Like any good parent, I want my child to succeed in life and that includes succeeding in school as well. I want him to become a meaningful member of society and live life to its fullest. I want him to be happy. I vowed to him upon finding out I was pregnant that I would do whatever I could to help him in life. I would support him and love him and guide him. And I would fight for him.

Arizona is not the leader in great education. We rank in the bottom of all states when it comes to testing, funding and scores. Our graduation rate is low, the truancy rate is high, and we lose great teachers to other states that offer better teaching environments.

When Fat Daddy and I were looking to purchase our home we tried to pick an neighborhood in the Phoenix metro area with better schools, since privatizing Little Man’s education was and is out of financial reach for us at the time. The location we picked has six “community schools” that are all K-8 and a traditional school where you need to pass a slew of entrance exams in order to be accepted. This Traditional school is part of the district and is tuition free. Little Man is wise above his years so we had him tested for the traditional school. He was accepted and has been there since Kindergarten (he’s in first grade now).

Academically he’s doing amazing. He’s reached high honors six of the seven quarters he’s been in school (reaching honors his very first quarter). This school is very competitive and if the student doesn’t do as well as their tests state they should, they can get moved out of the school. That’s a lot of pressure for these kiddos. Homework is every night and even on school breaks. I’m fine with this. I say the more knowledge the better. Keep their little minds active and moving. I do push Little Man, only because I know he can do it. He’s an awful lot like me: stubborn, so if he doesn’t want to do something, getting him to do it is like pulling teeth.

What I do have a problem with is HOW my kiddo is being taught certain concepts. And this is directly related to the crazy platform called COMMON CORE.

What is Common Core you ask?
Common Core is the “State Standards Initiative preparing America’s students for College and Career”. 44 states, including the District of Columbia and four U.S territories have adopted the Common Core and are implementing the standards according to their own timelines.

WHAT? According to their own timelines? What on Earth does that mean? State A can do things completely different then state R? Doesn’t make any sense to me.

Okay Fat Momma, you gave us the text book definition of common core but what IS IT?

Common core is a teaching module used to teach our children how to learn math, how to read, literacy in social studies, science and technical subjects. Basically, what this boils down to is the way generations of students learned to add, subtract, read, etc was WRONG and this committee of “experts” is going to teach it the correct way moving forward.

Case in point – Little Man doing his math homework the past few nights.
The worksheet he brought home had the following problems on them:

48 + 17    63-48    95+12    80-69

The instructions were to solve and answer. So, that’s what we attempted to do. Little Man made this elaborate spreadsheet like graph on his paper and started answering the problems. I asked what he was doing and he said this was how he was taught: Make columns for tens, ones and remainders, add and cross the lines out and then you’ll get the answer. Remainders? I thought we were doing addition and subtraction, not division…

We struggled. A lot. My mind couldn’t comprehend this graph-like solving technique. So I told Little Man to forget that and showed him how I learned to solve these problems. While he wasn’t struggling as much as I in using the graph-like system, the light bulb definitely went on when I showed him how I solved the problems. He zipped through his homework and got every answer correct.

Fast forward to the next night and similar homework. We sat at the dining room table and he proceeded to tell me that the teacher told him he can’t solve the problems like his parents did because that’s not the correct way and if he does do it that way, he’ll lose points. EXCUSE ME? Isn’t the goal of this to get the correct answer? Since when do we grade something that’s correct but take points away because it’s not answered in the proper E=Mc2 way?

Does this make sense to you because it sure in the hell doesn’t make any sense to me.

And this my friends is how Common Core works.

We are going to be educating thousands of kiddos who will get credit for showing their work even if the answer is wrong. Common Core states that the standards recognize that both content and skill are important. REALLY? Because that’s NOT what I see going on here. My son is getting points taken away for answering the question CORRECTLY but because he’s not making hash marks in circles encompassed by hexagons inside triangles next to the full moon during a leap year, he’s getting lower grades than Jimmy over there who likes to draw and jump on one foot while chewing bubble gum. Don’t worry Jimmy if you never get a correct answer, as long as you are on your pogo stick feeding hippopotami as you knit grandma a sweater, you’re gonna go far kid. Real far. To me this is the same as giving every child on a sports team a trophy whether or not they earned one just to not let someone feel different. WE ARE DIFFERENT. EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON is different. We should embrace this. Not make us all alike!

This country is in a world of hurt. Instead of re-inventing the wheel, why don’t we find the root cause of our failing educational system and begin there. I can’t be the only one who thinks this way.  With all the cuts in the education system I understand teachers need to do what they’re told to keep their jobs but I wish some would revolt and stand up for the kids.

I can’t wait until the day I go to an accountant to get my taxes done and the “kid” in front of me says,
Oh jeepers, I need to make a tens column and a ones column before I can do your taxes”.


I visited with a new doctor yesterday to take a look at my misbehaving girly parts. During the hour-long “get to know ya” section with the nurse, I was cracking some jokes and using my Ph.D in sarcasm.

One of the questions asked was if I had any mental issues. I said, yes, I’m married. The nurse laughed. She then proceeded to ask if I was anorexic. I immediately laughed. She looked up at me and I said,“Seriously? You’re asking ME if I’m anorexic?!” She started laughing uncontrollably and left the room to gain her composure. Stand up at the doctors! I know I’m funny but…

Sarcasm is how I deal with a lot of issues. I use it when I’m stressed, mad, nervous, scared and even when I’m tired. I was a little nervous yesterday at the doctor and even more so when I left. I didn’t exactly receive stellar news.

I was explaining the procedure that I had to my husband and I could tell he was scared and nervous with the two-week long waiting period to get the results/answers back. So I went over to him, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t be worried. If I die you’ll be rich! We’ve got almost a cool half-million in life insurance. You could buy Little Man a new momma.” I chuckled. He didn’t.

When I’m scared I don’t shut down; I shut out life and the bad stuff going on. I’ve done this since I was a kiddo. I build walls up around me and try to not let the bad stuff in. It is what it is and worrying about it or dwelling on it until you get answers isn’t going to change a damn thing.

Am I scared? Hell yes but I’m not going to show my concern until after I see the doctor again in two weeks. Otherwise it’ll eat at me and I won’t be able to function. I’ll be consumed with the thought I could have uterine cancer. Why stress. If I have it, I have it. I’ll deal with it. I’ll move on and kick its ass and continue to be the sassy Fat Momma you’ve grown to love. HA

I talked with a friend today (well she’s more like family than a friend. I’d say another mom, but even that doesn’t do justice to how I feel about her) and since she knows me so damn well she told me to maybe not be so sarcastic with Fat Daddy since he’s obviously worried. A lot. I’ll take her advice and try not to be such a smart ass about this. It’s a potentially serious issue but I’ll try hard to keep my sarcasm to myself and the blog world.

My only other coping mechanism I use is eating anything and everything I see. I most certainly don’t want to let that creep into my life for the next two weeks. I can only image what would happen then (the marshmallow puff man from Ghostbusters is flashing in my head).

What are some things you all do to deal with issues like this? I’m not really a talker about me or my feelings, I’m more of a writer. I don’t want too many people to know until I know (why make them worry). Shopping would be fun for a short time, until I look at my bank account. I’m interested in hearing your ways of dealing. And maybe, just maybe, I can try something other than sarcasm for once.


Aren’t our smart phones and tablets awesome?

We can download apps for everything! Weight tracking, calorie counter, carb watch, water consumption, menstrual cycles, baby development, cash flow, to do lists and reminders. The possibilities are endless!

I was searching for a particular app the other day and much to my dismay, I couldn’t find one. I wanted to see how much it cost so I could recommend it to people. It’s a damn useful one too, I think. Maybe you’ve seen it out on iTunes or Google Play. It’s called COMMON SENSE

Some days I feel like a cantankerous elderly woman sitting on my porch yelling at those damn kids to stay off my lawn. Im 35 (inching closer to that magical 4-0 – ahhhh) but I wonder what is wrong with so many people my age and younger (and older for that matter).

By no means am I saying I’m better than everyone. Hell I have OCD and ADD and XYZ and I’m fat so I’m not sitting up on my glossy, shiny marble pedestal. Nope, I don’t think my arse would fit up on one of those. I’m just amazed at how flippin stupid some people are. Like really really stupid. Like how in the hell do you remember to breath every day stupid.

It’s getting more and more prevalent how common sense has been thrown out the window. Do you witness this too? It doesn’t matter if it’s a teenager, a middle aged person or an “old” person, it’s like common sense went bye bye.


Do we as a society think having common sense isn’t needed any longer? Do we rely too much on Google or the app of the day to think and do everything for us? Are our brains so fried by the constant use of technology that we can’t think for ourselves?

Maybe this Fat Momma will change careers and become an independent teacher of common sense. There’s the school of hard knocks so why not the school of CS – Common Sense.

Now taking applications for students – it’s a 12 week intensive course where the student will be taught, yep that’s right COMMON FREAKING SENSE!


Opening Day

It’s opening day of the 2014 Baseball Season and this Fat Momma couldn’t be any more excited! I love baseball. Have ever since I was a kiddo.
I have such fond memories of being outside with my dad in his workshop listening to the games on AM radio. The crackle and the static on the radio and the crispness of the announcer’s voice transported me to the field, and I could see the game. I could hear the crack of the bats and feel the wind as the runners ran the bases, sliding into home plate.

I love baseball.

I remember my first big league game like it was yesterday. It was at County Stadium in Milwaukee, WI. Game was between the Brewers and Yankees. Robin Yount, Paul Molitor, Cecil “Coop” Cooper, “Stormin” Gorman Thomas, and Jimmy Ganter were all playing. It was 1983. I vividly remember the obnoxious colored Brewer uniforms and the pinstripes of the Yankees uniforms. It was a double header. The day was warm and the night was cool. The stadium lights left a hum that is forever engrained in my mind and the crunch of the Cracker Jack and the soggy hot dog bun are images that I remember often.

I love baseball.

Over the years I dedicated my loyalty to the Chicago Cubs (heck why not. I’m from Wisconsin and don’t follow the Packers so I’ll just pick another Chicago team). It doesn’t matter if I’m watching a Cubs game or not, I just thoroughly enjoy baseball all around. I can sit in front of the TV for hours watching a game. I know many people find it boring to watch on TV and while I enjoy being at the stadium I’ll watch from the comforts of my living room too. The hot dog buns aren’t as soggy!

If you watch baseball, I wish your team the best this year. 162 games until the Playoffs.

Go Cubbies. Could this be the year?!

Plaaaaayyyyy Balllllllll



Today is worth celebrating (not that every day we are given isn’t, today is just an extra wonderful day).

Today is my 90th day clean of the toxicity of the Mother-in-Law. It was 90 glorious days ago that I had my last encounter with the wicked witch of the East (she lives East of me. Wicked Witch of the West is much witchier but considering the MIL lives to the East, I guess the “west” moniker belongs to me!! ). That great day when she pouted and called me a b*tch and said that I make people cower in the corner. The freedom I’ve had not seeing her has been AMAZING. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to see a 60 year old woman covered in hickies. I don’t have to hear about her sex-capades or watch her purposely make Little Man cry or tease him to the point he gets pissed off.


I have enjoyed each and every day of this vacation. I thought I was going to be forced to see her a few weeks back (to meet my brother in law’s new girlfriend) but the witch got a cough and didn’t want to pass it on. THANK YOU JESUS.

I know that at some point my vacation will end and I’ll be forced to interact in person with her. But until then I’m basking in the glory of the life I’m living now.

I’m sure each of you has that one person in your life that you wish you’d never see again. How do you deal with that person?

Unfortunately this evil manipulative witch will be in my life for some time (God willing) so any pointers you can offer would be grand. It’s been 11 long years knowing her and I’m shocked I have any tongue left as much as I bite it around her. Hmm. Tongue doesn’t have carbs, right?!


Its been Spring Break around the fat household and I’ve had the week off. Its been nice. Sleeping in, drinking actually hot cups of coffee,  hanging out with Little Man. Its times like this week that make everlasting memories for him. While I’m not the stay-at-home-mom type, I wouldn’t trade this week for anything. Hope you’re all having a great week too.
Later gators!


Besides the broken collarbone/arm from my car accident two months ago, the last few years I’ve dealt with some pretty “interesting” health issues. Through it all I’ve come to work, taken care of the house, taken care of Little Man and Fat Daddy, wore a fake smile and just plugged along, getting through my day. I hurt daily. I feel like shit daily. I’m exhausted daily. I want to give up most days but that’s not an option.

This week has been horrible. I went to bed Monday night feeling “off”. Woke up early Tuesday sweating but shivering. Took my temperature and it was 103.0. YIKES. I took Little Man to school and called into work. I called the doctor and they told me to come in as soon as I could (not sure if I should be happy with the fact the doctor just lets me come in whenever…).
Long story short, I had a kidney infection. Doc gave me some antibiotics and told me to take the rest of the week off work…yeah right. I have next week off, Cube World is moving to a new office complex and other people have scheduled days off.

Wednesday I got up, fever only at 100 and went to work. Took my meds like a good girl. Was rudely awakened Thursday morning by nausea and spinning. Made myself vomit and I felt a little better. Went to work. Bad mistake. I made it just over 2 hours, with most of that time spent in the restroom. Oh the fun.

Drove myself home and called the doctor again. Guess what? The antibiotic that they put me on (which I’ve had before) doesn’t react well to my daily injectible medication. In fact they hate one another and that is why I was so ill. Doc told me to stop taking it immediately and prescribed another antibiotic. The funny thing? Less than 1% of the population has interactions with these two meds. I feel so special.

Because I was so out of it yesterday, Fat Daddy had to step up and pick Little Man up. And he was livid about doing so. He was mean and nasty to Little Man who did nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. We got into a huge argument. Is it too much to have a little help? He’s working a lot lately but I can’t do everything. I’m tired. I’m sick.

I want a partner…not someone else to take care of. I know this is selfish but damnit I can’t do everything anymore. I worry so much about Little Man should something happen to me. It’s probably out of line but sometimes I feel as though Fat Daddy didn’t want children. Seen and not be heard…I don’t work with that mantra.

I don’t want to be an adult anymore. I want to be five again and color and play and take naps and laugh. How I’d love to laugh for real again.

I know I should be thankful and appreciative for what I have but it’s hard when you feel broken.


Ugh, what a week-I’m so glad that today is Friday. TGIF.

I haven’t had a week like this in a long time (thankfully). Seemed like every day was that dreaded MONDAY (Cue the da da daaaaah music). Between phones ringing off the hook and cleaning up messes other colleagues made, I don’t think I had much down time.

Plus at home this week Fat Daddy was working mega overtime (12-15 hour days) so I was flying solo. That meant preparing dinner, cleaning up dinner, helping Little Man with homework (book report, spelling assignment, math I didn’t understand…) making sure Little Man was clean, etc etc. I so have an appreciation for single parents.

But today is Friday – 40 minutes until I hear Fred Flinstone yell “Yabba Dabba Do” and I rush out of the office to FREEDOM. Two entire days of NO PAID WORK.

I’m supposed to spend time with the Monster-in-law tomorrow (meeting my bro-in-law’s new girlfriend) and I really really don’t want to see her (the MIL, not the new girlfriend). I saw my doctor yesterday and asked him for a note – and he wrote one! It states I have to be on bed rest this weekend to promote healing! He’s an awesome doctor. I didn’t show Fat Daddy, because he won’t find it as humorous as I did. I haven’t seen the witch since she called me a “nasty toned bitch who makes people cower in the corners”. That was 72 glorious days ago. Seriously it’s been 72 AWESOME days without seeing her. Can’t we go a little longer…maybe the doctor note will help!

Anywho, how do you relax or unwind after a seriously long and stressful work week? Hike? Sleep? Veg out? Drink? Eat? I would like to go sit in the abundance of sunshine this weekend with an adult beverage and read. That would be so relaxing and perfect but I’m afraid that won’t happen. There are weeds to pull and bushes to trim and and and …

Wishing you all a fantastic (relaxing) weekend!
Later gators!

S.M.A.R.T. 45 GOAL

What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals – Zig Ziglar

We’ve all done it – set an unrealistic goal for ourselves and then when we don’t or can’t reach that goal we beat ourselves up over it. We sabotage ourselves right from the start.
For me, it always has been weight loss. I want to lose 100 pounds before XXXX or by summer I’m gonna wear a size ____. Unachievable goals. Then when summer comes and I’m not the size my head thinks I should be, I go into a tailspin and eat everything that I come across – my comfort for the hurt I’m feeling.

Well damnit I’m DONE with that. I’m done sabotaging myself. I’m done beating myself up. I’m DONE. I can only strive to be the best ME that there is. We are all created differently and that should be celebrated. Blonde hair, red hair no hair it shouldn’t matter. Fat, skinny, fit, curvy again that shouldn’t matter. Being kind and loving and caring THAT should matter. Beauty truly comes from inside us – but everyone sees the outside first.

I recently ended a friendship that wasn’t good for me. It wasn’t toxic but it wasn’t healthy either. I wasted too much of my time on this person and I wasn’t getting anything in return other than being let down. Promises were made and always broken. Plans were talked about but never went through. I had given myself a date that if things didn’t change I was done. DONE. The first few days without this person in my life I felt lost without the texts but it got easier as the days went on and I didn’t hear from this person. By the end of that magical seven days, I didn’t wait for my phone to buzz or look at it willing it to go off.

Setting goals for ourselves should be easy (with time) like letting go of that not-healthy-for-me-friend. At first the concept seems foreign but the more we work towards this set goal the easier it is.

In a leadership seminar I took the facilitator talked about setting up S.M.A.R.T. Goals. At the time I let it go in one ear and out the other but for some reason (maybe being “free” from that friend) the message really hit home.
S.M.A.R.T Goals:
S – Specific
M- Measurable
A –Attainable
R –Realistic
T – Timely

This S.M.A.R.T. goal strategy can be used in everyday life – home, work, friendships. Everywhere. So here is my S.M.A.R.T. goal:
By my birthday, which is September 7th (almost 6 months) I want to lose 45 pounds.

Let’s dissect this goal.

Specific? YES. 45 pounds of fluff GONE
Measurable? YES – my scale will let me know how I’m doing
Attainable ? Absolutely. With hard work and dedication
Realistic? YES! YES! YES! I so can do this. I’d like 150 pounds but come on…
Timely? Yes a 6 month window

What are my parameters? I’ll weigh in weekly and chart my progress.

Will there be incentives along the way? YES. At 5 pounds, 10, 20, 30, 35 and the big incentive at 45!

How will I counteract the setbacks? Get back up and JUST DO IT (Thanks Nike)

I’d love to have some of you join me in my SMART 45 goal. It could be a group SMART goal. Power in numbers people. Power in numbers. We can work out the “specifics” -come on, it’ll be fun!


In honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness day, I want to share my story with you.

Events shape who we are and they can leave an everlasting footprint in our minds and hearts.

The town I grew up in was not the town I lived in when I was born. I moved to Farmville when I was in 1st grade. The only new kid in a small town. A freckled faced chubby new girl with missing top teeth. I had a hard time adjusting to my new school and the other kiddos. I remember eating lunch alone those early days and playing by myself at recess. Until the day I met Sara Beth.

She was another freckled faced chubby girl who had one missing top tooth. She was funny and smart and caring and didn’t care that I lived in a tiny apartment or that my parents drove old, rusted out cars. She liked me for me and we became best friends and inseparable. I’ll never forget her long golden blonde hair that she wore a barrette in every day. And her infectious laugh.

I think I spent just as much time at Sara Beth’s house as I did mine for a while. Her family became my second family. I was the oldest (my mom just had my sister) and Sara Beth was the youngest. I remember having a crush on her older brother – be still my heart!

Sara Beth and I both liked to write and play school. We always seemed to be in the same classes (fate?) and have the same homeroom teachers. When my dad bought the farm she loved coming out and running through the corn fields and having my dad pull us in the wagon on the back of the riding lawnmower. We’d go sledding and drink gallons of hot chocolate together. We’d tell each other our deepest secrets (the deepest secrets that 10 year old girls have).

I don’t ever remember Sara Beth and I having a spat or quarrel; we just always got along and our dads became good friends too. So in fourth grade when Sara Beth started missing school I became really worried.

I remember coming home on a Friday, getting off the bus and my dad was at the end of the driveway waiting for me. He told me he had something important to talk to me about. We walked into the house and sat at the kitchen table. Mom and Dad told me that Sara Beth was sick that was why she was missing so much school. I asked if I could see her and was told she was too sick for visitors but I could make her a card and we’d get it to her.

I made more than a card – I wrote her a story about our friendship and how I missed her in school and how she was missing so much. I told her I loved her.
When I was finally able to go see Sara Beth, it was the summer before starting junior high, or fifth grade in my town. We were changing schools and I was so scared but I knew that with Sara Beth by my side it would be awesome. My dad took me over to her house and her mom answered the door. I remember her giving me the biggest hug in the world and walked me to their living room. There, sitting in a wheelchair was my best friend in the world, Sara Beth.
Sara Beth smiled at me and I walked over to hug her. But I stopped. Sara Beth was missing her leg from the knee down.

Her mom told me it was okay to hug her so I did, scared of what was going on. After the initial shock wore off, we played like we hadn’t been apart for all those months. She was still my BFF. She tired easily and my dad came to get me early but I loved being with her and was happy to start Junior High.

Our first year of Junior High was awkward but fun – and Sara Beth and I remained as close as ever.

Summer between 5th and 6th grade I went on a weeklong family trip with her family. It’s an experience I’ll never forget. Her family was so welcoming to me and I honestly felt lucky to have another family who loved me.

The beginning of 6th grade brought upon a lot of changes. For the first time in about 4 years, Sara Beth and I weren’t in the same classes or homeroom. I hardly saw her during the school day but we talked on the phone and still played together. Then she started missing more and more school. We would talk on the phone but I wasn’t allowed to see her. Our conversations were short and she always said she was “feeling great”.

When she came back to school after winter break more of her leg was gone. She was sick again. Really sick. The entire 6th grade made get well cards for her. I went over to her house shortly before valentine’s day and she didn’t have any hair. She grabbed her wig and we laughed and played around with the wig pretending we were rock stars.

Sara Beth never came back to school.

March 28th, 1991 is a day that I will never ever forget. It was a Wednesday. Every Wednesday after school I walked to my grandparent’s house. When I got there I saw my dad’s car and thought I was in trouble. It was Wednesday, I never rode the bus home on Wednesdays. I walked into my grandparent’s house and dad was sitting at the table and I could tell he was upset.

Dad sat me down and told me Sara Beth had died.

At first I thought he was joking me and I didn’t find it funny. Sara Beth and I had plans she couldn’t be dead. He was lying! I remember crying and hitting him and he just sat there holding me and telling me how sorry he was. I had dealt with death before, a distant relative, but no one as close as Sara Beth. It wasn’t fair. She was twelve. TWELVE! How does a twelve year old get sick and die. THIS ISN’T FAIR I remember yelling. Then I cried and cried and cried.

My dad took me to the funeral and Sara Beth’s parents hugged me tight and thanked me for being such a good friend to Sara Beth. I was emotionally numb. In the beautiful casket lay my beautiful best friend in her long blonde wig and purple framed glasses. She looked so peaceful. That’s the image I have in my head of her now.

As the weeks past, as sad as it sounds, not having Sara Beth in school became the norm. She had missed so much school that we all got use to her not being there. But when I’d go home and see our pictures or hear a specific song on the radio or a television program I would cry, mourning the loss of my friend.

I continued to keep in contact with Sara Beth’s parents through the years. I would occasionally see them at a school function like a band concert or a play I was in and wonder if they came just to see me. They never said anything to me, almost hiding in the shadows, but they were there.

At my high school graduation party Sara Beth’s dad showed up with a card. He cried, I cried and we hugged. That night when I opened the card there was a letter from Sara Beth’s mom and a check to help me out with college expenses.

I moved away to go to college but always sent Christmas cards to Sara Beth’s family. A few years later Sara Beth’s dad passed away from lung cancer. Unfortunately I was not able to make the funeral but I sent a card and told Sara Beth’s family I was there in sprit with them.

Life happens and takes us all different places and I have since lost contact with Sara Beth’s mom. I often wonder how she is. I think about trying to find her address and writing to her. Sending her pictures of my Little Man and just catching up but I wonder if that would hurt too much for her. I honestly still think about Sara Beth and what she could have become and on the date of her passing, I always say a little something to her, letting her know I ‘m here.

Cancer just sucks. It sucks when anyone gets it but a child?! Really? How incredibly unfair to cut a life short for what? To teach us a lesson? What damn lesson could that be? I’ve encountered so many people in my life who have lost a child to cancer or a brother or a sister or a grandchild. I don’t understand the lesson in that.

When I became a mom and held Little Man for the first time, I could never imagine losing him. I can’t begin to understand how moms and dads move on after losing a child. I know time heals all wounds but how much time? I also know that you need to move on – but when? There’s a void there that will remain.

To Sara Beth and all the other “Sara Beth’s” out there, we need to find a cure for all cancers. Children shouldn’t be sick and lose legs and arms and they should be allowed to play and grow up.

Cancer needs to stop robbing kids of their childhood.

Screw you cancer. SCREW YOU