My family has a history of mental illness. I spent a good part of my life waiting to see if I would also be afflicted with something. Now that I have kids, I am still waiting. Waiting to see if I’ve passed that gene along to them.

I need to teach my kids about money. Not that a quarter equals 25 cents That’s covered in school. But they never learn money’s true value, it’s importance, how to earn it, save it, give it. Our school system fails them miserably in this regard. So most kids grow up learning all about isosceles triangles and chlorophyll, but not how to manage money.

Gianna’s 13th birthday is nearing. Along with the internal struggle of dealing with the fact that my baby will be a teenager in a couple weeks, I am also overloaded with the self-induced stress of putting together the epic creation known in our house as “The Birthday Book”.

The birthday books take me days to make. These 75+ page books document any notable milestone or event from the past year of their life. The first day of 3rd grade, Halloween costumes that costs $50 to wear once, art work I took pictures of so I could throw it away, soccer games, pet funerals, their undying love for sweets, new friends made, trips taken, funny shit they’ve said throughout the year. You get the point.

Since the holiday of love is near, I decided it’s a good time to share my love story. I see a lot of blogs that have a section dedicated to how they met, fell in love, and eventually got married to their significant other. All the romance and the joy. Well, my story has that. But it’s also real. It’s painful and confusing and 20 years in the making. Our love story made me cross lines I swore I’d never cross. But, by crossing those lines, I have the life I have today…and I wouldn’t change a thing. Even though my husband is a total dick most of the time.

Like many children, I loved playing with empty boxes. They were a blank canvas for my imagination. I didn’t have much growing up. My family was poor. So, I used to think I played with boxes because of that. However, now as an adult (and parent), I realize ALL kids play with boxes. Rich or poor, girl or boy, the love of boxes is universal….which led me to:”BOXES.”

Yes, the OTHER kind of boxes. Box, if you don’t know, is a slang word for your lady bits.

Recently, I wrote a post on Facebook to share my short story about my 12 year old daughter Gianna having her butt touched by a boy at school.

After sharing this post on a few FB pages, the backlash began. It escalated to personal attacks on my character and my husband Vince. It resulted in the county sheriff’s site being tagged and the police showing up on my doorstep to check on the welfare of my children.