Nothin' some penis can't fix

I am pretty sure, judging from the tiny amount of pee that came out (Ease UP, you guys, I said TINY AMOUNT!!!  I *AM* aware that you all know about my past sharting episode, but rest assured, I am not incontinent. Yet.) that I laughed harder last night than I have in quite some time.  Here's why...

OK, so part of the reason I've been slightly MIA lately is because our hard drive crashed (I am sooooo thanking 8 lb. 6 oz. newborn infant Jesus for Carbonite about now!!!) & also because of THIS...

Meet Cash (AKA Butters), 10 weeks old, our new, furry whippet son

What'd I doooooo?!?!?!
(Ummmm, for starters, you chewed the shit out of our weed guard under the deck steps where no one can get to you, shit on the exposed dirt, then ate your own semi-soft/watery-from-transitioning-dog-foods turds, buddy.  I am soooo submitting this pooch to that website, Dog Shaming.  OMFG!)

Despite my trash talkin', I LOVE THIS DOG!  He is not only incredibly charming, flat-out GORGEOUS, and very smart, but he also already has us wrapped around his little finger paw!  We are in full-on potty training mode mixed with some serious teething hoopla.  He is affectionately called "Gator" due to his lightning-fast, chomping jaws.  Hard to stay mad at him too long though... he's too damn cute!  

We finally remembered last night that we had an old Bully Stick laying around from Romeo's horrific teething days, and we decided to bust out that big boy to see if Cash wanted a piece of that action.

(Side Note:  For those of you unfamiliar with Bully Sticks, you NEED to get on it (pun intended!).  The first time I saw them was in a local, upscale pet shop.  It was meaty and irregular-looking, and I just assumed that it was some type of dehydrated beef or something.  Not quite.  Bully Stick = dehydrated bull penis.  NO LIE!  And TRUST ME when I tell you that all dogs LOOOOOVE them some bull schlong!!!  HA!)

Cash was no exception.  He seriously went to town on good ol' Mr. Knish.  Observe...

Truly the John Holmes of bulls here

Double-pawin' that baby-maker!

Ignore the apparent vein on the underside of this love rod... slightly too graphic for my blog.
Wait, who am I kidding?!?!

Doggie porn!  Butters has a new BFF!
Fun fact for ya'... bull penises range in length from 30-40" when erect.  Lucky cows!  That's a long bratwurst!  HA!

Hey-oooooooo!!!

Cal said, "This pic is hilarious -- that penis is highlighted on Dad's face!"
God, I love that boy o' mine.

Notice Romeo's not-so-subtle interest in Cash's Magic Stick

Drop that shaft & no one gets hurt!!!
Poor Pocket is mortified!

PENIS ENVY!!!  Straight up.
(And HANDS DOWN, this is my favorite pic of the bunch!)
Check out the mayhem that is this whole scene... Baby Puppy gettin' jiggy with his bull junk (which Scott happens to be holding for him to chew right over his own package!), big doggie brother attempting to steal said pecker, old dog sniffing his younger brother's crank, the girls refusing to make eye contact, Cal/Scott/Me laughing uncontrollably off-camera.  It's a wonder this pic isn't blurry from the camera shaking due to my hysterics!
HOT MESS!!!!!!!

This manhood is MINE!  All miiiiiiine.

Mr. Happy is a bit hard (to handle)!

So, as we watch this scene unfold, I get to wondering about the Bully Sticks & whether they contain any additional hormones/testosterone/etc.  Here's our dialogue:

Me:  So, is it safe for a 10 week old puppy to chew on bull winkies?!

Scott:  I don't know -- probably?!  He seems happy!

Me:  Should I be concerned that Cash will get hooked on the skin flute & get too much testosterone & be all aggressive & grow too much & his balls will shrivel up & he'll be all muscled out & shit?

Scott:  I doubt it.

Me:  I mean, he already appears to be larger than Romeo was at this same age... what if this makes him grow to like 45 pounds or something?!  Too much penis could be a bad thing?!  (I whisper to Scott, "Neverrrrrrr!!!!!" HA!)

It was then that our darling, precious, 13 year old son chimes in with, "We need to give Pocket some penis."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me, between laughs:  WHAT?!?!?  HAHAHAHAHA!  WHYYYYY, CAL?!?!?!  HAHAHAHHAAAA!!!

Cal:  TO GET HER TO GROW!!!  We need to grind that penis up & put it in her bottle!

----- MORE LAUGHS/SILENT LAUGHS/TEARS!!!!! -----

Scott, after finally catching his breath:  Why don't you Google it & see if it's safe?!

Me, post Google action:  Says online it's a safe, healthy, high-protein treat that all dogs REALLY enjoy.  That peen's a keeper!

Post-phallus exhaustion/afterglow at its finest.  I love my family!!!

"I nicknamed my penis 'The Truth' because bitches can't handle it." ~ Unknown cocky bull

PS ~ You're welcome for the 19 slang penis references throughout this post.  And you're also welcome that I didn't use more.  I am ashamed that I only exhausted approximately one third of my wanker synonym list.  (Make that an even 20!)

xoxo

Thank God for angels & waterproof mascara!

If you missed the first half of this post, click HERE to read how my morning began... WOW.

Lately I have had this feeling that somehow I am drawing many deeply emotional experiences to myself, and it has been rather difficult to understand why or make sense of so many of these encounters.  It is happening many times weekly, and I would never avoid going out in public because of it, but I definitely think there must be some reason I'm meant to cry on strangers' shoulders in public and expose my soul for the world to see.  I am hoping that by talking these feelings out that I am able to grow from them and possibly help others in similar situations along the way.

Incident #2 -- After my encounter with my Asian angel, I gathered myself, wiped away a few tears, grabbed the last few items I needed, and headed to check out. I had kind of forgotten about the whole bawling-and-hugging-in-the-aisle thing when a mother and daughter filed in behind me at the check-out line.  We discussed the muffins they were buying, making small talk while I waited for my receipt.  Just as I was leaving, the mother said, "I'm not sure why I feel compelled to give this to you, but I just do."  She reached into her purse and pulled out a beautiful bookmark with a picture of a little girl as well as contact information and, handing it to me, she said, "My daughter died in 2004.  I have written a book about it, and I just wanted you to have this.  Feel free to look me up online.  Take care..."  (At least I think that is what she said...she lost me after "My daughter died in 2004.")  I am speechless.  The first thing that came to my mind was that I wanted her to know about my girls.  I didn't have one of their flyers with me, no pen to even write down my blog URL, and so, sounding like a complete dumbass, I reply, "OK, ummm, thanks.  I'm so sorry about your daughter... bye..." 

I then push my cart toward the door, stopping halfway to the exit when I realize I left my groceries sitting on the check-out stand.  I go back, grab them while also finagling the shopping cart with Lola inside, see this woman again, stammer "Mmmkay, thanks again!  Take care..." like I am suddenly 12 again and awkwardly trying to find the perfect words to say to that hot guy I'm in lust with but only jumbled bullshit comes out instead.  I am a complete disaster.

I finally get to my car & hurriedly grab the bookmark.  Just then, I see them exit the store, and I watch in my rear view mirror to see that she and her daughter are now in their car but still parked as well.  I wonder if I should go talk to them, maybe tell the woman how touched I am she reached out to me.  Perhaps delve deeper into WHY she felt compelled.  Ask to hear her story.  But I decide against it... I will contact her online where I can process my thoughts more clearly.  Yes.  That is what I will do.  

The bookmark reads at the top... "Sometimes we call for help.  Sometimes help calls us."  Hmmmm...

More tears… It's only 10:00 AM, and I've already cried three times. Fucking PMS.  I won't even go there regarding the earlier incident, as the tears didn't actually exit my eyelid vector quadrants.  So basically that doesn't really count, right?!  

I arrive home, get online, and I find this woman's blog, only to discover that she has lost not one, not two, but three children, one of whom was a son with anencephaly.  I wonder if she reached out to me because she noticed the similar look that my Lola has in relation to the dear son that she lost.  I wonder if she just sensed that I needed to hear her story.  Did she somehow pick up on these deep-seated emotions within my heart which encircle the whole death/dying issue -- my own losses of loved ones, my inability to fully understand why this occurs to those "before their time," and the literal soul-crushing fear which I continually push away regarding possibly losing my own girls someday?  Does she know that every penny tossed in a fountain, every candle blown out, every shooting star witnessed signifies a bazillion wishes for MORE TIME with these beautiful souls?  I would literally take years off my own life if it meant that I wouldn't have to voyage down that dark path for MANY more years to come.  They mean THAT.  MUCH.

Maybe that's just it... the intensity of this life, this love, these relationships... it is felt by ALL.  

I wish I knew what it is about me that seems to draw these emotional experiences to myself time and time again. Maybe just thinking that thought alone allows it to occur repeatedly?  And why I am meant to encounter such emotionally difficult situations?  Am I meant to grow from these experiences?  Are they?  Is it chance?  Is it possible it's NOT?  All I know is that I've got to get better at dealing with these moments... maybe prepare myself better somehow.  I need to pack some of the girls' informational flyers into my purse or have some prepared-ahead-of-time, cry-proof responses lined out in advance.  Because for fuck's sake, I can't keep crying in grocery stores and hugging complete strangers. (And sadly, this was not the first time!!!) Or can I? Or maybe I am supposed to?!

I just feel like I am thrust into this bright-ass spotlight on an almost daily basis with the girls.  I am approached, questioned, and our family is dissected over and over again by complete strangers.  I am honored they ask me questions vs. pointing and whispering from afar.  Many times I have deeper conversations with these strangers than with those close to me.  Often I DO cry, and so do they.  These discussions are powerful, deep, life-changing... just wish I understood.  Maybe -- even though I'm 11+ years down this road -- I still wonder WHY?

I pray for clarity regarding my role as the girls' mother -- why or how I am meant to teach/boohoo with/influence/scar for life/reach out to so many people without necessarily wanting that to be my responsibility 24/7.  I think there is a very real possibility that I'm just not emotionally strong enough to shoulder my own fears as well as everybody else's fears for my children.  Though maybe my gift is my ability to reverse their sadness for what they perceive my life really entails -- to show them that happiness is a choice no matter what your situation.  

Regardless, I am PRIVILEGED to be Cal, Claire & Lola's mother, the most precious, important "job" I have ever known.

xo

“There are too many people praying for the mountains of difficulty to be removed, when what they really need is the courage to climb them.” ~Raili A. Jeffery

My Asian Angel

I'll be damned if I'm not an emotional magnet.  I must be somehow puttin' out vibes to the universe which persistently scream out this shit:

"PUH-LEEEEASE STOP ME out in public whilst I'm in the middle of livin' my life and ask me a f*ckton of questions about our girls, get ultra-personal, damn near "cross that line," and for baby Jesus' sake, BRING ME TO TEARS, you ASSHOLE, because for some reason, on SOME MF level, I NEED THAT RIGHT NOW IN MY LIFE."

WTFFFFFFFFFFF?????  (I've always wanted to use "whilst" in a sentence -- BOOM!)

OK, so here's a couple of examples, both of which occurred yesterday morning before 10:00 am...  

[Mind you, I am normally barely out of bed by this time (thank you, pseudo-angelic Lola, for keeping your dear mother up beyond 3:00 am every. single. night.  And stop already with the whoooooo-ing & hanging upside down & seeing all 20/10 in the dead of night, yo.  I got it.  You're NOCTURNAL.  Brat!  But OMFG, I love you soooo...]

Watching me, watching you

Incident #1 -- Yesterday at the health food store, I was stopped by a 60-ish, endearing Asian man while picking out baby food for Lola (who was in her infant carrier in the shopping cart at the time).  With kind eyes and a smile, he asked me if I was trying to optimize my daughter's nutrition, or something to that effect.  I explained that yes, I was trying to find some baby food for Lola that didn't have a bunch of added ingredients.  He then asked me if she had a medical condition. I attempted to explain microcephaly, cerebral palsy, & dwarfism to him (figured 3 of her diagnoses were enough to mention), which proved to be a bit of a struggle due to some language barriers at this point.  He told me that he was sorry and that he felt like this was something that I had to - or must - take care of.  He said this with sadness and pity. 

Immediately, I felt the need to correct him for feeling sorrowful, as if that was my ultimate responsibility to our girls and myself.  I explained, "The girls have blessed us very much in our lives.  They bring us SO much joy.  We are lucky to be their parents."  He said, "You have more than one child?"  I said, "Yes, we have a 13 year old typical son and an older daughter at home with the same condition who is 11.  Lola here is 6."  This gentleman repeatedly blinked his eyes hard, shook his head left to right and said, "SHE IS 6???  This is a big responsibility for you.  You have a very good attitude.  Can your other daughter walk?"  This question ALWAYS sets me off when I hear it.  I remember back to life BC (Before Claire) and seeing individuals who could not walk, and for me, that was the saddest situation EVER.  Since having the girls, I realized how little that matters in the grand scheme of things.  What matters most is TIME spent together, enjoying each present moment we are given, and having so much f*cking fun that you cannot even stand it. 

I reply, "No, she cannot walk."  He looks down at the ground and seems heartbroken.  He thinks for a moment then says, "Maybe she doesn't know she can't walk?"  I reply, "EXACTLY.  She just knows love and happiness.  Her life is filled with it."  He smiles.  He then mentions that having this occur must be similar to adopting a child – you don't know what kind of health that child will have prior to the adoption, yet you take your chance anyway.  I understand where he is coming from and indicate that the situations are quite similar, though I want nothing more than to spew honesty while possibly bursting his bubble by adding that NONE OF US are promised that everything will go "perfectly" with any baby, whether we give birth to that baby or adopt him/her into our family.  There are no guarantees, but yes, we make the choice to simply love it all with everything inside of us because regardless, they are OUR BABIES... but I decide against it mostly because I know saying this will make me cry... and as much as I want to blame the f*ckin' PMS for this sudden emotion, I cannot...

This sweet man just kept saying that this must be very hard for us, very difficult to take this on. I kept explaining that there were challenges, but that the girls were like little problems that I had the privilege of solving, but that I enjoyed it and they literally completed our lives.  He just kept telling me over and over what a great attitude that I had.  I wanted to tell him how easy it would be to succumb to the sadness and hate God and hate "THIS LIFE" and cry all the time and constantly hate on all the shitty health struggles we see with Claire & Lola because SO MANY choose that path, but that WE HAVEN'T.  We chose HAPPINESS instead.  But again, I decide against it... mostly for fear of losin' it yet again in a public place. (This is becoming my M.O., dammit.  And WHY again?!)

At the end, he even mentioned reincarnation and said that I must owe the girls BIG for something from a past life, and then he laughed.  I did too.  NO ONE had ever said anything like that to me before!  I immediately wondered if he might be right on some level.  I know it's controversial and may not line up with what everyone believes in, but I am 99.99% sure that this is the EXACT life I am supposed to be living, there are no accidents, and probably we DID choose each other long ago... (Thank you, Sam, for reinforcing that belief!)

I had so much I still needed to do that morning, but it was clear that this darling man needed to talk this out, so I let him continue.  He then mentioned traditional medicine and how that was probably not too beneficial since the girls are basically charting their own courses.  He inquired about alternative medicine, which is right up my alley.  I briefly discussed the modalities we used and how effective they are for the girls.  I thought our conversation was drawing to a close, as it had been probably 10 minutes long at this point when he looked at me with care in his eyes and said, "This is a great responsibility for you, and I am so glad that you have the strength to do it and those in your life to help support you."  Something about this honest moment, these few minutes of analysis about my life and my daughters' existence on this very day was just too much.  I am blaming the sleep deprivation and hormones for this, but once again, I started to well up.  My ability to blink away the tears & push the emotions away failed.  He could see my vulnerability, my fears, the layers of my "strength" stripped away.  

At that moment, he motioned and asked if it was okay for him to give me a hug.  Yep, there I was in the middle of the baby food aisle hugging a total stranger with tears in my eyes and emotions flooding my soul.  "Have a wonderful day," he said, as he walked away down the long aisle with his cart.  I literally put a jar back on the shelf and glanced back to see where he was -- mere seconds later -- and he was gone.  I left the store shortly thereafter myself and I never saw him again in the store nor in the parking lot.

I struggled like hell to analyze this conversation in my mind, remember all that was said, and maybe uncover the meaning behind it.  Throughout the entire discussion, I felt like I was the one educating him about this life we lead and trying to ease his mind about us being "OK" -- even HAPPY -- because as I've said before, we live in complete JOY 99% of the time in The Hooligan Household!  It wasn't until I wrote this blog that I realized maybe it wasn't ME who taught this man, but perhaps THIS MAN who taught me.

No accidents, babyyyy.  Meant.  To.  Be.

INCIDENT #2  ~  TO BE CONTINUED...

Living inside the hope

I read lots of blogs online, and a common theme I've been seeing lately has to do with writer's block.  No one seems to know what to chalk this up to -- stress, busy summer, lack of motivation, nothing going on, sexual tension, you name it.  It happens.  Though right now, FOR ME, it isn't the reason I've not been writing more often, though I almost wish it was.

Lord knows I have enough content to blog about.  Life is crazy with a side of batshit crazy over here at The Hooligan household 24/7.  I say that lovingly because my life ROCKS, and I seriously would not change a thing.  OK, I might change one... and that one thing has been weighing on me for probably 6-9 months now.  I hate to dwell on it, bring it up, perseverate over it, or even draw ANY attention to it whatsoever for fear that by acknowledging it, it will draw more of the same to us.  (You know I love me somma "The Secret" by Rhonda Byrne)

But I'm almost to the point where I just feel like if I DON'T get some of this out, I may seriously self-implode.  It's just TOO MUCH.

Ok, fine.  I am worried about my girl.  There, I said it.

(This kind of feels freeing to say but also makes me want to bawl, dammit.)

I won't bore you with the details about WHY or what's going on specifically, because as I type this, she's on my lap & I think my heart-who-is-not-capable-of-walking-but-who-still-is-"walking"-around-outside-my-body may just have actually FELT the release that came with me actually ADMITTING these fears, because she immediately tried to barf down my cleavage.  My girl's got good aim, yo.  Cleavage & crotch, babyyyyy!  Narrow miss there.

This life... it's just so emotional.  These extremes are hard to even quantify... as mentioned before, the highest of highs and lowest of lows.  I stay firmly locked & loaded in the "highest of highs" as often as I can, because honestly, I love it there.  Life is happy & joyous & full & I thrive when I am there.  Damn these "lowest of lows" which try to creep in, sabotaging & attempting to steal my joy!  They blow.

Shouldering these feelings, the worries, the fears, the what-ifs, the probablies, the prognoses, the expectations, the disappointments, the whys, the backslides... ALL this bullshit... it can be too much.  And lately, for the past several months, I've felt that more so than maybe ever before.

We have this innate desire to FIX THINGS as parents.  And I feel it even more with our girls, especially Lola.  And feeling the need to fix -- for me -- indicates that there is something WRONG, which I do NOT want to admit or buy into, because I totally believe she is here doin' her thang, livin' her own little dream, and not wishing for things to BE different.  I have to remind myself of this -- that it's all unfolding just as it should.  No mistakes.  No accidents.  No fuck-ups.  And as my friend, Chris, told me the other day, "If we didn't have struggles, we wouldn't appreciate the serene times."  Just what I needed to hear.

We're gonna figure this out.  We're going to optimize the shit out of her incredible, little life.  And we're going to be better because of it, having learned from the struggles & submersing ourselves firmly in these struggles so we can grow.  We got this...

Ya' sure, beyotch?!

Never been more sure of anything in my life.

"The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for.  And the most you can do is live inside that hope." ~Barbara Kingsolver

xo

My Olympic moment

I am preparing myself FULLY for the fact that I am gonna have a flat ass (that'll be a first!) & probably gain 10 pounds these few weeks the Olympics are on, because I am GOING to park it on the couch & watch these Games.  Start to finish, babyyyy.  I have been anticipating these for a good year, always talking about 2012 & when the Olympics finally rolled back around.  There is just something about them... they captivate me.  They draw me in & make me feel patriotic & cry & live through the athletes' experiences and performances & yell at the TV & get into things like trampolining (hey, speaking of, how 'bout my boy Double Dong winnin' the men's gold?!  Dude's the shit!!!) and handball (Scott's been playing for years!) and swimming (Michael Phelps and his ultra low-rise suit those killer abs may or may not come to me in dreams...) and gymnastics (YEAH, GABBY & TEAM USA!!!) and synchronized diving (gonna be honing my skillz on this one) and table tennis (Wang blew it!) and badminton and synchronized swimming (on tap yesterday was "Broken Doll" vs. "Angry Dragon" -- Cal was MORTIFIED!) and OH MY GOD (!), I could go on & on.  I love it all.  (OK, maybe not ALL... yesterday's 3 straight hours of water polo made me borderline suicidal.  Just kidding... but I did actually leave the couch during that stretch.  Ha!)

Mmmmkay, so I have been hesitant to write about my own personal experience and/or ties to the Olympics because I felt like a big, fat braggart (first use of this word EVER -- 2 points for me!) telling my story.  But then I realized that it was like 16 years ago & I am so HONORED to have had this opportunity & it was really f'ing cool, so WHY NOT document it here?  Most people don't even know I did this, even many who are close to me.  It seems like light years ago, yet yesterday all at the same time.

OK, so I carried the torch for the Atlanta 1996 Olympics.  And I can honestly say... it.  was.  AWESOME!!!! 

Back in the day, I used to be a distance runner.  I loved it.  It was my LIFE.  I lived/ate/breathed/slept/idolized distance running.  I ended up getting a division I scholarship to run, and while I was there, my performances slipped, and I was eventually diagnosed with a non-life threatening heart defect.  My running career ended when I was 21, at the very time I thought it would be taking off.  Since I was a little girl, I'd always dreamt of competing in the Olympics.  I busted my ass year-round with the sport I loved, so when my career ended, this was literally a life-changing blow.  Who WAS I besides a runner?  What were my goals for my life NOW?  What would I do if I wasn't travelling & training & studying & researching running???  I literally had to overhaul my ENTIRE LIFE. 

Looking back now, I am pretty sure I was meant to stop running... to find who I was BESIDES just a runner.  To focus on other things... family, my future, work, etc.  It was terrifying, but also, the more time that passed, it was freeing.  

I won't lie to you and tell you that it didn't hurt... that it wasn't one of the most difficult things I ever had to do up to that point in my life -- to give up something I LOVED.  That probably did define me.  That had brought me success & joy & some of the most rewarding moments of my life.  Because it SO did.  SUCKED the big one.  I cried a lot & basically was a real bitch to be around.  It was such a loss of a dream... a HUGE, important dream I'd dreamt since I was 9.  

I had moved on the best I could, figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, gotten engaged, and found new happiness when I was told that I'd been nominated to carry the Olympic torch for the Atlanta 1996 Games.  I was elated and overjoyed and nervous and so freakin' excited... just no words adequate enough to describe how this made me feel.

The below pictures document my experience.  They are clearly NOT DIGITAL, they've been hacked up to fit in a picture album (thanks, Mom!  HA!  LOVE YOU!), and finally scanned in & of course Photoshopped to make my boobs bigger & thighs smaller.  KIDDING!!!  Hope you enjoy these... reliving this has been so beautiful.  Glad I can share this with all of you.

This picture of Yours Truly ran in our local paper, describing the upcoming torch run.

Me & my Dad at the press conference announcing the torch bearers from our area

My friend, Sue Watson, who also carried the torch that day

Getting all checked in, meeting everyone, getting the lowdown of what was to come

(And YES, I DID cornrow my hair.  It took HOURS, but I was sure it would make a statement, be cool (as it was hot as f*ck outside that summer!), and look badass.  Seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime event, so figured I should have once-in-a-lifetime hair?!?!?  Not sure I succeeded in all that shit, but I rocked it hard!  Or at least I'm pretending I did.)

Receiving our torches

Learning how to turn that bad boy on!  You had to push up & clockwise on the bottom of the torch so it would release the gas to ignite the flame!  (NO PRESSURE!)

REPRESENT!

Getting off the bus at the location where I would receive the flame  ~  I was so stoked to see many of my friends and family there to watch!  

What a tool.  OMG.

The lead car... meant the flame was almost there!

Lighting my torch...

The look on our faces says it all... SO.  F*CKING.  EXCITED!

Every torch bearer had someone who ran by them so that in the event that anything happened to us, the "assistant" could step in and safely deliver the flame to the next person.   

Making the pass-off, after about a 1/2 mile run

Overcome with emotion... I grabbed his hand, teared up, and made the exchange.  SO BLESSED.

What a complete puss... whining about my arm hurting.  That beyotch was HEAVY!!!

(PS -- Nice bowl-cut, Scott!)

It was such a privilege for me to see the excitement in the kids' eyes, too.

My fam

So you can imagine my delight in seeing how the torch was passed on at the Opening Ceremonies itself, days later... I literally was bawling as Janet Evans passed the flame to none other than Muhammad freakin' Ali.  

I will forever be grateful for this experience, the situation which allowed this to be a possibility, and for my own little personal connection to The Games.  I will never forget how special that day was and how all of it shaped my life, prepared me for what lay ahead, and made me remember what is really important in my life.

xo

Pierre de Coubertin (founder of modern Olympic Games)
"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part; the essential thing in life is not conquering but fighting well."