Lucy in the Sky

I hope this doesn’t sound cliché but my daughter means the world to me. She is my rainbow baby because she was born after the storm. The storm being that the year prior to her birth her brother was born still at 27 weeks gestation. I don’t wish a stillbirth on anyone and so wish that families in this day and age would be spared the pain of such a loss. But I constantly see new members join my support group and am sadden that I have to have such a link with these amazingly strong women. It isn’t fair.

Me, Myself, and I

I’m optimistic but realistic. I get bored with my projects easily but love helping others who are bored with their tasks. I just found out that I can type 65 wpm. I love political shows but hate politicians. I use to enjoy shows like 48 Hours, 20/20, and Dateline but since my daughter was born I’ve become hyper sensitive to their segments. I’ve noticed that each blow in life acts like a bridge to get to the other side. The other side is always much brighter. I just resumed Yoga and Pilates and was surprised how much abdominal strength I lost when I had my C-section earlier this year.

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Jobby Job

My days as the marketing director for the only indoor mall in the Virgin Islands were golden. I was able to intertwine my love of people with event coordination and sprinkle a little travel all over the Lesser Antilles. The pay was great and it gave me the flexibility to enjoy the pristine jewel that I lived on. I got the job when I was straight out of college because I was relatively young I had to prove myself over and over. The challenge was worth it though since I forged great relationships in the process. I’ve been off the island for 7 years now but because of that experience I will always have little pockets all over that rock that I can call home.

The Wrong Kind of Love, or Is It?

I’m in love with my car.  There, I said it, and I meant it.  It’s a red convertible, what’s not to love?  Every errand becomes a little vacation when the top is down and the stereo volume is turned up. I’ve owned the car for three years and I still adore it as much as the day I first met it.  The stars are still in my eyes.  My love is a demanding love, that’s for sure.  It requires regular cleaning and buffing and polishing and dinners of gas, water and oil.  It expects to have its every need attended to quickly.  It even requires jewelry, like an extra bit of chrome here, a pair of fuzzy dice there, tire valve covers with “jewel” ends. It seems to be inseparable from somebody named TomTom, though.  Should I be jealous?