I'd say I've proven now that I keep my promises. Wouldn't you?

I promised Carrie I'd do this. And don't go thinking when any of my other peeps die, I'm getting a tattoo. It's the point of my last conversation with her - that she wanted to get another tatoo before she got so sick. That she loved me and her tattoos. All that. I will never forget the look on her face. The energy and desperation it took for her to tell me I gotta do it. Just to say, "Absolutely". So, it's done. And I love it.

Thank you so much Rachel and Alicia - also Carrie's people - who helped me get to the right tattoo artist. Rachel and MyDaph went with me and held my hand. For the record, I don't care if its your first or your 40th tattoo. It effn hurts. I thrive, I am calmed and soothed by the sound of my own voice. I've proven this in labor & delivery, on the volleyball court, in testing centers, every place imaginable. But the location and my positioning did not allow me to talk, laugh, or sob. All of which I wanted to do. I'm sure Jay- the brilliant tatoo artist (Tell him I sent you) - was happy and slightly relieved that indeed, I couldn't talk. Or even make noise - not even moan. No fair.

It's fair to note that I can find an angle for anything. And I don't believe in coincidences. Jay is also the name of Carrie's brother who died while we were in high school. I don't think Jay was too mystified by my tattoo idea, but he obliged and took pretty good care of me.

So, now she's always got my back. I am closer to closure. I did want to get home and get a picture of it fast so I could email it to Carrie. It was just a quick instant and then a smile instead of shortness of breath. Because I know she'd love it. I sure do.

The kids said nothing of the tattoo. I didn't keep it from them, but didn't really sit them down to tell them that mommy was going in to get needles filled with ink injected into her body either. They saw the tattoo and didn't say anything at all, just went back to playing with MyDaph's kids. On the drive home, I talked to Yallison several times because while we were doing the walk, she was getting her tattoo for Carrie too. She got three hearts on her foot.

Even better, was when I was driving home and needed to do my Aquaphor rub down on my tattoo (per tattoo artist's care instructions) - so, I took off my shirt, relax mom, I had an undershirt on, and drove down the road while Ricardo took care of my tattoo. It doesn't get more redneck than that, except ofcourse, if I had one of the kids take care of it. Heh heh.
Still, Max and Lucy said nothing about the tattoo.

About thirty minutes left from our 10-hour drive, Lucy was practicing drawing stars. It's very important. She made big stars and small stars, and "Mommy, this is a very, very tiny star."

"Good job, Sweetie."

And then, "Mommy, this one has tattoos on her feet."

"What the....oh, yes, it's very nice. She must be an adult star to have a tattoo. Right?"

And then Max, who's been doing his homework and writing in his journal, chimes in. "Oh yeah, I'm going to write about your tattoo, Mommy!"

Oh God. Then Ricardo got pulled over and Mommy's tattoo took a quick second in journaling priorities to Daddy's warning from the Po-lice. Tattoos and Police Officers on the family vacation. I dropped the kids off at school today and now I'm just sitting here waiting for the school to call when they read their journals.

Carrie would love this.
That's how I roll.