We recently put up a hammock on our little balcony. It’s not a lie-down one, rather the kind of hammock meant for one person (and a second very small person), and the hammock can then be stretched across so you can lounge in comfort. It’s not very often I get to sit in it, and today is definitely not one of those moments of relaxation – the clouds are dark, the wind is strong and brings about a chill that I feel in my bones and I feel like having a cup of soup and getting under the covers. But the real reason that I don’t lounge in it as often as I should, is that when I’m in it, I feel a little guilty. Like there’s a million other things I should be doing rather than just taking in the view of the mountains and the water and taking a moment to myself.

Every Time I use the words should or guilt then I know I’m in trouble. Should is a word I am constantly trying to tear out of my vocabulary, and it has worked many a time.

The shoulds that have plagued me before:

 - I should be married.  - I should be working.  - I shouldbe excercising.

And the shouldn’ts:

 - I shouldn’t eat this extra slice of cake.  - I shouldn’t be blogging right now.  - I shouldn’t be thinking about vacations at a time like this.

I have slowly worked many shoulds out of my system. After the realisation that shoulds are merely ideas that have become traditional-ised into every one’s minds but aren’t necessarily applicable to all, well that kind of says it right there. They are ideas and not facts, and if it’s not something that is meant to be helpful, than what is it there for?

I should get a real breast exam one day. I should get my skin tested for cancer.

Those types of thoughts are real, serious, ones that are helpful. But who decided that I should or should not have more kids? Isn’t that a personal choice? Where I work, play, eat or go in my life – that’s all up to me.

While growing up and going through the stages of your life (committed relationships/marriages/children/careers/school) there will be people all around you giving you unsolicited advice, telling you what you should and should not do. How you should raise your child, what you should eat to lose those last 10 pounds, that you shoulddiscover your love languages in order for your marriage to work.

These are all personal choices that we give away freely when we agree with the shoulds.

The second you tell yourself, ‘I should raise my child according to this type of parenting style’ you are setting yourself up for failure. This is twice as hard when what worked with the first child doesn’t have a hope of working with the second – I see this again and again: ‘She should be crawling at this age, her older sister was…’  I see this all the time, and all it leads to is failure, according to you. Had there been no should then you would just realise that each person is different and works according their own schedule.

To quote Samantha Jones & Carrie Bradshaw:

As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself a little lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up and just keep going.

So where does this leave me?

In a hammock on a cold day. Hot tea and a good book and a blanket.

Because it’s seriously chilly out today.

xoxo

Fab Brunette

What are the ‘shoulds’ that keep you from living  your life at its’ fullest?

1. I was born in Austria.

2. I don’t read newspapers or watch the news on tv. Unless it’s some kind of catastrophic event that needs to be watched.

3. I asked J to “go steady” to a Robbie Rivera song.

4. I was part of the Comm-Tech Crew in high school.

5. I have never read any Harry Potter books.

6. Previous jobs held include: working in a tanning salon, clothing stores, bath shop, hair stylist & colourist, wedding & events planner, cupcake baker & decorator, bartender, real estate consultant, and call centre receptionist.

7. I immensely dislike mussels and oysters.

8. My nationality is Polish and I’ve never been to Poland.

9.  I love anything to do with King Henry VIII, Shakespeare and anything else from that era in time.

10. There are 2 tattoos on my body and I’m desperately wanting a third.

11. My favourite ice cream is Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked.

12. There are Moleskine notebooks scattered all over the house ready for me whenever inspiration strikes.

13. I have two cell phones: an iPhone and a Blackberry.

14. I own one pair of flat shoes and one pair of runners. The rest are heels.

15. I check dlisted.com & gofugyourself.com more than twice daily.

16. I drink white wine, European or local beer, and lime margaritas, on the rocks.

17. I adore Jessica Simpson. Adore. To the point where I’m sure we’d be best friends IRL.

18. Other celeb loves? Victoria Beckham, Amy Winehouse & Jennifer Anniston.

19. I eat waaay too much pizza.

20. My favourite films include: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Amelie, and Old School.

21. I have lived in 7 different places in the past 7 years.

22. I never ate olives before I met J and now I love them on everything.

23. I have been officially dating J since October 7th, 2003. We met a month prior to that.

24. Favourite musical bands? The Killers, Amy Winehouse & Scooter.

25. I will never ever pass up a cookie. Cookies are my kryptonite.

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What are 5 things I don’t know about you?

Obviously, babies are made the way babies are made, and I won’t get into a thorough discussion about it, since I was never really certain when my precious little Princess was actually created, but nevertheless, sometime at the end of June, I discovered I was pregnant.

It happened at Alice Fazooli’s, a restaurant we had never gone to before but always wanted to, and we sat on the patio and ordered a bucket of Coronita’s. The food was good, the sun was hot, and J and I were carrying on like usual: jokes, kissing, and laughing loud enough to make the tables around us look at us weird. It was then that J said that my boobs looked so huge lately, I shrugged and blamed it on PMS – I was waiting for my period and I felt bloated all over. He then told me that he had a dream that I was pregnant, and that he had noticed a glow lately. I told him to shut up. On the way home we purchased a pregnancy test, and I totally had the feeling that it would come upnegative, and that my period would show up a day later, as it always happens – it’s a conspiracy to purchase expensive pregnancy tests, I tell ya!

Well, the joke was on me, since it gave me a positive. I immediately sent J to the drug store for two more tests, for two different pregnancy test brands. Positive, positive.

My first reaction to pregnancy was probably not the “desired” one. I’m not going to lie, I was very, very upset. Crying. Terrified. I don’t know why, but I was definitely not the 21-year-old jumping for joy at the aspect of being pregnant. This reaction lasted a couple of days, but I most definitely got over it and continued to start the whole pregnancy thing with a thirst for motherly knowledge, doing right by my growing little babyface inside of me, and being very confused on what I was supposed to do/should do. Le sigh, first time motherhood.

Not long after, I went through it all – every part of pregnancy in all its glory. Morning sickness, afternoon sickness, nighttime sickness, long and brutal migraines that lasted for days, pregnancy pops, heartburn, maternity jeans, feet getting fat, finally getting flats about 6 months into my pregnancy – I refused to ever wear flats because I thought they were ugly, I finally gave in when my feet hurt too much and also exploded – what to expect when you’re expecting, boobs enormous, succumbing to H&M maternity and Old Navy maternity wear when I absolutely had to, baby shower, gaining 50 pounds, having the best doctor who said I was okay to gain 50 pounds because I’m apparently tall, watching baby tv (tlc in the afternoon is all baby shows), and scaring myself with labour stories.

I somehow convinced myself that when the baby actually popped out that it may actually pop out in a poof of fairy dust and I it would hurt like a little pinch and I would let out a shriek and there would be no blood/poop/yucky stuff coming out of me or stretching me out. TMI, I know…

Princess’ due date was on February 13th, 2006, and we all were hoping she would be a day late and be a Valentine’s Day baby! Well, my little Princess is a feisty one, known for not really listening to her mom, and having a stubborn-yet-strong mindset of her own.

She came one month early.

On Friday the 13th of January, 2006.

WHO does that? Who chooses their birthday to be on the freakiest day of the year. Surprise, mom, get used to it! You’re in for a lifetime of surprises now!

On the Thursday night before she was born, (this is a little tmi, so if you’re squirmy, get a move on) I was getting some discharge. Browny, almost bloody, but very little stuff. I told J and he said not to worry, and of course, I worry, so I picked up my books, went online, and discovered that this could be my “bloody show”. I was right, because by midnight there was a lot of it, so I called the hospital and they told me to come in right away. My tummy was also hurting a little at this point, so I forced J to get up, who just wanted to sleep btw, but drove me over and we waited to see what would happen.

Let me tell you, I was afraid. They changed me into a hospital gown, and I was bleeding a lot, and no one was telling me anything except that the baby might be coming. To a first time mother, that’s terrifying to not know anything what’s going on. All I knew was that I was bleeding a lot, my tummy was hurting a lot (which I think was a combo of pain and contractions), and J was terrified too. He didn’t think the baby was coming at this point and was sure they might just send us home.

Afterwards I found out that my placenta abrupted. This isn’t too common, and usually occurs when it runs in the family and other things that I didn’t do and didn’t happen to me. My only fear is that I went bowling a few days before that and I was worried that it may have caused it. My doctor assured me it wasn’t the bowling and there’s no way of knowing what happened, but I always think about that.

My water broke around 3 or 4 am, which was a good sign, they preferred it to break naturally rather than the nurse/doctor having to do it. I was also freaking out from the pain, it hurt SO FREAKING MUCH. I remember asking a cute older nurse, “Is it supposed to hurt this much?” She asked me, “Is this your first?” I nodded yes. She told me not too worry, that it’s what happens. And she also promised to run me a bath but that indeed never happened. LOL, the things we remember…

I received an epidural not too long after my water breaking because I was such a wimp. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, J standing in front of me and we were holding hands while the doctor put the needle in my back. I remember I squeezed J’s hands so hard it hurt him, my veins were popping in my arms, and J said he didn’t know how I could have handled that since it was so scary looking. After that, my happy-dural officially kicked in and I was in la la land (does every doc call it a happy-dural? i think so!), the one annoying thing was that the nurse would continually have to check on progress of the baby between my legs, and they would prop my legs up, but I had no feeling in them, I couldn’t hold them up, so my legs would keep falling and getting in the way, and they would look at me. And I’d have to apologize and tell them that I couldn’t do anything because of the meds. Really, I just wanted to kick them, but again, the meds!

They kept checking on me, and I think there was little progress all morning, and I remember getting really thirsty. A nurse was supposed to be getting me something but never returned, so J ventured out in the hospital to get me something to drink – anything! I was dying. And it was at that point that suddenly something happened.

Machines were beeping, nurses were running in doing things, and they told me the baby had wrapped herself with the umbilical cord and we’d have to go get a c-section right now. J was out getting me water, I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t really breath. My throat was SO dry, and I was begging for anyone to get me anything, ICE, anything! I was on the operating table and the doctor told me they couldn’t give me anything, no ice, no water, and I yelled at him but nothing. I kept asking them where J was, I was screaming that someone had to go get him, but nothing. I am used to getting my way, lol, so I yelled again and nothing.

I assume they were starting the c-section, but I literally saw nothing and felt nothing. And they wouldn’t let J in the room. To this day I’m not sure why they told him this, but they said that the baby and myself might not make it. He was terrified (as I am writing his emotions for him, I assume this was the case), but before they pulled her out he was next to me, to the right of my head. I admit I was a little out of it, I don’t remember what we said or if we said anything, but I knew he was there next to me, and that was enough to calm me.

Suddenly, at 8:01 am, little Princess was born, I didn’t see her, but I heard her little cry. And suddenly she was to the left of me on a little bed, screaming with this long tongue of hers, spiky black hair that made her look like Rod Stewart, and she was perfect. Not long after, J had her in his arms, to the left of me, she was bundled up in a blanket and he was holding her, and I remember we thought she was perfect. She was so beautiful, with these long lashes, she was absolutely perfect.

J is the father of a beautiful Princess, who still surprises us everyday, and he truly is the best father one could ask for.

Happy Father’s Day to all the Daddy’s out there!

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This post has been published before last year but I thought I’d share it again I’m spending my weekend on Bowen Island with J and plans include red velvet cake, tattoos and hanging out on the beach! Recap when I get back! Enjoy your weekend!

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about life plans. These thoughts always enter my head rather spontaneously, like the other night at dinner when Mister stepped out to use the bathroom and I was eavesdropping on the table of girls next to me. The girl was describing her coming year like this, “…this fall is going to be crazy for me, I have course A and course B, in August I have this internship finishing up, and then starting February I’ll be working for this and next March we have that week in Australia…”

And I sat there in disbelief wondering how someone could have their whole coming year planned out… I realise it’s quite a bit easier when you do go to school and you have a guideline to where your life is headed, but I’m still in awe of it. Do I have a life plan? Yes, so to speak, but nothing is set in stone, nothing is defined to the point where I can say with all self-assurance that “Yes, this is going to happen in my life in the following year.”

I wasn’t always like this, there was a time where I planned my life completely – as fictional as those plans seemed to be, I believed them to be true – if it was what I wanted, I technically planned for it.

When I was 18 these plans might have looked like this: Dump the guy I’m with, move to Toronto with my best friend and go to school there and live the fabulous single life. None of those happened except dumping the guy I was with. I then met another guy and constructed a different life plan: Marry said guy, have his babies, grow up in Hamilton and live a small and happy life. None of the above happened either, I think we split up a week after I “planned” this. Once I realised nothing I planned/dreamed for actually would happen, I stopped planning so much. I mean, there is a generalization of how I want my life to go: grow up happy, comfortably, travel, eat well, learn to cook – but there are no time limits on my life “plans”.

I recently discussed life plans with a friend and she had a definite idea of where she would be in 3.5 years: She would be working for one more year at her current position, then she would move into the home they purchased and transfer her job to the town she’s moving to, work for another 6 months, go for two weeks to Spain, Italy and Greece on their late honeymoon, have a baby and live happily ever after.

As a mother, I am constantly being asked “What’s in the plans?” “Where is Princess going to elementary school?” A question I’ve been forced to think about since being asked almost daily about it, regardless that registration starts next November and I’m not even sure where I’ll be living when it does come time for Princess to go to school. I suppose many mothers do that – plan their whole lives in order to get some kind of relief, to get a sense of control – mothers are usually the ‘bosses’ and need to do stuff like that. A mom at Princess’ preschool even knows which middle and high schools her daughter will be going to – all I want to know is how do you know you will live in that same house or in the same area for the next 14 years? And yet, they just know.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to know exactly where you’ll be for the next 14, 18, 20 years. But then I think, how unromantic! I mean, it might feel nice to be somewhat ‘stable’, but even as I write that my nose crinkles up as if rotten eggs had just entered the equation.

One thought that comes to mind is this: what happens when life doesn’t go according to plan? People have expectations of this life that’s supposed to happen and then it doesn’t, and then what? Some people pick up the pieces and move on, but others, some who are more fragile, or some who just put all their eggs in one basket and couldn’t even imagine another life, these people are devastated.

Life plans can’t be set in stone because life isn’t concrete. You have to be open to change – people change, life changes – it’s things we always tell ourselves but when faced with the realities of it, we tend to panic – this isn’t how it was supposed to be! this wasn’t how it was planned! I was supposed to be here! I was supposed to be with him or her! But you can’t live like that, no one can.

An acquaintance of mine recently fell apart, I wasn’t close to her but a friend of mine was and we’ve both been an audience in her life tragedy.

She married at 23 years old to a man she had dated for 3 years, they purchased a condo in Vancouver and looked happy. Like really happy. They had tried for years to have babies but it wasn’t easy, and after 9 years of being married she finally has a 6-month old daughter. What we all didn’t know was that her husband has turned down two job opportunities in different cities because she refused to move away from her family, and he’s unhappy in his current workplace. He quit without securing another position and she’s currently on maternity leave. Nevertheless it’s put a strain on their relationship and their financial situation.

She’s in a situation she had never dreamed of and it’s tearing her apart, but the thing you can never say to someone in this type of situation is all I could think of: people change – people don’t fall out of love as easily as you think, but they sometimes fall out of supporting their other half, being there with them through their ups and their downs, and helping them realise that even if life doesn’t go exactly as planned that your love for them will always be there.

I feel like life isn’t about making plans, life is about having fun, sharing moments, giving kisses, taking what life throws our way and making the best of it, and knowing that even if everything doesn’t go according to plans that it will all turn out alright – we will all be okay, even better, we will all be fabulous.

What do you think? Do you make serious and concrete life plans? Or do you take things as they come? How do you feel about life plans?

xoxo

Fab Brunette

The woman behind my torture

Before today, I haven’t worked out for almost a year. Actually it might be over a year, I just don’t want to come off sounding dramatic or overly lazy. Let’s just say I haven’t had an honest to goodness workout in a long long time. And that’s not to say that I don’t want to excercise. I want to be fit. I look at joggers with envy. I’ve lived in my building for almost 3 months and haven’t worked out in my gym once. FREE GYM. On the roof of my building. And I haven’t worked out there once. I know.

I’m lazy.

I own brand new Nike running shoes (white with a pink swoosh) to ‘motivate’ me to work out. I purchased them 5 months ago. I own a purple yoga mat. I own fitness dvds. I have access to all this stuff and it goes unused. I whine, whine, whine about how I don’t fit in my skinny jeans. I eat health foods and I eat crap. I kind of tip the scale on the crap side. Whatever.

It was a boring afternoon spent indoors, both my daughter & I recovering from a combination of cough & cold, and she jumps up and says “Let’s excercise!”. Now I’m completely aware that she actually just wants to play with my yoga mat. But I said, okay.

But before I put on my 30-Day Shred dvd for the first time, I hesitated and consulted Twitter, asking everyone – Is this really 20 minutes? Is it really that hard? - and everyone basically laughed at me for thinking 20 minutes could be easy. So I did it.

Don't we all want to look like this?

I put it on. I listened to Jillian ramble about health and doctors and crap. And then we started.

I swear, five minutes into this workout I was swearing under my breath. F*in’ wh*re. Over and over. My daughter gave up and took to lying down on the yoga mat after 8 minutes, she’s four years old by the way and hasn’t exactly mastered a jumping jack. I kept going because stupid perky girl on tv was telling me I had to. Or else it wouldn’t work. F U. And I actually liked the girls in the video because they actually looked fit, you know? And not just scrawny. Like, the girl on the right has my thighs. And then – Oh my god. More pain. I was SO happy when the ‘cool down’ started. SO HAPPY.

I was sore for five days. I haven’t done it again.

Everyday I tell myself, let’s just do it, come on. But the whole stigma with excercising is the sweating and the shower and the doing the hair and makeup all over again crap. I know it’s a garbage excuse. I know I need to work on it. I feel better when I work out. I’m happier when I work out. I know I need to just do it. And I will. I promise.

xoxo

Fab Brunette

ps. The whole point of working out is to look like a Victoria’s Secret model or Jennifer Aniston, right? Or, if anything, to just strut around in a pantyhose-only outfit a la Gaga.

It’s very hard to admit defeat. As a self-proclaimed perfectionista even the thought of failing throws me into fits and you’ll find me in the closet clutching my  knees to my chest and pretending my bubble didn’t just burst. And that’s exactly where I thought I’d be right now, but somehow it has eluded me – the closet, not the failure.

Many of you are aware of how last year I started my own cupcake catering company, Le Petit Cupcakery. It’s cute and adorable and I had found passion! I had found something I loved doing and could make money off of it! The company started as a small at-home web-based company, my only advertising was my website and networking with wedding planners and their clients. Business started getting good.

I was in Toronto, it was summer and I was doing large cupcake orders almost weekly, smaller ones every week. My friends even started paying for my services, which was a huge deal to me since I was always bringing samples to their parties for free. I started looking at cupcake blogs and baking blogs and found that other people started off selling their goods at home too! I was inspired!

And this cupcake baking was fun! I experimented with flavours, fillings, frostings – I tested, tested, tested! I ate, I fed, I donated – and everyone around me loved it. For once I felt like I could actually do something right, MYSELF. No one else was the boss of me, I was my own boss and I had the loving support of my boyfriend and my family.

Upon our impending move to Vancouver, I almost begged a friend to take over the cupcakery in Toronto, so I could have two locations – but people have their own lives, and really, it was an at-home business. It wasn’t a shop that someone can come in and run perfectly, it was tried and tested and re-tested to perfection, but it was all in my head. I didn’t have the time to train anyone else, even the eager ones, so I just settled with closing up shop in Toronto.

I know in the back of my head that I could’ve made it happen somehow, remaining open in Toronto, having two locations country-wide – but I just didn’t want to. Too much work and effort – and I was going to use all of that up in Vancouver attempting to re-open and find a new clientele in a place I’ve never been before.

A little history on the cupcake scene in Toronto – it is pretty huge and awesome. There are about 10 or so big bakeries, all independently owned. Every shop is different, every cupcake is different and every person you know might prefer a different cupcake shop than you. Competition-wise it was pretty great because everyone offered something different.

In Vancouver, it’s not like this at all. There are two main cupcake offerings you’ll find in Vancouver – one simply called Cupcakes, the other Big City Cupcakes. Cupcakes has 5 locations citywide, BCC has 9, scattered throughout the Greater Vancouver Area. This was big time. Now that’s a little daunting.

I had always dreamed of opening up my own shop, but realised that without proper money backing up and proper contracts to back me up, I wasn’t going to make a lot of money.

Little cupcake & cake shops make the majority of their money on corporate contracts and weddings. Walk-in clientele obviously accounts for some of the money, but when you add up how many $3 cupcakes you have to sell to pay the lease, it gets scary. I always knew I’d have to network myself to huge companies and try to get all the weddings to go through my little company, but sometimes I’d look at it and not know where to begin.

So I settled with being an at-home cupcake baker, at least for the time being.

After arriving in Vancouver, I received an email to join a bakers market – a place where all different kinds of independent & at-home bakers and food creators came to sell their goods. Amazing! I was so excited and I baked up over 200 cupcakes for my first market! I had planned on selling my cupcakes for $2.75 & $3.25, but when I got there I realised there was another person who sold cupcakes. For the cheap price of $2.00. I dropped my price to $2.25 but it still felt so sucky.

It sucks when you know you’re not making money. You’re barely breaking even. But you tell yourself it’s to get your name out there, it’s to talk to people, let them have a taste and all that. Week after week I went to the market, but because of poor advertising and bad location, less and less people showed up every week, meaning less profit and more feelings of wasting my Saturdays doing almost nothing.

I met a lot of great people there though, and it was definitely fun, if not very productive. I saw all the amazing things people were baking and making – truffles and specialty chocolates, bundt cakes, marshmallows – everything homemade and special with cute packaging and branding. And then I started looking at my cupcakes, and, you guessed it, I stopped believing in my product.

You see, to sell something you really need to believe in it, if there’s even a flicker of doubt in your eyes or your voice people will know that you don’t believe in  your cupcake wholeheartedly. When you drop your price by over a dollar, that’s your first sign. I was selling a product that didn’t wrap up well, wasn’t in cute packaging, didn’t last for more than a few days, and I started to feel defeated.

I ended up not going back to the market after a few more weekends. I started feeling like it was the wrong place for me, I mean, how many sweets can people buy on a Saturday morning? I started looking for other markets to go to, other places to sell my cupcakes, but my search didn’t go very far, my heart wasn’t in it. And then I discovered another cupcake baker, an amazing one, who works from home and has a huge following and does like really outstanding designs – and then I start to feel more defeated.

I still had hope for my business though, but no real plan, no written down goals – just that I wanted to make it. I started getting orders again, and it was great – more weddings and birthdays and cakes to make – but it started to feel like a chore.

I think the general consensus when choosing to do something you love as a carrer is that it won’t feel like a real job. And that’s really why you choose to ‘do something you love’ – you think it will be easy and fun and profitable. When it started to feel like a job, I felt backed up into a corner, I felt like I had lied to myself – I didn’t want a real job, I wanted to have fun and make money and make people happy – not this!

I started reading about jobs and self-fulfillment and bad career choices. And then I thought a lot. A whole lot.

When I think I internalize everything. I kind of shut down and stop listening to people’s advice and just am silent for a while – and this is mainly because my head won’t stop talking, it just talks, talks, talks, pointing out what could happen if I do this, and where this will go, and what I’d have to do for this… and I don’t really feel too crazy but I can’t get my words out properly.

So I made the decision to shut down Le Petit Cupcakery.

I called my remaining clients.

I cancelled contracts.

I wrote emails and made phone calls.

And a huge wave of relief washed over me.

I finally figured it out, after twenty-six years of living, of trying to run from responsibilities and maturity and just trying to have fun all the time without really knowing what I was doing.

Instead of doing something I love, I should find something I love doing.

Find something you’re good at and love that.

I’m starting to feel grown-up, and I always feared being old, being an adult, actually feeling like a grown-up. But I don’t, not at all. Instead, I feel more balanced and happy and just realising that there actually is more to life than just wanting to go out and party and waste money and accomplish nothing.

I want to accomplish something.

Through failure I’ve discovered a lot about myself. Things you fear are actually good for you – all of it. Afraid of having kids, afraid of quitting jobs, afraid of shutting down something you built up – it’s all for something.

I even feared writing this post.

But I’m definitely glad I did it.

xoxo

Fab Brunette

When I was young my grandmother visited from Poland.  Knowing her fully explains why I am the way I am.

She is a strong woman. Someone who changes her mind without whim, voices her opinion and gets her hair done every week like clockwork. She dresses well, she likes sweets and she enjoyed spoiling me, a lot.

She came and visited for two weeks when I was about four or five years old, my younger sister was just born so it was nice to finally have someone to spoil me. She would walk me to school and back and buy me sweets and ice creams on the way home.

I remember there was a thunderstorm and the lightning turned the sky a frightening red, my grandma told me it was because God was angry.

She always looked nice. She was distinguished.

She did not come from a rich home, she was not a rich lady, but she always lived well and had a happy life.

Since the time she has visited I have not seen her again. Twenty years have passed and these memories still stay with me. I want to visit her soon, and she how she’s changed, show her my family and maybe get our hair done together.

xoxo

Fab Brunette