washington, Ozaukee, and Milwaukee. IndependenceFirst provides services to persons with disabilities of ALL kinds, throughout ALL age groups.

Topping off the list of incredible sponsors is MilwaukeeMoms.com. If there is anyone that understands the good, the bad, the ugly and the bliss of being a parent, it’s MilwaukeeMoms.com. When MetroParent and MilwaukeeMoms.com say “making life just a little bit easier…” they mean it! They are a resource and fountain of sanity for moms and dads alike.

To say the monkeys and I are beyond excited to be helping out with the arts and crafts for this event is an understatement. And because we are indeed all about the love, we have a challenge for you. That’s right. We are challenging YOU. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to join us in our holiday mission this year. Be a part of something great. Any part you can. Ultimately, my hope is you will all come to this event. Stop by and FEEL the love. the healing. Give a smile. Can’t make it? Sponsor someone who can! Read this and pass it on. Follow @CoachBx. Retweet, repost, reblip. Come up with your own posts that include the links. Add the twibbon to your avatar. Use the #HealYourHeart .

I don’t ask a lot of the people around me. I’m not one of those please RT or repost all the timers. This time I am though. I really believe this is important.

So, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to show me the love. Spread it wide, spread it far. And by gosh by golly, Happy Holidays everyone!

Important links:

Space is limited for this event, so you MUST register in advance. To do so, please use this link.

If you are on Twitter- let other tweeps know you are coming! Respond to the Twitvite here.

Better yet, whether you are able to make it or not, add a Twibbon to support #HealYourHeart here.

Our lovely sponsors:

For more information on COA Youth & Family Centers, please visit their site here.

For more information on IndependenceFirst, you may visit their site here.

For more information MilwaukeeMoms.com and to help make your life a little bit easier, visit their site here.

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, witty antidotes or toys to share, please do not hesitate to contact me. You should also definitely start following @CoachBx cuz yeah, she rocks. While you’re at it, check out her site here.

The monkeys were on a Black Eyed Peas kick last week. “It makes us giggle and makes our booties wiggle” is their reasoning. Can’t argue with that! We actually bravely ventured out for a bit on Black Friday. We were so not the early birds though. We were like the 9am birds. Our first stop was breakfast, then on to pick out Christmas mornin’ jammies (our lil tradition), various fun deals (hello Goonies for $3.99) and then ultimately our Christmas Tree (it’s up and lit, no decorations yet though).

Merrily cruising along on the way home when track #17 of the BEP CD I made them comes on. It’s “Where is the Love?” Thinking they’d passed out because they were actually quiet, Eldest Monkey screams “STOP! PULL OVER MOMMY!!” scaring the absolute shit outta me. To the point where I actually throw on my blinker and pull over on the side of the road, my heart thumping louder than the bass in the song. I slam it into park and spin around to ask EM what is wrong, doing a quick scan for blood or some proof of silent mayhem. She replies “You gotta call them now mommy.” “Umm…. Who am I calling and why baby?” “The Peas mommy, you gotta call them right now.” I know I should be PISSED because she’s screaming for me to pull over and they are both fine, but instead I’m just staring at her all perplexed. Deep breath.

“Well honey, I don’t have their phone numbers and why would I be calling them? “ Her lil eyes started to tear up as she fought to explain. “You just have to find their numbers mommy. You have to! They are so sad and they can’t find the love because of all this bad stuff that is going on in the world. They need to know mommy. They need to know that people care and help each other. They need to know that there are people out here that care about EVERYONE and would always help them and not hurt them. You taught us how to smile and show love to EVERYONE no matter how they treat us or where they are from or what they look like. Even when they are super grumpy. And especially when we don’t even know them. They need to know mommy that we got their love right here. No one loves more than we do. You taught us life is all about love. That we are all about love and the monkey family does give really good love mommy. You taught us how to. You just gotta call them and tell them that mommy. ”

Yeah, halfway through that I started tearing. It killed me to look at her and say “Baby, they are famous and famous people don’t put their phone numbers out there for everyone to see. “

Then the lilest monkey plucks the thumb out of her mouth and with such conviction says “It’s easy mommy, you just email them mommy and say ‘Yo! I got your love right here!’ Yup. That’s what ya do. You can google that.”

I freakin’ love my lil monkeys. And they’re right. We do give good love. ☺ So, to the Black Eyed Peas and everyone that’s ever wondered just where is the love? We say Yo! I got your love right here!

I like it when my phone dings. Just the tone makes me smile. It means I have a text, which means someone is thinking of me. Whether it’s “Good morning, Sunshine”, “Call me hooker”, or the kind of rare but treasured “I love you”- I smile. It’s a good noise. Usually.

This last week, ok make that two, has been emotional for me. You may not be able to tell, I hide it well. In fact, you need to be pretty fluent in Natali to know when something is really up. Most people aren’t brave enough to master Natali. But, yeah, a lot going on inside lately. Don’t start Googling local crisis hotline numbers yet, it’s not all been bad, some of it really good. That and it’s certainly nothing I can’t handle and eventually figure out. Either way, it’s left me feeling a little raw, definitely drained and I still have some emotions to sort out.

The drained part caught up with me last night. Once Operation Monkey Wrestle Down takes place for the night, when they’ve been tucked in, read to, lullabyed and smooched a million times, I need to remain fairly quiet until the snores are heard. Tonight was another creative stalling tactics night. While practicing the art of ninja stealth like quietness, I managed to fall asleep on the couch. Ninja fail there, that’ll get ya caught. At 10:46 the sound that makes me smile so jostled me awake. I sat there, smile still on face, eyebrow furrowed, staring down at a number I didn’t recognize and a cryptic message. A couple of weeks ago I purged quite a few people from my contacts, so the furrowed brow got furroweder as I attempted to wrap my mind around it all. The text read “I would like 2 talk 2 u soon. let me know if that is ok. I jst want 2 make peace w all those that mtr 2 me b 4 its 2 late. Pleze let me know eithr way.” I figured it was the wrong number and sent a “Who is this?”. I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting the answer I got.

There are two women in my life I have referred to as my adopted sister for decades. Our bond has transcended that of mere friendship. It is a true sisterhood. One, C, is the only person that knows every single thing I have been through in my life. The text was from her ex husband, G, who was like a brother to me. I was the only woman he could never charm his way out of an argument with. I was his greatest opponent in a battle of the wits (and we had some knock down, drag out ones). I was the only one that called him on his bullshit. Eventually when I met my ex (which is another thing I can blame him for), he and G became best friends. The four of us were a dysfunctional little family.

Then it all started to change. There is a barrage of players and events within this, but I’m going to try to keep this simple for once and stick to us four. The change was only noticed by me. It’s amazing how at times I can pick up the tiniest detail and see how the hand will play out. G hurt his back and what started as Vicodin, turned to Percocet and eventually to Heroin. Using turned to dealing. I watched him like a bullet train speeding toward those dead ends you see in the RoadRunner cartoons that lead Wil E. right off a cliff. I tried talking to all three of them. Really, I did. But, no one would listen. C & my ex popped open a can of denial and guzzled it daily. G was already a demi god in his own mind and his thick skulled lil head would hear nothing that indicated otherwise. I felt like fucking Cassndara. (For those of you not hip to the Greek stories, for which I so don’t blame you, she was given the gift of prophecy. She could see the future in all its clarity. Girl wouldn’t put out for Apollo though so he got pissed and cursed her with the tragedy that while she could forsee the future, no one would believe her. I think it was Apollo. I’m too tired to look it up and you all get the point anyway.) All I could do was stand there and watch. I braced myself and did my best to prepare to clean up a mess. No one makes a mess quite like G. Lying, cheating, stealing and when all was said and done, he was behind bars and I had a sister and a fiance that were completely gutted.

G knew my terms. Everyone who truly knows me knows that you can treat me like utter shit and I will take what I can of it until I get to the point where I just walk away. But, when you hurt someone I love, claws and fangs come out and I’m wiping the blood from your jugular off my face before you know what hit you. I am fiercely protective of those I love. I also know what will hurt you most. Went I went with C to go see him in jail after he was arrested, I completely ignored him. Not in that refusing to make eye contact and just keep looking everywhere but at him kind of way. In a staring through the glass, through him like he no longer existed kind of way. The only acknowledgment he got from me was when he told C that he would be out in two weeks and was going to make everything all right. That’s when I looked him in the eyes and laughed my ass off.

He served far more than two weeks. C and him were divorced while he was in prison. She continued to visit him. I never judged her for doing so, I just supported her the best I could. When she made claims of him changing, I replied “only time will tell.” I knew he hadn’t really at that point. After a few years, he made it out. I saw him once while he was at C’s shortly after I had kicked the ex out. She asked me to see him and for her, I complied. C asked me to forgive him. When I managed to see some resemblance to the man that was once my brother of sorts, I did.

Then his dumb ass ended up back in. There’s another series of events I will spare you, but the arrest is epic. It’s been over a year now since it happened. My ex’s roommate when I met him was a cop. He stood up in our wedding. It was him that busted G this time around. Karma does know how to give one hell of a bitchslap. It really was brilliant.

The kicker to all this is he has cancer now. He’s dying. C won’t bring him up to me unless I ask and I don’t ask. Part of me is really pissed she didn’t warn me he was out again. Seriously, that’s totally gotta break some sort of chick rule. There must be a “hey he got paroled” clause somewhere. My answer to his text was that I would talk to him, tomorrow. Which is technically today now. He continued to let me know that A. He still loves me and B. He’s sorry. And now I’m left wondering what to say to him.

I come bearing my own irony to this as well. I was just discussing a very, very dear friend of mine, B, who passed away four years ago. I miss him so much. He is also one of my very few regrets in life. HE was going to be my next post. G and him actually grew up in the same town and went to the same school at the same time, but they were never friends. My regret with B was my failure to see him bullet training toward his own dead end. My life at that time was really busy, I was pregnant with lilest monkey when he died. I just wish I could hug him and tell him I’m sorry. I know that doing so with G won’t change my regret with B. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is the powers that be giving me another shot. A do over. I will not apologize to G though. I don’t feel a need to. No matter what, I have no clue what to really say. I know he wants validation that I still love him. I don’t know that I do and I am not one to just say I love you for the sake of it. Then again, he is dying. So, if this eases his conscience(though I’m not entirely certain he deserves it), does it matter?

I’m feeling pretty damned by that ding now.

So, the other day I had to venture in to Petco. This time for a beefier replacement for Princess Leia before the monkeys returned home. Cause of the demise of Ms. Leia? Uncertain. But, if you ask me those damn little snails staged a coup and are in cohorts with the dark side. And to think I was going to put on some Barry White for them while they were getting it on. Ungrateful bastards.

As I strolled through the automatic doors, I stood, paused in front of the giant white board on the easel boasting of the “Pumpkin Spice” treatments in the puppy spa. Pamper your pooch with a Pumpkin Spice shampoo and Pumpkin Spice conditioner treatments and they’ll throw in a splash of Pumpkin Spice puppy perfume or cologne for free. I still haven’t figured out what’s worse- the fact that someone would pay $40 to do that to their dog or the fact that the poor dog has to walk around wreaking of a food they can’t eat. You wanna smell pumpkin, go buy a fucking candle.

Sighing, I shake my head and continue through the second set of automatic doors and on with “Operation Help Me Obi Wan.” What’s the first thing that smacks me in the face? A ginormous Christmas display chocked full of holiday goodies for all the creatures in your life. Never mind the fact that it is merely November the 1st. Children all over are still in borderline diabetic comas from the hordes of Halloween candy obtained less than 24 hours ago. Makes me wonder when the puppy spa is going Egg Nog with their special.

I venture onward through the store, avoiding the urge to glance at anything that is not directly involved with my task at hand. Mission accomplished easy enough and before I know it, I’m on the way to the register with our new Leia (this one looks like she may be able to throw down a bit if need be). This time I allow myself to look around.

It started with a giant tank with two painted turtles in it. They were laying side by side, their short little necks intertwined with each other, blissfully slumbering with I swear little turtle smiles. In a tank next to them were a pile of lizards all cozied up together. Birds, guinea pigs, hamsters, rats all snuggled together in pairs or groups looking so peaceful. So content. At the end of my journey was the ferret home. A pile of four laid wrapped up all wonky-like with their lil ferret smiles. All breathing in unison. I watched two sitting together eating for a while. They stopped for a bit and one randomly smacked the other one. For all I know he told her to slow down she was starting to get a little chunky in the thighs. Then two seconds later their arms were on each others shoulders and they were making out. Ok, so they could have been trying to lick food off of each others faces, but it was so damned cute.

Eventually the new princess and I made our way to the car. I sat there for a while thinking. Behind that crappy wall of pumpkin scented, Santa covered commercialistic bullshit lay a lesson. Inside the many bars of metal and glass full of balls of fur, scales, shells, feathers, you name it, was a whole lot of love. You can insert your argument regarding some theory that it is based solely on the fact that they are out of their natural environments, trapped in cages and merely trying to survive under the unnatural glow of florescent here. You know what though? They are doing it together. There was no renegade gerbil threatening to go all prison warfare on another one over space and food. As for that ferret, well you tell a girl she should stop eating cuz she’s plumpin up and you’ve kind of got it coming and she totally loved him up right after. There were no games, no manipulations. No fur pulling over the rabbit version of Flavor Flave. No uttering I love you then disappearing. No turf wars. No giggling at the odd critter out because oh my gosh, she’s not pure bred.

You may not know this about me but while I am a pretty openly caring, person and freely give of myself, I keep my heart guarded tightly. Like Fort Knox on crack tightly. I have a large capacity for love with a thick wall around my heart. Once someone sneaks in there, they have the ability to do a lot of damage. I’m a tough girl, but once a chunk of my heart goes, I tend to not ever really get it back. The deeper I let them in, the bigger the chunk they can take with them when they leave. Again, don’t get me wrong, I am all about the love, but I try very hard to keep personal collateral damage to a minimum. I’ve never had to worry about that with my cats. Seriously, animals are way fucking cool like that. They see the good, the bad and the ugly and not only still love you, but many would lay down their own lives for you. Zen maybe not so much, he’s old, fat and spoiled. But he always knows when I’m hurting and he always knows how to make it hurt just a little less. He always has time for me. He may love up another human, I still know I’m his favorite. He can wander the house all day but religiously at night he’s there by my head while I sleep. I always know he loves the hell out of me. It’s one thing I’m never given cause to question. It’s a constant I can always count on.

Sitting there in my car, I made an important, life-altering decision. I’m going to be the first ever crazy cat AND ferret lady. Yup. A girl’s gotta have goals. Proud of my new realization, I start my car only to hear Beck’s “Loser.” I couldn’t help but laugh with a tear or two in my eye. At least Princess Leia II is still alive and kicking. For now. Damn Dark Side Snails.

They say every family has a black sheep. Well, my aunt Carol was the rainbow colored one. To me she will not only always be my favorite aunt, but one of the best female role models I had and will ever have. Aunt Carol redefined original. You can walk to the beat of your own drum, she had her own five piece band. If Lucille Ball, Betty Page and Audrey Hepburn had a lovechild, maybe, just maybe, you could come kind of close. Funny as hell, yet equally graceful. Ladylike manners when she was telling someone to go to hell (and believe me they had it coming). Dancing forward through life bold and brave, yet always thinking of others first.

She was the oldest of five siblings in a household that saw many rough times. My grandfather died young, barely in his 50’s at the time thanks to the working conditions he was in day in and day out. No matter how bad things were, she always made sure all of her brothers and sisters had a present beneath the tree on Christmas morning and every lovingly wrapped present was from “Santa.” Oh how she loved Christmas. Trips to her house in Minneapolis were my favorite times ever growing up. Second only to their trips down here. Trips, I am very grateful to say, that happened pretty frequently.

Aunt Carol was also my very first official Partner in Crime. Many of you know that I inappropriately grope my coffee mug every morning. What you don’t know is how deep my love of coffee goes. Ever since I can remember, I have loved it. I would bug my parents incessantly when I was little for some. As it would “stunt my growth,” it was off limits. Bless Dannon’s heart though, they made a coffee yogurt that my parents would get me. When we visited aunt Carol, she would sneak it to me. She was so slick about it too. When she made me hot cocoa, she’d use coffee instead of water. We called them “Cocoa Mochoas” and they were our little secret. They were so delish. That’s right, screw you Starbucks. I still make them for myself during the winter. And it still brings tears to my eyes on the first sip.

I have a million great aunt Carol stories. But damn it, I should have a million more. My monkeys should have their own arsenal of great aunt Carol stories forming. OMG she would so love them. And she would so be their favorite. But, Cancer felt otherwise. Fuck you very much Cancer. I swear one day you will wreak the just desserts you deserve. If only it were a person we could torture for decades day in and day out.

It was roughly the late 80’s when she was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A time when little was really known about it and old people whispered “Cancer” as though anything louder would summon it like a beast from the deepest bowels of Hades. No one wants to wake that beast. Doctor’s didn’t really do mastectomies. Radiation and chemotherapy were their sole weapons of choice. “It’s not the Cancer that kills you, it’s the treatment” we’d hear over and over. WTF does that mean?? Then why do it?? She beat it over and over again. A tumor would pop up and she’d ride it out until it was gone. Then I guess it got really pissed. It came back with a vengeance and it spread. At one time she had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball on her brain. Oh the grin on her face when she looked back at the baffled doctors when she lived through the treatment for that one and it had completely disappeared. Eventually, the beast decided to devour her entire body at once. No holds barred, spitting in the face of all the prayers and hopes for recovery. The last 3 1/2 months or so of her life, my mother lived there so she could take care of her. Every Friday after school, my dad and I would make the somber trip up. Every Sunday, the dreaded ride home. No matter how bad she felt,, even when she was down to 84 lbs and you could SEE the tumors all over as she lay in her hospital bed, aunt Carol was always smiling. She never once complained, never once screamed “why me?!?” and she always asked how you were doing right at first sight.. Not out of a point of formality, but because she truly cared.

I was 15 when she was taken from us. Her funeral is still vividly etched in my mind. I sat paralyzed at the back of the funeral home at her wake, praying repeatedly that it was just a nightmare and I’d wake up any minute in my own bed, back in Wisconsin. That is until I noticed my grandma alone in her own little corner with the same desperate look on her face. My ever constant personification of strength sat there looking so small and fragile. Like the weathered depiction of heartbreak. It pained me to hear her “no” when I asked her if she’d gone up yet. Everyone was so busy surfing their own overwhelming tide of pain that she got lost in the proverbial shuffle. So, I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and up we went. Our slow and heavy stride in unison, the closer we got, the tighter our grip to each other. When we got there, both of our breaths were held as we looked down at our own version of an angel knowing each other well enough to know that we wouldn’t be uttering the typical “they did a really nice job on her” or “she looks peaceful” bullshit. Nope. We were both thinking “ fuck you, I want her back.” There is only so much heartbreak even the strongest of people can bear and grandma, though tough as nails, was no different. She lost it. Yup, grandma literally tried to climb into the casket with her. I thought she was just going to hug her goodbye. I should have known better before I saw her little leg hike up over the top of the casket. It’s ok, you can laugh at the image. I can giggle a bit about it now. Knowing I was about to get my ass kicked, I proceeded to pull grandma up off of aunt Carol and the casket. I swear to you she was laughing her ass off up in heaven looking down at the scene. Everyone else stood there dumbfounded. It didn’t sink in until I had struggled/dragged grandma half way to the exit door of the funeral home and by then she was in no mood to be coddled by them. I am proud to say I had the sense to grab her purse on the way out and not just for the possible need for self defense should she try to turn and make a run for the casket again. When we got outside, I shoved a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, did the same (not many can say they smoked their first cigarette with their grandma nor that it was a Pall Mall straight) and said “go ahead and hit me for saying it, but someday, this is all going to be ok. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch and that pain will never really go away, but it will be ok.” She took a long deep drag, looked at me and said “You’re right, I do wanna punch you and it does hurt like hell. But, no one loves you more than I do. Thank you Carol Ann.” For months she would repeatedly call me Carol Ann. For years after she would still slip and do it on occasion. You know what, it was the best compliment I have received. That I will ever receive.

So, yesterday I stumbled upon @boobiewed on Twitter. I always support Breast Cancer awareness and the fight to end it day in and day out. This is our month though. What @shimmer418 and @honey_is_evil are doing is amazing, brave and yes, fun. Above all, I found it very liberating. The goal is to show your breasts on Wednesdays across Twitter to raise awareness for Breast Cancer. I’ve seen people bare their breasts for awareness before, but I have never had the courage to do it. I’ve had issues with mine for the better part of my life now. I showed up to fifth grade sporting a b cup on my (then) little frame. My maiden name ends in witz which was changed to “tits” for that whole year. And the damn things just kept growing. Teen years with a D cup was rough. By the time they hit DD, they had turned into an entity of their own to some respects. No matter how hard I tried to hide them, they were ogled. Older people would talk to me like I was stupid because I had big breasts. I know, it’s like the size 4 friend we all have that likes to complain about being fat while we all want to smack the shit out of her. It’s really not my intent. And in all honesty, I don’t have the right. My point is that I’ve got some body issues going on, which every one of us does whether we admit it or not on some level. My tatas just happen to be one of the biggest catalysts for that. No pun intended there. Even though I’ve come to terms with them in some aspects, I still always hide them. Until yesterday. I thought about it, thought about aunt Carol and my grandma and lifted my shirt, snapped a pic and plastered my polka dot bra proudly all over my lil corner of Twitter. And, I will continue to do so. Hell, I submitted it to the @boobiethon today.

I am sure I speak for all those involved when I say that if just one person learns to do regular self exams, one person learns they may be at risk, one person learns about early detection, then by god it is more than worth it. There are some of my sisters out there that have battled Breast Cancer and won that don’t have the luxury of bitching about breast size any longer. They are merely thankful to be alive. So, for them, for my aunt Carol (who was the polka dot bra in the drawer of life), my monkeys and for every woman out there I say “Yup, I have boobies. I am proud of them, I vow to examine them regularly and to remind every woman in my life to be proud of theirs and do the same.”

Please take the time to follow: @boobiewed, @shimmer418, @honey_is_evil and @boobiethon.

Please take the time to visit:

The Official BoobieWed Page

The Official Boobiethon Page

And, pretty please with bra whose underwire never pops out on top, check your breasts monthly, encourage the women and men (yes boys, while you cannot live the dream of staying home and fondling them all day, you are able to get it as well, though much more rare) in your lives to do the same. Get involved, help raise awareness and show us your tatas!

*Please feel free to e-mail me at JustNatali@gmail.com with any links or tweeps you would like added to my next post which will be a resource of information regarding Breast Cancer. Give me your touching, your funny, your painful, your medical, whatever you would like. I welcome them all. Hell, I’m even going to post a pattern on how to knit a breast. Seriously. One survivor uses them for implants in her bras. I would LOVE to start a group that knits them for survivors, so if you are interested in that, shoot me an e-mail too.

Though I am a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason” when I’m down or upset, I’ll still wanna smack ya for telling me that. No matter how much I know it’s true. So, for the last day or so, I’ve been just off. Kinda up and down and all over the place. Like more all over than usual. Life’s been chucking curve balls and so go go go this last two months, I think it may just be finally catching up. If you’ve been reading my lil ramblings, you know one of the biggest upheavals was our move back to the town I grew up in. I will never be a cheerleader for this town, but today, I found some solace.

Well, this morning was rough. Lil one is still mopey that sis is going to school. On the way home from dropping her off, lilest yelled “LOOK MOMMY A RUMMAGE SIGN!! Can we go???” I figured, sure, why not. We’re driving down the long street and not seeing anything. I’m just about to give up and I spot a barrel with two blaze orange flags sticking out of it at the end of a driveway. The house that hugs this driveway was a beautiful, almost log cabin looking house. One of those that beckons you to come inside and put your feet up for a spell. I look down the driveway and see a full working stop and go light flashing and yup, rummage stuff. The light alone was enough to tell me it was going to be fun. When I began walking down the driveway, lilest monkey in hand, I realized that this was going to be much more than fun. It was transforming. Invigorating. Comforting. Blissful. Slightly sad, but all around wonderful.

At first site I spotted two HUGE displays of hand made purses and scarves galore. I had found me a knitter. A damn good one at that. To my left, just past them, were two HUGE bags full of beautiful wool yarn. Price $5.00 each. Seriously one skein of them was worth more than that alone. Lil one spots a box of books and we start digging through. For a whopping 10 cents a piece, they have a bunch of Little Miss books and a book long packed away in my memory. Spider saves Christmas. Spider and Peanut were scholastic books from waaaay back in the day when I was little. So, I tell lilest to go nuts and pick out whatever she wants while I check out what’s in the garage.

Two steps in I stop and tears well up. There on a table before me were stacks of artwork done by Mr. Pierce. He was my first art teacher ever and was amazing. He came in to our elementary school on a special basis and I just loved him. While registering eldest monkey for school, the walls of the hallways in the school administration building were peppered with the same work of his I remember once hanging at my school. I stopped to explain to the girls who he was and how wonderful he was. I began wondering what had happened to him. Today I found out. Mr. Pierce is no longer with us. But, I now have in my collection a wealth of his work. Ink drawing after ink drawing that will forever remain priceless to me. Including many drawings of, yes, monkeys.

While I lovingly went through them all, secretly wanting to just purchase them all and horde them, lilest discovered their chicken coop. Seriously, a coop with two live chickens. One laying an egg as we lingered there. The couple that were rocking on their back porch, him smiling, her chatting with us and crocheting (she does knit too), entertained lil one with stories about the chickens. The woman, Cathy, then came over and took the male out and let lil one pet him. His name was Raven. By the time I had finished sorting through my memories on art board, lil one was in a rocking chair on the porch gleefully petting Raven and chatting about the scarf I was making her for winter.

All of my artwork, two big bags of yarn, countless books, two leather binders, a big ole box of vintage Valentines and a huge art pad cost me all of $15.00. We actually hugged our goodbyes to the couple and made our voyage back to our getter. While loading our new prize purchases in, Cathy came running down the driveway (she’s pretty spry for her age) yelling “WAIT!” She brought this giant red plastic case and told us we could have it for free, to put all the new books in. She then asked us to come back any time we want to say hi and pet the chickens. Then, more hugs all around.

It wasn’t a difficult decision, next week lil one and I are going to bake some banana bread and stop on by. And to hell with a whole knitting group, I think I found me a new knitting pal.

As I drove home, which was just a hop and skip away, I realized, I had found my spot. The spot in this town that made me cease to feel quite so displaced. A point of reference that reminded me that home is indeed where you hang your heart. The view outside your window may contain ugliness, unpleasantness or way too much Stepford for your taste, but the warmth inside remains. Outside our door may lead to Monotonous Flaws, but inside is the eastside, bay view, even the SF bay area. It is what we make it. And just down the street and up the driveway is solace, complete with a chicken coop

When it comes to memories, elephants got nothin’ on my monkeys. Back in like May we were at Wally World getting my oh so beloved Sudafed and crabbiness ensued. So, in an attempt to redirect, I told them if they were good, I’d take them to see the fishies. Thus a ritual began. Every trip to Wally World led to a pass by the fish. When they first saw them, they of course wanted to bring them all home. “But mommy we can have a whole wall of tanks.” I knew we were going to be moving in the next couple of months and moving fish is NOT fun. So, I told them when we moved, we’d get some fish. They made me pinky swear.

Months later, we did indeed move. Two days after that, they began to not only ask when we were going to get fish, but reminded me that I did pinky swear. Never mind boxes were everywhere, complete exhaustion on my part and having to run around the entire town a million times to get eldest signed up for school, they wanted their fishies. So, I did what any mom in my position would do. I stalled my ass off.

End of August neared and eldest monkey’s birthday rolled around. Yup, mom got her a fish tank. We marched into Wally World and marched out with a feeder goldfish lilest monkey named Tink, a “fancy” goldfish I named sushi, a spotted Molly eldest monkey named Wonder Woman and Chauncey The Wondersnail. Oh the love and excitement. They wanted to sleep by the tank. They wanted to tuck them all in with blankets and yes, I had to sing the tank the bloomin’ lullaby.

Next morning Chauncey ole love was bobbing around on the top of the water, floating like a lil golden apple. I am FREAKING and googling the hell out of Gold Mystery Snails. We have to rush off to start the day. On the way home, I decide to stop at the pet store and see what they think of what I read and get Chauncey “a friend,” just in case. Kind of a soften the blow kind of thing.

Before we walk in there, I type up a lil explanation of what’s going on to show the sales person on my iPhone notes. (I swear I would marry that phone and bear its children.) She rocks and did really well with explaining it without the monkeys catching on. Of course it helped they were wielding their own mini carts (which amped my anxiety off the charts) and were distracted by more fish. She agreed it could just be an air bubble and instructed me how to handle it. WOOT! Small problem- they didn’t have ANY snails. Grrr. But, the girls spotted the smallest lil African Dwarf Frog I’ve ever seen. Seriously, it’s like Über Dwarf. So, we brought Princess Leia home and added her to the aquatic tribe.

BTW, we get home and and that lil shit Chauncey is happily whipping around the tank. Sneaky lil snail.

Two days later the lights go out on the tank. Grrr..

Then Wednesday morning rolls around and the dreaded has happened. Wonder Woman is so not wonderful any longer. Thankfully, instead of floating to the top, she’d gotten stuck between the wall of the tank and the giant dayglow colored stone thingie that I thought was obnoxious when the girls picked it out, but now want to hug. Eldest thinks her fish is just sleeping.

Now, lil miss “Wonder Woman’s Mommy” just started kindergarten the week before so she is a wee bit on the emotional side right now. Plus, if there’s a way to keep my kids from suffering a loss, even just a fish, I’m gonna take it. Knowing her lil sister will rat me out in a heartbeat (I seriously tried to give her a lesson on avoiding the complete truth to keep from really hurting another person’s feelings the week prior. I know mother of the year here. She ate a coveted Lunchable while eldest was at school and I told her instead of saying a Lunchable, just list the contents of it when eldest asked her what she had for lunch. First words outta her mouth when eldest climbed in the getter at the end of her school day “Mommy got me a Lunchable and I ate it. I’m sorry,” DRAMA commenced.) yeah off to grandma and grandpas she went. Thing was, I only had a little over an hour window now to pull this all off. Operation Wonder Woman II is on. Come Hell or high water, I’m not failing this one. So, I haul ass to the pet store and am about to start running to another store when out from some crazy tower thing in the tank pops a spotted molly that looks miraculously close to the original Wonder Woman. (The fish, not Linda Carter, but I guess you knew that.) The lil fish guy tosses in like 5 of the teeny tiniest lil itty bitty snails that I’ve ever seen. YAY! A distraction, just in case. I fly home with 30 minutes to spare. I give a quick porcelain funeral, then tank clean and treated and all critters in place. I barely made it. But, it was a complete success. We actually still need to name all the bitty snails that are currently being collectively called “cutie pies.” Lilest monkey comes home and checks the tank and is none the wiser. True test comes when we get eldest monkey. She burns a path in the hall carpet racing to their room to see the new snails and yells “MOMMY!! MOMMY!” I freak until I hear “Wonder Woman is awake now!! And how cute are these lil insy snails!?!??!” **HAPPY DANCE** Mission successful.

This was a monkey weekend away so I was on aquatic tribe feeding duty. Saturday night I sat in there for a bit just watching our crazy lil tank family. Of course I am now neurotic about checking and counting heads in there to make sure all are still kicking happily. Now, the lil ones are hard to find and tend to tribe up at times, crawling all over each other. Poor Chauncey had 2 on his shell the other day. But, I swear two of them were getting it on. Their lil heads were all intertwined and there was definitely something going on. Now, I’ve never seen a snail throw down, so for all I know there could have been some brawl going on over territory or one of the other snails or maybe one was just talking some smack. I’m a lover, not a fighter though, so I’m really thinking they were doing the lil snail nasty. Which means I should probably start googling snail birthing . By the way, you are all getting early holiday presents. Start picking your snail names now. Gotta be honest, whatever they were doing, it was kind of cool. I didn’t stand there long with my held tilted wondering what was going on. I turned off the light and pondered playing them a lil Barry White. Get down with your bad selves lil itty bitty snails.

It’s interesting the debates that exist over the differences between what exactly a dork is vs. a geek vs. a nerd. Truth is, I’m all of ‘em rolled into one on any given day. Hmm.. gnork? Out of all of them- geek is the one I’m called the most. So why not ÜberGeekGirlie? Cuz. UberDorkGirlie is actually a nickname I earned in an argument with a friend. Some may say I lost that one. I say it suits me just fine.

Nowadays it’s “cool” to be geek, or actually declare yourself as “geeky” or “a geek”, but I’ll hop on that whole soapbox later. Let’s back this to way back in the day first.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know this next part, so feel free to skip ahead. My quest for knowledge has always been there. When I was four, the birthday cut off for Kindergarten was December 1st. Mine is December 2nd. (Yes boys and girls, this is back in the stone ages when K4 did not exist.) Feeling I was more than ready, my mom gave the principal a call. She told her to bring me up and they’d test me. I remember getting a picture of a clown holding balloons. Each test I passed, a balloon received a sticker. I walked out of there with a big smile and every balloon filled with a sticker. Then my mom got the call. The “If we make an exception for her, then someone comes in with Dec. 3rd & 4th, where do we draw the line?”call. I won’t lie, I totally cried my lil heart out. Then, I woke up the next morning pissed. I grabbed all my lil Dr. Seuss books and sat down in front of Sesame Street and taught my geeky ass how to read. Screw them. So, next fall, I show up to Mrs H’s class all kinds of proud and twitchin’ to stuck up some knowledge. During story time each day, I raised my hand and asked if I can read the book to the class. Each day, she replied “No, Natali, you can’t. You don’t know how to read.” Each day my retort was “I’m sorry, but yes I do.” Come Friday, Mrs. H was irritated. So much so, that she yelled “FINE!” and threw the book at me. I smiled, picked it up and started to read. Mrs. H turned white, then red. Then left the room. I kept right on reading Mrs. H returned with the principal. “Oh shit!” I thought as I finished the story, just a touch shaky.

So, that Monday I was pulled out of my class and taken to a big, mostly empty room. There was a big conference table with four adults lined up behind it staring at me as I sat before them in my lil chair. I’d done a quick tally in my head of what I’d done at school the last week, including the couple of boys I sent to the nurses office and was thinking I was really in for it now. Instead, they began firing question after question after question at me. I remember only one of them:

Some Lady: “How many lives does a cat have?”
Me: “They say that cats have 9 lives, but I think that’s a myth. I have a feeling that they are like any other lifeform, if you kill it, it dies only once.”

Yup, total geek. That’s when they slapped me with the label “gifted and talented.” I was then only in my “regular” class room for a limited time daily. The rest was spent with Miss F and eventually more students were added. Miss F ROCKED! As much as I hated the label they gave me, the program was amazing. It’s where my love of Apple was born and my inner geek was nurtured. For example, for those of you that may not know, the Apple II “OS“ was only a built-in BASIC interpreter contained in ROM. So, any game or program you slipped the floppy in for booted directly on the hardware and either had no OS or one that was self-contained. I will so spare you the Commodore BASIC vs Applesoft BASIC and how Beginner’s All-purpose Symbolic Instruction Code was conceived and how it’s grown and changed to Visual Basic used today. The point of this lil BASIC tangent- in fifth grade, I taught an adult Apple BASIC class at night. My geek runs deep. By middle school I hacked the library computers and would access a BBS from there. And yup, I played the Island of Kesmai. (But by the time Legends of Kesmai hit AOL, I had already despised AOL 😉 )

My academic life was spent in accelerated classes, my electives in Japanese , other foreign languages and art. My freetime went to reading (seriously, I had reading contests with one of my friends to see who could read the most books in a week), drawing and playing Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on my beat up ole used Apple. My posse were the band geeks and the skaterboys. Despite being like the only betty in town, the most commonly used words to describe me growing up were “smart” and “weird.” They were titles I wore proudly though. I learned early on in life what it felt like to not be truly understood. Sure, some people got some parts of me and others, different parts. No one truly ever gets the whole picture though. Well, perhaps my daughters do. There’s a strip mall here in town that has a comic/anime store called Lost World of Wonders and a place called American Science and Surplus (seriously check out the site). If they added a B&N, a Micheal’s, Izumi’s for sushi and a Gamestop, I’d plant a double-wide in the parking lot and call it home like forever. (Note the B&N would undoubtedly have Starbucks in it to sate my love affair with coffee.) That strip mall is me in a nutshell. Someday I’ll find that counterpart that gets the whole quirky, dorky, geeky package that is me and want a piece of that double-wide. 🙂

Another thing I learned early on was that while being a bookworm was nongender discriminatory, the science and computer sides of geekdom were definitely male dominated in my time. When I was roped into being a last minute stand in on the science team for state, one of my teammates (who were all male) literally announced to a rival team during pre-round smack talk “oh yeah, well we brought boobs. And they’re actually attached to a girl who is gonna kick your ass in genetics.” In college, yeah, totally the only girl gamer I knew. The shortest lines in arena ladies room history could be found during my first Web Developer conferences. Hell, one of my geek-related nicknames is male! Will. Short for Good Will Hunting. But, thankfully, times they have changed.

Now, back to the whole “cool to say you are a geek” tangent. Through the years, the coin has flipped a bit on the rep of Geeks. Thank you interwebz. When it became clear the geeks shall inherit the earth, peeps started taking notice. Now, they are cool, but to an extent. I mean, let’s face it American Pie upped the street cred for our beloved band geeks, but you didn’t see the “popular” crowd rushing to join the band. And we all know about men’s fantasies about a “naughty librarian”, but outside the bedroom, different story. I’ve been approached by guys swearing they “love geeky girls” only to be told after a conversation I am “too geeky.” What is that?? Of course, my geeky ass then asks them to define the quantitative parameters that constitute “too geeky.” That never really goes over well. I’ve got many a guy friend that has experienced the same, or the flipside. Yup, the geek poser. That just makes me giggle. Geek poser. But, they so exist. My friend, C, found a girl who boldly called herself a geek. He asked her why and she declared herself a “web goddess.” Turns out that means she used Front Page to create a Paris Hilton fan page for herself and a Twilight one for her BFF. I asked him if that meant her friend was “totally goth” then. Turns out (cuz he’s so the male version of me) he asked her the same thing. She didn’t get it. * sigh * They are out there.

Not geeky enough. Too geeky. Poser. Legit. All are in the brain of the beholder. All I know is that because of people like GeekGirls we breast totin geeks are coming on strong. We are standing tall, head held high, glasses straight (ok, cept mine) invading your geek havens in all kinds of ways. If you’re one of us, shout it out. Let your geek flag fly. You’ve freakin’ earned it. It makes you, you. Throw your Star Trek fingers in the air and wave them like you just don’t care. Geek Girls FTW!!!

And I am creating a place for all of us to hang, to play, to proudly wave our lil geek/nerd/dork/gnork flags.

Click here to learn how you can help this dream become a reality for all of us and for future lil geek girls everywhere.

P.S. All my geek girl tweeps, please join me in support of @GeekGirls and add a twibbon here letting others know you’re girl, you’re geek and you’re proud!

For as long as I can remember, I have been a Star Wars fan. I’d get pissed because I’d tear open my gifts and instead of an At-At or the Millennium Falcon, I’d get a freakin’ Monchichi or Strawberry Shortcake’s latest sidekick. Some solace was taken in the fact that I was the only girl that ever got to play Leia at recess. Part of that was probably the fact that I was the only one that could do the buns, but I didn’t care. I remember tearing ass down the isle to front row center when we went to see Return of the Jedi. While I may have lost my Star Wars sheet set along the way, I still have some of my trading cards left and my trust, rusty Return of the Jedi lunchbox still faithfully holds some of my art supplies. And, of course, I own the DVD box sets.

One cold, rainy Saturday morning (i.e. perfect couch and movie day) a couple of months after she turned 3, my eldest monkey figured out how to open the secret door of the entertainment stand and handed me “Phantom Menace.” “Mommy, this is my movie choice. I wanna watch this one.” The pride, oh the pride. I patted her head, told her it would be too scary and too hard for her to understand and insisted she pick a new one. Bless her gorgeously geeky heart, she stood firm on her choice. Her arguments in the end were simple. “If I don’t understand something, I’ll ask you mommy and if it gets too scary, we can turn it off.” Hells bells, you can’t really argue with logic like that.

Ten minutes later, another fan was born. Two more actually. Lilest monkey sat in wide-eyed wonderment cheering and booing right along with her. But, edlest took it to a whole new level. The rest of that weekend was spent watching all six in order up to her new beloved Anakin was “saved.” It floored me how little I needed to explain to her. There are so many favorite moments from that weekend. I think my favorite was when Luke made it out with Vader and she looked at me and said “Wow, he actually managed to pull it off.” Not remembering at this point I was talking to my 3 year old and being mother of the year- my response? “Right? He’s such a wuss.” Sorry folks, I was a Han Solo girl all the way.

Most of my friends weren’t entirely surprised at my lil “how I spent my weekend.” I swear everyone we encountered over the next few months heard her tales of the battle of dark and light, the path of a Jedi, the power of the force, the wisdom of Obi Wan and Yoda, her undying love for Anakin and the importance of having really good friends be they human, wookie, droid or otherwise. Then one of my friends sent me a now rather famous YouTube clip of a 3 year old explaining Star Wars. I watched it and giggled. It didn’t really occur to me the vast differences between that 3 year old and mine. VAST.

Thinking she’d be happy to find a kindred spirit, I showed her this.

I expected a giggle. I did NOT expect her to lose her lil mind. She seriously damn near cussed that lil girl out! It went a lil like this:

(Bear in mind, I did warn her it was only about New Hope aka “When they save Leia”- Ooops! I forgot to mention she renamed them all. I’ll footnote the rest.)

“What? The ‘sand people’ are Jawas and they aren’t that important.”
“‘Shiny one?’ ‘Shiny one?’ It’s C3PO. Duh.”
(At this point I am blankly staring at my irate lil monkey. Head all cocked to the side-like.)
*HUGE GASP* “NO ONE MISPRONOUNCES OBI WAN KANOBI’S NAME! NO ONE MOMMY!!!”
In the backgound the lilest monkey then yells “That’s RIDICULOUS!!” (WHAA??)
“Huh? That ‘light up sword’ is a light saber! Light SABER!”
“Leia wasn’t in jail, she was being held capitve by Imperial Forces.”
“That’s it?! That’s it?! What about the subplot?! (WTF!?!? Did she really just say subplot??!?) No Han? No Chewy? MMMMOOOOOOMM!!!”
“Yeah, Darth will getchya because you, you are NO JEDI!!” (Yes, she was totally pointing here lil finger at her too.)
“Mommy, please don’t EVER show me that girl again.”
And in the background her lil cohort was yelling “Yeah, she’s ridiculous!”

That’s when it became clear to me that she wasn’t your average 3 1/2 year old. It also became clear I was raising a lil ÜberGeekGirlie in training. That, in my book, is just awesomesauce.

Yup, she’s still planning on marrying Anakin, is practicing her use of the force and is desperately trying to plead her case to her sister for decorating their new bathroom all Star Wars. My money is on her. Lil geek girls FTW!

***As promised, she renamed them all right away to remember them better. Never mind the fact she could tell you who Qui Gon Jinn was. So, in order:

“When Anakin was lilttle”
“When Anakin became a Jedi”
“When Anakin caught on fire”
“When they save Leia”
“When Luke becomes a Jedi”
“When Luke saves Anakin”

And now these girls are helping their mommy to create a place for them, for all of us to hang, to play, to proudly wave our lil geek flags.

Click here to learn how you can help this dream become a reality for all of us and for future lil geek girls everywhere.

Lilest proudly displaying our Star Wars Cookie Cutters