First World Problems Via Range Rover

It’s not Monday, but it sure feels like it. It’s been a comedy of errors.

All. Day. Long.

Dylan asked me whom I pissed off today. I don’t know, but I’m ready to buy whoever it is a glass of wine and call it a night.

Two of the girls had orthodontics appointments this morning. I adjusted my schedule and made my way to the office on a tight time frame. The doctor was running late, hence I was now running late for appointments I had already pushed back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Our Ortho guy is awesome and he is also a friend, so I didn’t lose my shit. Well done me.

Working for a non-profit agency has its quirks. I thought it was my lucky day when I found a coveted parking spot right in front of the building and didn’t have to walk the usual mile in the rain.
Woot! Woot! My day was turning around.

No it wasn’t. That parking spot would actually ruin my day, but I don’t want to get to ahead of myself.

My computer froze four times while writing a report that needed to be submitted to the government before 3:30pm. Yes, I lost what I had written four times. Shush you asking, “Did you save it?” Cleary I did not. But I learned my lesson on the fourth try and was able to save the document before a forced quit. Look at me learning new things today.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

As I was preparing to leave for my next appointment that I was running late for, a colleague called to inform me that “Holy Shit! Did you know your back tire is completely flat?” The same tire I had patch-repaired just last Monday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In hindsight, I should have paid more attention when I wondered why the car next to me was making a hissing sound as I locked my car upon exit one hour earlier.

I drive a Range Rover.

Zip it with your ‘Awe poor muffin’s Range Rover has a flatty tire’.
I get it…First World Problem.

But I paid my dues with years in a minivan.  So as one would expect with the purchase of a luxury vehicle, one phone call and Roadside Assistance was en-route and arrived within minutes. I also expect them to wipe my ass for me, but apparently that detail is not in the fine print. 

I prayed all the way to the dealership that it would be a quick repair and I would be on my way. I knew that Dylan probably wouldn’t appreciate the gift of our first-born child in exchange for a new tire. No such luck. A big twisty piece of metal had corkscrewed its way into the tire and apparently no amount of crazy glue and duct tape would fix that shit.

I calmly told them to get’er done and put a new tire on that bad boy while I figured out the quickest way to make the money needed. Drug Lord and Lady of the Night seemed like feasible options at that point. 

Only to be informed that the tire required was out of stock. 

And would take 7-10 business days to arrive.

Breath in. Breath out.

Math is not my forte, but I quickly counted the days of the week on my fingers and came to the conclusion that ten days does not get me a tire before, oh wait, TODAY!!! Or for the out of town basketball tournament this weekend. And next weekend. Or for work tomorrow. Or to pick up the kids from school. Or to drive to the liquor store tonight.

Alas, the man helping me saw the rage in my eyes. I may have felt a wee bit sorry for him dealing with  bat-shit crazy me, but I can say he was amazing. He called around the entire city to see if anyone had one of these ever so special tires. He calmly told me I was shit out of luck. Only he was more professional.  I was offered four brand new different tires. But I only wanted one? Why do I need four? 

Apparently ‘balancing the load’ is important.

That’s what she said.

I began to panic as my options were pulling a Houdini before my eyes. I tranquilly asked him to explain why in city of over a million people with a plethora of Oil and Gas money for spendy cars…there were no freaking tires available. He explained the Theory of Supply and Demand. He looked confused as I explained my own theory that I demand a tire so he needs to supply it. Now. Please.

I looked around the show room and parking lot. Viola!!!!! Six, count them six, of my exact make and models sat sparkling in the sunlight right in front of me. It was as if God himself had sent me a sign. There were 24 of the exact tires I needed sitting there taunting me.

Problem solved.
They said no.

I still don’t know why as it seemed like a very reasonable solution to me. Apparently the other cars who NO ONE OWNS AND NO ONE DRIVES need there precious tires to SIT IN A PARKING LOT AND NOT DRIVE for necessity.

I asked for a courtesy car. Its Range Rover after all and it wasn’t like I had asked for them to wipe my ass. Yet.  Service dude had to ask a manager. The manager conveyed this message through his go-between:

“Although it was a road hazard and therefore not under warranty, because the part is back ordered we can usually provide a courtesy car”

That’s better. I peed a little.

“However, because “technically” the tires are not a Range Rover product, we cannot help you.

Translate: Ooooh, sorry about your luck but thanks ever so much for all your money.

Umm. Range Rover built the vehicle right? Range Rover chose and put these special-gold-filled-pope-worthy-freaking-rubber-round-things around the Range Rover embossed rim right? I feel confused. You are not going to help me based on a ‘technicality’? Are you effing kidding me? 

My guess is your not gonna wipe my ass either?

I calmly walked into the parking lot and the kind service man helping me followed behind carrying the rubber-less million-dollar rim to put in the back of my car. I politely told him that this customer service experience had left me feeling less than pleased and truly doubting my choice in dealership and brand. That it simply wasn’t worth the hassle (kidding, I fricken’ love my ride) and if I still owned a GMC I would be driving safely away toward home in a dealership courtesy car. He asked if I wanted to speak to the Assistant Service Peon Manager to which I kindly declined, as I needed to calm down first.

Plus, I don’t think a grown woman snot-hanging crying in the lobby makes anyone feel warm and fuzzy.

Piss poor Range Rover. Piss poor. Customer service is really important. Especially when said customer writes a blog that thousands of people from all over the world read each day.

Just saying.

I drove my sorry ass home on the spare tire going 80km/hour in the slow lane down the freeway (that’s like 50/miles per hour for my American friends…sweet balls my math is on fire today) whilst people were speeding past me flipping me the bird and rolling their eyes. Like I don’t get enough eye-rolls from the basement trolls I live with.

Cleary no one could see my tears or the pony tire. I wanted to shout out that I CAN handle the freeway at fast speeds!  I promise. Trust me, I have the bill from the lawyer I had to hire to keep my drivers license from my last ticket to prove it.

FYI…cops are not all that lenient when you are going 52km/hour over the limit.

But that’s a story for another day.

And then I stubbed my baby toe.

And Dylan has a man-cold.

Send wine.
Please.

Xo J

PS. The thoughts expressed in this blog regarding Range Rover Customer Service are my own and do not represent…blah blah blah. Up until now it has been a great experience owning this make of vehicle. (Well anything’s an upgrade after the Loser Cruiser right?)

I have left a message for the Dealership Manager and was assured he would call me back tonight. After all, it’s not fair to bitch unless you give them a chance to fix it. 

Its 11:00pm…I’m not holding my breath, but I will keep you postedJ

Addendum June 20, 2013: After a lovely call with the dealership manager, a courtesy car is being located for me as I type this.
Good Job Range Rover:)

Fathers be Good To Your Daughters

I’m a pretty lucky gal. I have the World’s Greatest Dad.

Don’t be all jealous or get your knickers in a knot yelling at me that you have the worlds greatest dad. I’m sure you do. Lets not fight.

But my dad is the World’s Greatest Dad to me.

It’s often said that daughters marry someone like their own fathers. I see this every day in my work and trust me when I say, its not always a good thing.

But I’m one of the lucky ones.

I married a man just like my dad in so many ways and for me that is a very good thing.

I married a man that treats me like his princess yet never holds me back and always supports my dreams. Just like my dad.

I married a man that works so hard for his family day in and day out. Even when ‘bringing home the bacon’ is stressful, not fun and my guess is not what he dreamed of doing when he was a young boy, he does it. He makes sacrifices so our children can have the world and doesn’t complain about it. Just like my dad.

I married a man that loves his daughters more than the world. Who knows when to laugh with them, hug them, challenge them or set down the law. I married a man of integrity and grace. Just like my dad.

I married a man who is sometimes a little to protective of his little girls. Who doesn’t want them too date until they are 28 and thinks they should be wearing turtle-necks and snow pants every damn day of the year.  My girls know that it’s better to ask mom first, or have me soften the blow with dad for topics related to driving, boys, make-up and clothes. Just like my dad.

I married a man that learned to do things and fix things around the house by himself as part of his fiscal role and 'manly' duties. Oh wait, no I didn’t. Dylan is the guy who hires people. Dad, I really need you to come over as the garburator is broken, the dishwasher is making a weird clicking noise and our garage door code isn’t working. I could use some help with the painting touch ups as well and can you pick up a jug of milk on your way over?

I married a man that will always take care of his little girls. Just like my dad.

I have many memories growing up with my dad who even though roles looked a bit more traditional in the 70’s and 80’s, always pushed the envelope and was more than just the breadwinner. He actively participated in our lives. From chauffeuring to early morning sports to teaching me how to drive, he was there. He was also ALWAYS there when a boy came knocking at the door, standing at the top step of the landing just to ensure his 6’4” frame was extra noticed. One boy actually forgot his own name when asked by the looming man at the top of the stairs when he would have his daughter home. Yup…couldn’t remember his own name and pretty sure he shit his pants. Well done dad. The date sucked, he was looking at his watch the entire time.

The threat of “wait till you father gets home” was always more of a blessing in my house. My dad had a lot of practice at cooling down the hormones of two teenage daughters and an only slightly less hormonal wife. Dylan is learning this skill as well, but may need some extra support over the next few years. Or wine.

Half of the grey hair on my father’s head is because of me. The part of my heart that will always belong to my dad is because of who he is and the love he not only taught me, but also showed me. Kisses on scraped knees and hugs when boys broke my heart were all it took to let me know it was going to be ok. Even as an adult, my daddy can make me feel it’s all going to be ok.

To some this day marked on the calendar is a bittersweet reminder of a father lost or one that was never there. I know I am blessed. I am blessed because not only was my father an amazing role model growing up with, but I am also now proud to call him my friend. His role has changed as we have grown and now have kids of our own, but I will always be daddy’s little girl.

Always.

Happy Fathers Day to all the dads out there! Today tell the fathers, stepfathers, grandfathers, the mom’s who take on dad’s responsibility or any man that has been a role model that you love them and appreciate them.  Celebrate them today and everyday, no matter if they are here on earth or watching over us gone too soon.

I love you dad and I appreciate all you are and the impact you had on shaping me into the woman I am today. Because of you, I know what respect and a healthy relationship are. Thanks.

Pretty much any man can father a child. It’s a special man that can be a dad.

For those of you who didn’t have that, just make sure you find someone or be the parent that you want you daughter to marry.

Just like my dad.

Xo J

P.S. Dad thanks for not killing Dylan. I picked one just like you and so will my girls.

Finding Your Funny in 'Don't Lick the Minivan'

I’m back. Did ya miss me?

Here are my excuses for my terrible blogging etiquette:

• Basketball
• Soccer 
• Work
•  Feeding short humans
• Avoiding laundry
• Crushing Candies
• Drinking Wine

Blah Blah Blah…I’m sorry. I will try and do better. Word of advice: don’t hold your breath until the end of June.

Lately I have been thinking about the things we say to our children at various stages of life. It occurred to me that if we were saying these things in a regular conversation with grown adults, we would more than likely be committed to an asylum for the mentally deranged.

Do you ever catch yourself saying stupid things to your kids? Zip it, I know you do.

Looking back over the years, some of my favorites have been:

"Finger painting on your wall with poop is yucky and not allowed"

"Please don’t pick your sisters nose"

"Can I please just pee by myself?"

"Please don't touch the dogs penis"

"I will give you $100 to just go the hell to sleep"

Now imagine these sentences directed to a co-worker, friend or partner?

See? Totally not appropriate. People would look at you like you were bat shit crazy.

Before I was a mom I could not have imagined these things flying out of my mouth in everyday life…and that they would actually seem normal and make sense. People say that ‘kids say the darnest things’. Yeah well, someone should write a book about what we say to our kids. Now that would be funny shit.

Wait for it…someone DID write a book about that and I had the honour and privilege to read an advance copy and tell the world how fabulous it is.

Leanne Shirtliffe is the one and only ‘Ironic Mom’ from the blog with the same name.

Ironicmom.com

And holy crap she wrote a book!! And it's really good!

I love you all so much…all you need to do is CLICK HERE to order! 

And now I’m telling the world YOU NEED TO GO BUY IT! Like right now. Put down the glass of wine and go buy it. Ok, finish reading this blog first and then go.

Leanne and I are actually gonna be BFF’s, but like so many people I stalk admire and look up to, she just doesn’t know it yet.

But we have SOOOOO much in common.

1. Leanne lives in Calgary
2. Leanne has twins
3. Leanne has written a book
4.  Leanne is funny.
5. Leanne lived in Thailand where she birthed her small humans!

 Ok, so after writing my ‘Leanne and I are exactly the same and should totally be best friends’ list,  I can see some discrepancies. I never lived in Thailand. Although as a new mom of twins it did feel like I was living in a foreign country for a good year, so that kinda counts.

Leanne is actually funny where most days it’s only me that thinks I’m funny. Whatever, the voices in my head laugh at my sarcastic wit so that kinda makes it the samesies.

Leanne has actually written and published a real life book. I am simply just to busy and most days feel that becoming a published author may suck the life out of me and it is currently sitting at number 801 on my to do list. But Leanne DID IT!

And she works full time teaching pubescent children important stuff like grammar. I live with only two teenagers and struggle teaching them how to put away an effin’ lunch kit. Leanne spends 40 freaking hours a week with hundreds of them. For the love of all that is good and holy someone get the women a glass bottle of wine!!

Or buy her book so she makes money and can buy her own wine.

Win-Win.

Don’t Lick the Minivan is full of laughs as Leanne brings her reader along her journey as a new mom of twins in a foreign country. She details her travels back to Canada as she settles into her life as mom and all the crazy that goes along with it.  Leanne tells it like it is and finds the funny in the not so funny.

And that my dear friends, is the only way to get through this parenting thing.

There is no secret potion. No magical wand. No newest and latest research.

Just find the funny and keep loving them. (Wine helps too)

Don’t Lick the Minivan is also full of real life parenting tips for the not-so-perfect moms.  That would be me by the way.

Here’s a taste from Leanne’s parenting tips:

Parenting tip: a regular routine of brushing and flossing is essential the three days before your children’s dental appointments if you want to appear to be a good parent.

Parenting tip: Some issues are worth taking a stand against. Be anti-glitter.

Parenting tip: as long as your child isn’t the worst in his class, he will succeed. if he is the worst, drink more wine.

Amen Sister!!

Leanne makes me feel like a better mom. See money already well spent when you buy the book. You're welcome! 

Don’t Like the Minivan also shares Leanne’s struggles with depression and anxiety and how she was able to once again find her own funny. I’ve said it before and I will say it again; parenting is the hardest job in the world and Leanne’s open and honest glimpse of climbing her mountain is real life stuff for real life moms.

But my favorite part of the book is the letters Leanne writes to her children scattered throughout.  Don’t tell anyone, but reading this mothers heart on a piece of paper actually made me shed tears. Being able to take a reader from requiring Depends to Kleenex in one chapter is pretty impressive if you ask me.

Find the funny with Leanne. Trust me, you won’t be sorry.

Leanne, I can’t wait till your twins are teenagers. Call me, we shall drink wine together. Or think of it all as awesome material for another book.

Xo J

Dear Mom

It’s Mothers day.

Wanna know what I want? I want to sleep. ALL. DAY. LONG.

No breakfast in bed. No flowers or handmade cards. Just me and my pillow.

Reality check, that’s not going to happen. Quinn’s Soccer game starts in an hour.

Oh who’s kidding who…I can’t wait to watch her play.

Even though I am a mother,  today is a day to be a daughter and honour my own mom. It will only be a simple phone call as they are enjoying retirement poolside down south. My mom always says if she had known how much fun grandkids were going to be, she would have had them first.

No shit Sherlock…I also think it would be way more fun to be able to spend a little quality time with the offspring, shove sugar down their gullets and then hop on a plane to the sun where no children need to fed and cleaned.  

Sign me up!

The first Mother’s day after the girls were born, I gave my mom a card with one simple sentence written inside.

“Mom, now I get it”

Now I get what it’s like to truly love someone unconditionally and worry about them NON STOP. I get what it means to say you would lay down your own life in a heartbeat for someone else’s safety and happiness.

And truly mean it.

I get what it is like to spend countless nights thinking of the “What if’s” and “What about’s”. To question every choice you make as a parent in charge of raising actual human beings. To wonder if you are really putting enough money in the therapy pot, what their future shrinks will think about you and what diagnosis will lay on your shoulders.

So today my post is a letter.

To my mom.

Perhaps it will give you insight into my own crazy, but I guarantee it will let you see how truly blessed I am.

It’s a long letter. You don’t have to read the whole thing. Except you mom, you need to read it through cuz I forgot to send you a card.

And then put a sticky note with my name on the big ring.

Dear Mom,

38 years ago you were celebrating the best mothers day of your life as you cradled the most perfect child in the world lovingly your arms. I can only imagine what you were thinking as you gazed into my beautiful eyes and breathed in my flawlessness.

No wait…not about me. Right. Lets try again.

Dear Mom,

Thank you.

Do those words express enough emotion for the woman who built and raised me? I really should buy you a steak dinner or something.

Don’t kid yourself mom, my own therapy pot ran dry a little while ago. But you did the best with what you knew.

I mean come on, look at me. Enough said.

Pat yourself on the back woman!! Gold star for you.

You took what you knew and changed what you needed. I will do the same and so will my own girls. I guess that’s how we keep getting better at this right? I figure by the time I am a great-great-great-great-great-great-grandma, our family line of mothers should have this all sorted out.

I want to honour you for the adversity you faced and the role you took to stand strong as our family journeyed its path. 35 years ago you and dad landed in Calgary with two little girls in tow after a company transfer across the country, only to learn all of our belongings had been lost in a transport fire. Guess what? I don’t remember and didn’t know how truly awful it was. You didn’t know a single human being in this city, yet you protected us from the tragedy and all I knew was that we were safe and our family is what mattered. I didn’t know it at the time, but at the tender age of three I had my very first lesson in treasuring the important things in life: my family.

You began to plant our roots with nothing tangible, yet you watered our family values and we grew strong.

FYI mom, I also know that this fire protected you from ever having to admit there were no minute-by-minute pictures of me as there was for my big sister.

The evidence, or lack thereof, had been destroyed.

Silver lining right?

I’ll admit it; your sacrifice to work outside of the home may have gone unnoticed and unappreciated. So today I want to notice it. And appreciate it. I would scrub stairs with my own toothbrush to be able to provide my girls with the extras. While you and dad struggled behind the scenes, we enjoyed private school and braces for a million dollar smile. You knew when it was important to buy the name brand jeans when in my teenage wisdom I felt that’s what I needed to fit in. But you made damn well sure my clothes did not define me and my self-worth was not extrinsically based.

Although I used to think that money just came out of the machine in the wall, because of you (ok, maybe more dad) I know the value of money. You made me get a job and earn what I wanted. But you also knew when it was time to open your wallet when I didn’t need a lesson. 

You house is hands-down the best value for groceries in the city.

Without a doubt my sense of humour comes from you.

 Ok, sometimes most times at the expense of you.

Thank you for your innocence and your ability to laugh at yourself. Because of you, I know how important that is.

Like when the attendant at the gas station asked what oil you use and you answered “Crisco”.

Or when on a tour at Universal Studios and everyone was asked what their favorite ‘Soap” was and you loudly piped up from the back…”TIDE!! It really does work the best on stains.”

Or my personal favorite, when at a high school parent-teacher interview with Mr. Grumpy Chemistry Pants and the underwire from your bra malfunctioned and ended up poking through your sweater. And you decided the best course of action was to pretend you were recording the interview and leaned forward as you asked the teacher with zero personality to “speak into the microphone”.

Located just under your boobs.

Or when you crashed into the garage for the fourth time or high centered your car on a parking block and bribed me with a chocolate bar not to tell daddy.

I still laugh when I think about the time our house was broken into and you were in hysterics as you described in perfect detail for the police report the diamond earrings that were stolen.

Only to have the officer ask you if they looked anything like the ones in your ears.

Yeah…those are the moments that I am talking about. They rock.

Thank you for carrying a wooden spoon in your purse. No, scratch that. I can only stir spaghetti with a spatula now. But I do know what respect and a healthy dose of fear are. Thank you for teaching me to think before I speak, especially with my own children. Again at your expense, but I learned that phrases such as “do you want to be grounded?" sound a wee bit silly as we all know the answer is probably NOT going to be an emphatic “Yes please mom! That sounds terrific. While you are at it can you take away my car keys?”

Thank you for passing on the tradition of cleaning up the dog shit to get out of grounding.

Best. Consequence. Ever.

I am sure in the middle of my teenage years you were not quite sure how you were going to make it through raising sweet little me. 

Thank you for not killing me when you busted me for sneaking out.

Or taking the car without a license at age 15.

Or having fake ID. How confusing it must have been to see me on government ID as ‘Jodi’.

Or not actually ‘staying’ at Angie’s house when Angie was ‘staying’ at at our house.

I learned creative parenting from you. I can only imagine your laughter as you took the pack of smokes I was ‘holding in my bag for someone else’ and while I slept, secretly poked 100 pin holes under each filter.

Well played Marg, well played.

Thank you for leaving work to hunt me down in the mall when the teacher called to ask when I would be ‘feeling better’ as I was missing a test that day. Although we could have done without you pulling me out of the shopping centre by my earlobe in front of my friends to drive me back to school.

Especially since school was over for the day.

If you had let me speak in the car…that’s what I was trying to tell you!

Calling dad for a ride home while the janitor waited with me was a bit awkward. Just to let you know, I feared for my life on those drives in the car with you when you were mad. That was scary shit man.

Mom you have many roles.

You are a wife of over 45 years. Because of you I know what the word ‘marriage’ means and that it is an action and not a feeling. Dylan and I are blessed to have such great role models. Packing up my toothbrush when the going gets tough is simply not an option.

You always say more is caught than is taught.

I caught it mom.

Although shocked when I introduced you to Dylan and then told you “oh by the way, congrats your gonna be a nana”, you have always shown Dylan and I nothing but respect and support. I can’t imagine how you must have felt as Dylan and I began our very uncertain path together. Having to adjust your own dreams and expectations for your child while you questioned your own parenting choices.

Quite simply mom, without you in our corner, things may have looked very differently.

You are a friend, a sister and an aunt. In all of those roles you know what love and work it is to keep a relationship going through moves and miles, distance or time. You have wisdom to discern when advice is needed or just a quite shoulder to cry on. You have a gift to help people see the funny or take them shopping when the only answer is a new pair of shoes. Or to know when your only solution for self-care is a new pair of shoes or a glass of wine.

Thank you Lord for giving me the same size feet as my shoe-aholic mother.

That’s one hell of an inheritance.

You are a Pastor. Even though you are recently and well deservingly retired, this role will always be a part of who you are. You have had the honour of welcoming new life into a hospital room in the wee hours of the morning. You have held hands in prayer as last breaths are taken, family tears are shed and life leaves this earth.  You have celebrated new couples commitments to one another, honored parent’s public declarations of faith for a new child and walked beside families as they mourn loss at a graveside.

You served through your faith at each step.

Mom, you were called into a role that I believe was chosen for you and you have made an impact on others in your humanness. And in your humanness you are loved.  You showed me when it was time to challenge my beliefs and admit when I was wrong.

And then fix it to make a difference.

I know that in my teenage years I didn’t make this job as spiritual leader very easy.  Although at times it did feel we lived in a fishbowl, I know people were watching you more…waiting for me to fall so they could pounce. You handled my short skirts, hidden tattoos and piercings with grace. You were my mom first. Thanks…and I am sorry.

As a woman in a man’s world, you taught me to push gender boundaries and that being a girl was to be celebrated, not hold me back or define my life path.

The world was mine because of you.

You are a grandmother. Quite frankly mom, I don’t think I could have made it through the girls first year without you. From the diaper and formula fairy arriving at my doorstep or calling you at 6:00am on a Friday to simply say “Ready” and know that you would be over within minutes to let me crawl back into bed while you filled my freezer with meals and kicked my laundries ass.

You have created a special relationship with each of the girls that spans their ages and stages. They love you with all of their heart and when people say it takes a village, well my girls got one hell of a village. Thanks for baking with them and allowing glitter at your house, it means less money for me to throw into the pot.

And you know what that means? More money for wine!!

Watching you be “nana” is awesome. You are happiest when all your ‘chicks are back in the nest’ and you are surrounded by those you love.

Don’t kid yourself; ‘Free-Food Fridays’ at moms house is my favourite day of the week.

But mom, to me you are simply my mom. The one who gave me life. Who raised me to know right from wrong.  To do good things in this world and love people without judgment. To dream big and then work hard to achieve it. To throw rocks at boys and know when ice cream is more important than being grounded.

You taught me how to tie my shoes and pee on a potty.

That’s been very beneficial, thank you.

You taught me when natural consequences were necessary even though it must have killed you to see me hurting while really only wanting to rescue me from myself. You showed me the meaning of firm loving boundaries balanced with the importance of a hug before anything else.

You taught me when to pick my battles or say ‘this too shall pass’.

Most of all, you showed me how to be a mom.

And for that mom, on this Mothers day, I am grateful.

Thank you.

I think we did ok.

I love you.

xo

Jecca

P.S. Don’t get too emotional and sappy…Shady Pines is still on speed-dial.