a tribute of sorts to Access Schools

tonight, i spoke to a group of pretty important people at Access Schools in Little Rock.  

if you've followed Max's journey, you'll know that Access is where he first received outpatient therapy and later attended preschool for three years.  

i was asked to talk about what Access meant to me.  to us, to his family.  

my Daddy wanted me to share the speech.  

mostly because he's my Daddy.  

but i thought i would put it here too...because Access changed our lives.  

and if i need to keep hollering about the magic that exists inside those doors, i will.  

so here goes.  

My name is Hannah Fulks. 

My husband and I are parents of 3 boys. 

Our oldest is 9, youngest is 2. 

And our middle son, Max, is 6.

And Max is the reason I’m sitting with you tonight. 

At 18 months of age, Max and I showed up for well child appointment with 2 words in our pocket.  Out and Dog.  That was it.  That was all he could say.  His expressive vocabulary consisted of 2 words.  The “average” for that age is 50.  We were down 48 words. 

His receptive vocabulary…what he could understand…well, that was limitless.  He could do simple chores: put your shoes on.  Throw this away.  Give Daddy a hug. 

But if he had to say it, it wasn’t happening.  You got a smile instead.  No sounds. 

We were referred to a local place of therapy in Benton where we were given a diagnosis including low muscle tone (the way he moved) and a speech delay. 

He received 2 days a week of speech and 3 of physical therapy.

After about 4 months of speech, our SLP came to us and explained she had seen virtually no improvement…and she felt this was because he had been diagnosed incorrectly.  She felt as if Max had something called “Childhood Apraxia of Speech”. 

I’ll remember her words forever. 

Have you ever heard of Access? 

It’s in Little Rock.  

They have people there that can help.   

I made the call to Beth Rice the next day. 

In a week or two, we were here.  

In that gym over there.  

Having an initial evaluation. 

We were told, the eval might take an hour or two…but 30 minutes in, the therapist came out and got us.  She invited us into the therapy room and confirmed what Jessica had already told us.  

Max had Global CAS.  She felt he needed 4 to 5 hours a week of speech…and possibly feeding therapy.  

Max began therapy immediately. 

I drove from Benton every day.  

I sat in that waiting area for an hour while he had therapy.  

Then I would drive him home. 

Max started preschool here when he was 3.  

He was in Miss Janelle’s class…and because we all felt he wasn’t ready for the 4 year old/pre-K class…he repeated Janelle’s class the following year. 

after 2 years with Janelle, he went on to the pre-K class.

And in August of 2017, our son, who had 2 words when he was 2….began public Kindergarten at Ringgold Elementary in Benton. 

Max is sounding out sight words.

Reading books in class...to us at home.

Making friends.

Being the typical kindergartener we always knew he could be. 

The night he was officially diagnosed here, I cried as I fell asleep. 

We finally knew. 

We finally had an answer for what was so different with our son. 

We knew in our hearts it was something…but didn’t ever really have a plan. 

And without a plan, we felt so lost. 

So alone in the wilderness that is parenting.

The best thing I ever did, was put Max’s needs before my worries, my fears, my uncertainty. 

As a parent, we want our children to be normal…typical. 

We want them to whisper secrets to their friends. 

We want them to say their nightly prayers. 

Argue with their siblings. 

We want to hear them say, “ I love you mom.”

And so when you’re told they have a communication disorder….that they have a disability when it comes to speech, your whole world is rocked. 

And so finding a place, finding a way where you can be “big for your little” is imperative. 

So all that brings me back here. 

To this place. 

This place called Access. 

What makes it different than the many other places in central Arkansas? 

I’ll tell you.

Every single person knew Max.

From Bailey at the front desk to Tammy who runs this entire joint, Monika…Every therapist, every teacher…and so many of the students, they all knew Max Fulks. 

He was never a number.
He was never just another kid…another diagnosis. 

Mr. Rogers is one of my favorites.  He has a quote about how there are people in our lives who love us into being.  I believe for Max, those people were the ones here at Access.  

Sometimes children are born and the minute they turn 2, they have personalities.  Strong ones.  They have opinions, 200 words in their vocabulary.  

But sometimes our children are born and around 2 their disabilities, unfortunately, define them.  That was the case with Max.  At 2, he was regressing.  By the time we arrived here, Max was shy and easily intimidated.  

But the minute he walked through these doors, he was bombarded with love from so many people.  Laura, Kelly, his teachers, his therapists...so many who loved him into the person he is today.  And that is a confident, brave kid.  A kid, front and center, of our Christmas program at church.  That kid didn't exist 4 years ago.  And so i credit Access into loving our child into being.  

So the job you have is maybe the most difficult of all. 

Because you are tasked with keeping this place afloat. 

This place where my max…where countless children find not only his voice, but his confidence, acceptance, love, patience and understanding. 

And…we, as his family, we found a home. 

And like all good homes, we know that should we ever need to return, the door is always open. 

Thank you for what you're doing here tonight and in the years to come.  Should you ever doubt the importance of this job, i encourage you to simply show up and walk these hallways.  Because in them, you are bound to find children becoming the people God intended them to be.  

november tenth, twenty sixteen.

when i was 21 years old, i worked in little rock.  i had a lab job with a large company.  i loved the job and my co-workers and my boss.  in november of 1998, my boss inappropriately touched me.  on the chest. my left side.  on my breast.

he came in the room behind me, and before i knew it, pressed an "i voted" sticker on me.  over my shoulder, right onto my breast.  he said, "i brought one back for you." and then pointed at the one on his own chest.

me, the 21 year old hannah, uttered "thank you" because i was taught to respect my elders.

that night i told my best friend whitney.
after telling her what happened, i said, "maybe i said something?  maybe i insinuated in some way that that was okay?  right?  maybe it's my fault."

i will never forget her response.
i will never forget her anger and her disgust.  and her persistence that it was absolutely not anything i had done.

i contacted my parents.  they contacted an attorney.
upon meeting with the attorney, i realized things had been leading to this place for a while.
there had been an inappropriate note sent to me by him months before.
i had received compliments that made me uncomfortable.

all these things.
all these things to this 21 year old version of myself.
the 21 year old who had no idea how to handle any of it.

i was quickly moved out of that department and into another.
my new boss apologized.
i was told by multiple people that i wasn't the first one.
there had been more.
and that is why no questions were asked.
that is why they so quickly moved me down 2 floors.

for years i regretted not saying something the first time something happened.  the first time he made a comment about my looks.  i hated myself because i thought i could have stopped it.  i should have stopped it.  and maybe my silence allowed it.

maybe my silence was a permission slip.

lots of therapy, lots of years, lots of reading and lots of forgiveness for myself...i now know it was NOT my fault.  it had nothing to do with me.  it could have...and did happen to multiple other people.

so you can imagine how the words of our now President..."grab them by the pussy, you can do anything", those words.  you can imagine how those words shook me to my core. and took me back.  15 years ago.  to that small, frightened shell of a person i once was.  

what i experienced is minute in comparison to what so many other women experience every single day.  so don't misunderstand me here.  i'm not asking for anything...i'm just giving you my past so you know where i'm coming from.

i refrained from saying anything about all that when the Trump story came out.
maybe because i wasn't ready.
maybe because i wasn't able.
maybe because i didn't think he was really a viable choice.

but here we are.
here he is.
the President of the United States of America.

it might as well be my former boss.

it has taken me a few days to put into words how i am feeling.
yesterday i was raw, exposed.  like that pink skin on a fresh cut...the skin that will bleed if you touch it.

i cried a lot yesterday.
i cried for all my friends who have been disrespected by him.

i am a dreamer and that is something i have realized about myself these past few months.  i want fairness and justice for all people.  that's just how i was raised.  i was raised to always think about others first.  always.  i was taught early on to put myself in someone else's shoes...and walk around.  that is why this hurts me so much.  i have an uncanny ability to feel the pain of others.  and so i am full of fear and sadness and worry.  not so much for me...but for so many i love.

i think Trump's message was one of hate and exclusion to anyone that didn't look like him.  and because of this, i couldn't get behind it.  TO ME, getting behind it, meant AGREEING WITH IT.

i joke about being a yellow dog democrat, but i'm not serious.  if Trump had been on that ticket with a D beside his name, i wouldn't have voted for him.  i am not perfect, i am self centered...and because of this, i just thought so many people would do the same.  so many people (so many of the people i call friends) would vote a third party.  because a vote for him, TO ME, meant you agreed with his message.

it meant a vote against minorities.  against the LGBTQ community.  against women.  it was a vote to MAKE AMERICA WHITE AGAIN.  and to disregard the needs of your neighbor.

to me, there was so much self-centeredness in his message.  and i spend a good bit of time trying to teach my boys that is not the way.  that is not the path we take.  i spend so much time teaching them the flaw in that message.

and so i woke yesterday morning feeling cheated and hurt and abandoned.  silly? maybe.  but they are my feelings. and very real to me.

my friend Laura Shachmut posted something on FB that saved me yesterday morning.

she said...

even if Trump wins, I will still stand up for those he threatens. I will continue to support the LGBT community because their love, marriages, and families are every bit as valid as my own. I will stand up for our immigrant students who are afraid of losing their parents. I will support our Muslim friends who are scared of facing more prejudices than they do already. I will continue to tell my daughters that they can be and do anything, and that they deserve to be treated fairly and with respect in every aspect of their lives. I will continue to teach my kids that bullying is never ok. We will do for those less fortunate than us and live our lives with empathy. And these are things I can do no matter who sits in the white house - because these things are really important. And if we end up with a president that I feel can't be a role model for my kids, I guess I'll just have to make sure they're watching me instead.

so when Pratt woke and asked me who won, his response was basically that he had seen the commercials and he knew what he had said.  and now...now he was our President.  

and i was quick to remind him that we have all said things we regretted.  and that we all need forgiveness.  i told him that we wouldn't judge...but that if he needed someone to watch, someone to look up to, he had someone good as gold just a few feet away EVERY SINGLE DAY.  

his daddy.  

his daddy who told me,

keep in mind he is not the first questionable person to ever hold office.  it's easy to think that we are living in a purely unique time, experiencing challenges for the first time.  i'm certain that generation after generation has felt the same way. just remember that the most important vote we cast is our vote of personal attitude and action.  as long as we focus on being more kind, loving individuals, the things we cannot control will work themselves out.  and we will live a happier and more meaningful existence in the process.  

and so here i am.  licking my wounds.  trying to listen more than i speak.  trying to forgive and forget.  trying to see the good in so much bad.  trying to remember that this is all gonna be okay.  that the sun came up today.  that the stars will come out tonight.  

that the Jesus i know loves me. and my tender heart.  

and i know that love wins.

i do.  

i really do.  

dear boys.

dear boys,

today i am 39 weeks pregnant with either your baby brother or baby sister.

i'm thinking boy.

but whatever it is...i just have a few things i want to say to you both.  before the chaos ensues.

so pratt,

YOU, son, are the reason i know that i'll make it through the next 6 months of life.  i know that you'll be there to give me jokes.  to hug me.  to love me.  to sit really close to me on the couch.  i know you'll be there to help with max.  to say things like, "you're the best mom ever" when i throw my hands into the air and say, "sure.  go watch sponge bob.  i don't even care anymore".

i look at you and find so much pride.  so much happiness.  so much goodness.

and i know that i did something right.  that we made it.  me and you.  in those first few months when life seemed so dark.  i did okay.

because you, son...you are so great.

and max,

YOU, child, you are the reason that i know no matter how much screaming takes place...there is light at the end of the tunnel.

i remember wondering how i would ever love anyone like i loved pratt.

and then, at some point, i just did.  i loved you as much as i had ever loved pratt.

and i wasn't even trying.  and you weren't even an easy baby.  you screamed your face off for 124 days.  constantly.  screaming and kicking and writhing in colic pain.

but then...around 6 months, you turned into the happiest, most content baby ever.  you were easy.  and fun.  and hilarious.  and laid back.  you never threw a fit.  you never screamed.  you never did anything but laugh and smile and eat.

now, when i put you to bed, my heart almost bursts with pride.

you are the kindest 4 year old i have ever known.  you are funny and sharp and have a love for other people and other animals like nothing i have ever seen before.

so.

if it weren't for you two, i wouldn't have ever wanted a third.

please know that when the chaos starts.  when the darkness rolls in.  and when i'm crying and losing my mind...please know that it's a phase.  and that i'm not perfect.  but that i love you.  i love you both more than i have ever loved anything in the world.

i am so lucky you two are mine.

and this baby...this third baby...he or she is so lucky too.

they have FOR SURE won the big brother lottery.

xxoo,
momma.

sandman.

the other night i was singing max to sleep.

sandman.

it's a song someone used to sing me when i was little.  her name was joyce.  she was like my grandmother.  my maternal grandmother died when i was really young.  like 3.  my father's mother had alzheimers.  and so my interaction with her was limited.  she moved away and wasn't really ever a consistent and present force in my life.

but joyce was.

she would put spencer and i to sleep and sing that song to us as many times as we wanted.


there is a part in the song that goes, "he'll come down from the sky and put sand in your eyes".  and as you sing this, you run your fingers ever so gently over their closed eyes.  it's so relaxing.  and it always puts the boys to sleep.

so i'm sitting there singing to max..three times.  he's sound asleep.  but as i get up from the bed, he wakes.  opens one eye, and says, "i love you, momma.  thank you.  thank you, momma."

i put my face right next to his as i have done so many times and closed my eyes and just thanked God for him.  for his sweet and gentle spirit.  for the love he has for me.  for his words.  for his quiet.  for everything about him.

when i sat up, he had fallen asleep again.

as i crawled into my bed, it occurred to me that should he ever get away from me, should he ever get lost, he would have no way of communicating who i was.  who he was.  where we lived.  that he has childhood apraxia of speech.

after getting up and checking every window in our house.  making sure they were all locked.  then making sure the alarm was set and all the doors were locked, i seriously contemplated locking the boys in their room.  then of course i feared that someone would break in their windows and kidnap them that way.

it's crazy town over here, y'all.  CRAZY.TOWN.

after talking myself off the ledge, i googled kidnapping stats and did feel better until i realized that i didn't know anyone who had been kidnapped and so i immediately realized that probably meant there was a better shot at it being one of my kids.  i was frantic.  worried.  sick to my stomach.  it was then i remembered maud crawford.   oh yeah.  i DO know someone.  and just like that, i was a bit relieved.

all that to say, i am crazy.

but also, that i need to get him some type of id bracelet.  that he can wear.  all the time.  that will tell people our names and numbers.  and his name.

i have spent the last 20 minutes searching for one.

i've personalized 2 or 3.  but when it comes time to purchase it, i hesitate.  i think that actually purchasing one will jinx something.  cause something to happen.  make something worse.

there are days when i fully accept being the mom of a kid who needs a little extra attention.  a little extra help.  assistance.  the mom who is always hanging back...waiting on him to catch up.  the mom who has to explain to strangers why yes, he's 4 but doesn't sound like a 4 year old.

and then there are days when i just wish normalcy.  days where i'm not speaking for him. days when i'm not prompting him to say hello.  days when i'm not googling id bracelets for my 4 year old.

i've taken lots of deep breaths.  and i've cried lots of tears.

but we are healthy.  and we are happy.  and we are thriving and growing and progressing.  and those are all good things.

if you're struggling today, know you're not alone.  some of us seem to struggle in silence.  and then some of us...our struggle is evident to anyone within a 15 foot proximity.  that is me.  i'm loud and obnoxious.  and i own it.  it's just how i deal.

i think there is beauty in admittance.  i think there is relief and acceptance and growth.  i cannot imagine hiding my heart.  my worries.  my fears.  that doesn't make sense to me.  just as it doesn't make sense to hide my joy.  my happiness.  i would be miserable.  simply miserable.

so.  all that to say,
go teach your kids their names.  and your names.  and your cell numbers.  just in case.

success.

endings make me sentimental.

beginnings do too.

if i'm honest, i would probably admit that i'm sentimental ninety percent of the time.  of any time.  at any point, i'm minutes away from crying.  they could be happy tears.  or they could be total ugly cry, break down, i'm not gonna make it tears.

and so the beginning of this school year has me thinking.  and i spend a lot of time in the car.  and that's my thinking time.

and so i've been thinking about max.

and about how far he's come in a year.

my daddy commented on how confident he seemed in the back to school picture i took of he and pratt yesterday.

this morning clint sent me the picture he took of max a year ago...on his first day of school.

and it's incredible.

he was a baby.

he was unsure.  and nervous.  and so scared.

and then today...today he is the new kid.  this confident, strong willed kid.

max has done so much for me. he's taught me more in his 4 years of life than i have honestly learned in the 32 years before his birth.

this isn't new.  i tell people this all the time.  you've probably been on the receiving end of it.  he's taught me to slow down.  to be quiet and listen.  to do things in new ways.  he's taught me to take deep breaths.  to pray before my feet touch the floor in the morning.  to trust in my gut...in my intuition.

most of all though, he's taught me to re-evaluate my definition of success.

prior to him, my success as a parent was dependent upon a few things.  like...

did they get a job?
did they get married?
did they have kids?
do they have a bank account?
a savings account?
an emergency account?

all the first world things we worry about.

max changed all that.

he came in...in a storm of colic and screaming and cries...and he flipped my whole world upside down.

all that is great, yeah.  and that is expected of some, probably even most of us.  right?  yes.  i mean, if left on my own, i'd be at my parent's house.  but i married a man who, i don't even know.  he's the best.  and so i don't worry about anything big.  i really don't worry about anything at all because i'm spoiled.  but i'm off track at this point.

i mean, i want those things for pratt.  and for max, too.  i wan them to have jobs.  good jobs.  an emergency account.  i don't want a busted up water heater...and a new one that costs 4000 dollars to be the reason they lose it.

but their success, their level of intelligence will have nothing to do with where they rank in school.  with how much debt they accumulate starting in college.  with how many titles are placed behind their names.

i used to think that having a child who needed you for the rest of his life...be it because of a disability...because of a disorder...or whatever...i thought that was terrifying.  and scary.  and something i never could deal with.

i was wrong.

if max never sounds like your kid...if he never has the confidence to speak in front of other people...to have a "regular" job, i will turn one of these rooms into an office for him.  the mancave can be his apartment. i'll stock it weekly with popcorn and gummy bears and redbox rentals.  i'll do his laundry.  i'll give him an allowance.  i'll do whatever i have to to make sure he's okay. and happy.  because that's all i want for him.

obviously, in my dream world...he will be fine.  he will sound like i do.  and he won't be made fun of. he won't cry when i leave him in public school. he won't beg me to protect him from bullies.

but all of this has just reminded me that success is more than i ever thought.  it's about taking a lot of small steps.  it's moving in the right direction no matter how long we have to move.  no matter how many steps we have to take.

it's never stopping.  never giving up.   it's about hard work that doesn't always end up with stacks of cash.

it's about being kind to others.  putting others needs before your own.

and the good news is that anyone and everyone can do it.

i know that my max can.  i see it happen every day with his brother.

life is hard.  so hard sometimes.

but then there are days when things make sense.  and the battle seems smaller than i had anticipated.  it's those days i feel strong and capable.

today is one of those days.  my prayer is that you have that day too.

first day jitters.

i took this picture on august 12th.  that was the day we met pratt's kindergarten teacher.

i knew, as soon as i looked at the camera screen, that it was all okay.
that i could stop worrying.  i could stop praying we would get a good teacher.

i knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that pratt was in good hands.  wonderful hands.

so.

here we are.

one year later.

so many changes.

that boy can read.  like really read.  he can sound out any word.  and say it.  he can add and subtract.  he can even multiply but he doesn't know that's what he's doing.

he's grown 2 sizes.  4 shoe sizes.  he's lost 7 teeth since that picture was taken.

he's somehow even more self confident.  he's funny.  and charming.  and thoughtful.

he can get to the library and computer lab and lunchroom without getting lost.  he could get to the nurse's station in his sleep (she's pretty. and he had lots and lots of "tummy aches").

he loves learning.  and he is excited about first grade.

so much of this...90 percent of this is because of that teacher right there.

she was patient.  and kind.  WITH ALL OF THE STUDENTS.

she was fair.  and private.  and never divulged anything she shouldn't have.

she was organized.  she sent notes home telling us what she was doing, what they were doing.  and what we could do here to help.  and she followed through.  ALL YEAR LONG.  i don't even know, man.  she's like a unicorn.

she was present.  all the time.

and somehow, in that room of 20 kindergarteners, she was soft spoken.  consistent.

he loved her.

he still loves her.  he always will.

so i write to those of you who are letting your children fly in two weeks.  those of you who were like me and just knew that it was good...but it was so dang hard.  those of you who will walk those babies in.  and leave them at their desks.  you'll smile and act like all your shit is together.

but it's not.

it's just not.  and that's okay.

i can still remember walking in with him.  him smiling.  me smiling at him.  and waving.

i knew he was okay.

but i had never left him in a new place for that long.

7 hours.

i can close my eyes and see him looking at me as i walked out.  i forced myself not to cry.  i forced myself to be strong.  because i knew he was watching me. and if i'm honest, i knew i would be stalking him on the playground that day.  and so i would see him again before 3 pm.

twice before 3 pm if i'm totally honest.  and don't judge.  you wait and see.  that will be you too.

does it hurt to leave them?
yes.

but as so many of you told me about max, our joy is what they see.

and i know that's what we all want.  to be good, joyful parents.  even when that means walking away. and trusting our schools.  and our teachers.

hopefully, you, like me, know that you can trust them.  because that's what makes it so easy.

and if there is one thing i know after a full year of kindergarten...it is this.

support your teachers.  and your school.  and the principals and office staff.  the cafeteria workers.  support your parent teacher organization.  offer to help.  to help with class parties.  and with extra school supplies.  if you're in a position to do that, try to make it happen.

and more than anything else, remember that leaving them means they are growing.  which means they are thriving.  they are healthy.  they are learning and loving and finding their voice.

they won't be babies forever.  and we shouldn't want that.  we should want them to grow and learn and change.  that doesn't mean they aren't still ours.  that just means life goes on.  and the opposite of that is just no good.  so learn...figure out some way to be okay with it.

more than just okay.  figure out some way to be joyful.

happy first day.

go feel all the feelings.  because there are so many.

eight years. eight, whole years.

in four days, i will have been married to my husband for eight whole years. 

i remember standing there, in front of those preachers….waiting to get started with the wedding.  i remember feeling his hand in mine, his thin fingers grasping my own.

there was something magical about knowing he was next to me.  that he would always be next to me.

i knew that i was comfortable with him. 

i knew that i was safe. safe from everything.  

i knew that he would love me through it all. 

i knew we had been counseled on most things you can think of.  (all things, in reality.  ALL THINGS). 

i remember feeling so calm.  in front of all those people.  so calm that i tilted my head to the right and placed it on his shoulder.  and let out a big sigh. 

because all the preparation that had gone into that special day (and there was a ton from my mom’s best friends)….it was all done.  it was all happening. 

all was right with the world.

while i had ideas about what i wanted (hydrangeas everywhere), i knew that the day didn’t matter.  i knew that it was about the forever.  

about the tomorrow.  

and the next day.  

and the day that we would inevitably receive bad news.  

the day we would argue.  

the day someone would slam the door.  (but no one leaves.  we have a rule.  you can’t leave.  you have to stay in the house and just get over it.  leaving is scary.  so there’s none of that.)

i had no idea what was in store for us.

i didn’t know that years later, we would face real life.  a new baby in the NICU.. horrible, severe post partum (twice).  colic fest 2011.  anxiety, worry.   fear.  crap I never wanted to deal with. 

but you know what?

i would do it all again in a heartbeat. 

is it tough sometimes?  hell yes.  

do i get mad at him?  duh. 

does he roll his eyes at me?  um, have you met me?

but at the end of the day, he is all mine.  and for that, i’m so thankful.  isn’t that romantic?  i think so.  i think it’s so great to know that i’m the only one who really gets to know him.  no one else.  not even andy fisher.  (who i swear he loves as much as me.)

i don’t pretend to have done anything to deserve him.  i don’t know how i got him. he’s not perfect.  and neither am i.  but so often, i feel that we are perfect for each other.  what he lacks, i have.  all my missing pieces…he fills them quite nicely.

if you’re in a relationship and you’re questioning whether he’s the one, let me say this. 

i never questioned it.

i never doubted it.  i knew.  without any hesitation.  when he asked my dad for his permission to ask me to marry him, he said, “i’m ready to put her first”. 

if he’s not willing to do that….find someone who is.  

life is hard.  it always will be.  and if you aren’t ready to put him first…and he’s not ready to put you first, the road will be more difficult than it should be.

shit is gonna happen.

your children will be diagnosed with disorders you’ve never even heard of.  friends will walk away.  life won’t make sense.

trust me when i say you need someone there to help you attempt to pick up the pieces…someone who will help make sense of the nonsense.

before we got married, we read through several books on marriage.  i remember talking one night and him saying that we always needed to imagine life as a triangle.  that i was one one side, he was on the other.  and God was at the top.  as long as we were both moving towards God, we would also be moving toward each other.  isn’t that great?  i always think of that when i want to cuss him for not putting the newspaper in the recycle bin. 

clint, if you’re reading this…thank you. 

thank you for loving me.  for still thinking i'm the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.  for making me feel important.  for seeing me for who I really am.  and for loving that person.  that silly, flawed girl who came to you probably more broken than you had wished.   

i love you back.  with all that I have.  and all that I am.

happy eight years. 

here’s to eight hundred more.