My mom was super anxious about letting people hold me when I was younger, as I was her first-born, so she didn’t let anybody who wasn’t my her, my dad, and my older sister hold me. But my dad liked to travel a lot, so while we were in mexico, and I was a few months old, my mom let a woman hold me while she ate. 

so basically the first person to hold me outside my immediate family was a random lady in Mexico.

M: is it annoying when I speak French?
K: no. Is it annoying when I speak?
M: oui. ;)
K: you bitch…

I LIVE for messages like this.

I LIVE for messages like this.

I have to be the happiest girl in the world!

life is wonderful when you dont give a single flying fuck about anything

August, 2013: The Dress

When I first bought the dress well, obviously i was in love with it. it was pure white, and it had tiny embroidery roses stitched across the bodice… It was long and had such elegance and flow to it that was almost unearthly… I remember the dress consultant buttoning up the back, and before I even turned around to see myself in the mirror…

I knew.

It was perfect.

I turned slowly, and I gasped. I had never felt more beautiful in my life, than I had at that moment. The dress looked stunning, I couldn’t bear to blink because I was afraid it would vanish off my body. The dress consultant had even stopped to gawk in awe at me.

But something was wrong.

Very wrong.

 Something in my heart told me that the reason I was buying this dress was not the destiny of the dress— that my simple, 50 guest wedding was not meant to be its grand debut— that sitting in a trunk, only to be discovered by my children or my grandchildren as they explored the attic, was not meant to be it’s final resting place. The warmth I had felt was soon replaced with the cold, chilling realization that this was not the life I was supposed to have. I realized in that moment that I had made a mistake— a terrible mistake, that has caused me to end up with this dress at the right time, but in the wrong place.

I was not who I thought I was.

I have a confession. 

I have this blanket I’ve slept with since i was a baby. it’s ripped and torn and frayed. it has several patch jobs and loose threads. its basically a faded rag. But I have trouble sleeping without it because of the comfort it signifies. the feeling of being safe and close to something I love is incomparable to any comforts a human being could provide. I have soaked this blanket with countless tears, it’s been left outside, stepped on, torn, ripped, lost and stolen. But it has also been wrapped around my shoulders when I was young and cold. Held close when I was afraid or lost or upset. used as a makeshift umbrella, offered to my baby brother when he needed a friend. 

it has given me comfort when I needed it, and it breaks my heart to think one day I will have to live without it. Maybe once I move out, or perhaps when I’m married. I just hope I find someone who will be willing to wrap their arms around me and hold me close when I need it…

he fumbles with the bottom button on his shirt, and stares at his feet.

"You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known." He says so quietly it takes me a moment to realize what he said. I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off.

"And I’m not just talking about physical beauty. Plenty of people have told you you’re beautiful. Too many people. You hear it-" he drops his hands to his sides and glances off to the left, his eyes still not metting mine. "-all the time. So it might not mean much coming from me.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I feel a heavy-ness in the air. Its so quiet now, I’m afraid he might hear my heart pounding away in my chest. Finally he speaks again.

"What I’m trying to say is that I think I love you, despite your beauty. Despite all of the things about you I’m supposed to dislike. Despite all the people who tell me that you’re nothing but trouble.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.”

  • *mom comes into my room*
  • mom: Time to get up.
  • me: uuughhhhfffff...
  • mom: Are you wearing underwear?
  • me: what?
  • mom: I can see your butt cheeks in those shorts.
  • me: well get a good look! *wiggles butt*