I used to smoke a pipe.
Well, I did, once.
My dad smoked a pipe and made neat smoke rings, and when I saw that pipe sitting in the window as I graced the seat of our commode at the wise old age of, oh, probably four, I gave it a good puff.  IN.  Yeah.   You can imagine.  Never gave in to that temptation again.

I used to bite my nails like a fiend. I’d bite until my fingers looked like little nail-less nubs that hurt and sometimes bled. It took me until my senior pictures to grow a nail with white on it.  I guess my nerves were a bit frayed. It was better than sucking my thumb which I did for much too long until threatened enough times.
Back then, my pink blankie I got as an infant was my only real friend. Still is when I don’t feel my best.

And my Great Dane was my other pal. She made for a good snuggle and tear-catcher.   I got her when I was three. She and I were quite the funny little team.  I had her until I was fifteen and over the years I got bitten three times. I learned that, though full of love, giant dogs have big teeth and even a “nibble” can create a need for stitches. Now, I have a Jack-Russell.
I didn’t want to be a mom.  I didn’t think there was any benefit for me.  I also didn’t think I came equipped with the right tools for that job.  But something about pushing a human out of your body gives you an inkling of an idea that maybe, just maybe, you can do more than you thought you could before.
There was a time before I knew the absolute joy of a hug from a son to his momma.  The fascination of watching his muscles and Adam’s apple grow and his voice and mind become that of a man–a protector. And the beauty of watching his little flower-filled fist become a good man’s heart–love poised and ready.
Once upon a time, I absolutely panicked at the thought of having a daughter–or TWO!! Little did I know the indescribable beauty they bring into a home, the sweet spirits they infuse into a momma’s life, the fascination I would find in their nurturing, caring hearts.  It was so unexpected.  It is the stuff of miracles that these treasures are mine to spend my life enjoying.
I used to think friendships were about what they could take from me.  They needed me to look and behave a certain way to be accepted.  And honesty in a friendship was relative to what that friendship could handle.  Now, I know that a true friend even loves the ugly, and lets me be just that if necessary.  Honest is honest. There is no such thing as relative truthfulness.