I am....

I am a mom....how do you know, one might ask?

First clue would be the stretch marks strategically placed around what used to be my waist.

Secondly, there are two people in this world that have remarkable similarities to me that only genetics could duplicate.

My last piece of evidence is this:

I went to pick up my daughter from daycare and she was sitting on the rug while her teacher was reading the class a book. I sat down beside her and she crawled on my lap to finish the story. A little girl in her class came and sat down next to us. She too scooted close to me and leaned in a little, resting her head on my arm. She then looked up at me and said, "You smell like a mommy."

So there you have it. I am a mom because I smell like one!

Live...

Picture courtesy of the kitchen table and my husband's camera.

My Maria....

A loyal friend laughs at your jokes when they're not so good, and sympathizes with your problems when they're not so bad. ~Arnold H. GlasgowThis is my Maria, we met when we were 18 months old (okay, I was 18 months, she was 15 months, she would want me to be CLEAR on that). I don't remember life without her.

I don't have a sister, just one older brother...except for Maria. I can call Maria up at any time of day and lament with her the smallest, insignificant thing or mourn life's greatest tragedies.

She treats them with equal importants, which makes me feel like I am important and that I matter to her. I think that's all anyone really wants in this world, to feel like they matter to someone else.