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More than five years ago, I was convinced that I was going to have to die alone. I was working for the Seahawks, climbing the corporate ladder while trying to make it as a single girl in the big city. The family was worried that I would marry a rich, primadonna athlete so I’m sure you can imagine the blind dates that were sent my way. It was exhausting. And I just about threw in the towel. Until one fabulous weekend…

The Seahawks had a bye weekend, thus, I took a weekend trip back home where I was unfortunate (yet fortunate) enough to have five blind dates in a matter of two days. Ugh. I must have been desperate to shush-up every Aunt, friend, and cousin that thought they had found “the one”.

Blind date #1: Too short. Blind date #2: Too quiet. Blind date #3: Don’t remember. Blind date #4…absolutely perfect. He was in college, completely broke, car-less, and devastatingly handsome.
Blind date #5 lasted 15 minutes as I ran back to hang out with my man.

Every little girl has her fairy tale, and I found mine.  Now granted, most girls want their dreamboat to pull up on their white horse rather than their mountain bike, but I didn’t even care.  He was and still is a man of strength, character, and honesty.  A family man and a fantastic father;  loyal and loving, genuine and generous.  He is a man with strength in his faith as well as his biceps.  And more than anything, he treats me like a queen and isn’t afraid to change diapers.

What else does a woman need?

Happy LOVE Day.

June 7, 2006 my baby girl was born. You can imagine how shocked I was to see a baby of mine pop out with jet black, thick, beautiful Polynesian hair. When the nurse laid her on me after I gave birth, I was in serious shock.

Why?

Because I was completely bald until the age of two! Totally, completely, hairless. And not only was I bald, I was somewhat blonde until the age of 4.

Let me break down the genetics for you.  I am white.  Is that politically correct?  Or should I say Irish American, Caucasian?  In fact, that handsome devil who is holding my child is my father.  Anyhoodles,  my husband is half white and part Tongan with a little bit of German squished in there.  So when my babe was born, I was more than thrilled to have a hairy baby to play with.

Pig tails at 1 month.

Pony tails at 2 months.

Braids at 4 months.

And total golden waves at age 9 months.

I know, girls would die for that haircut.  But no more than 6 months after I took that picture above, my little human Barbie Doll turned into a tom boy.  And I was no longer allowed to touch her hair.  And to this day, I’m lucky to be able to get a brush through her hair.  It is usually a VERY RARE occassion when I get to curl her hair.  Like this one….

I was in Arizona taking a picture of Maggie.  We did a shoot of her alllllllll natural.  Big hair, no make up.  And still, she’s completely gorgeous.

Liv:  “Mom…is that Maggie?”

Me:  “Yep, that’s Maggie.”

Liv:  “Mom…I want a picture with big hair like Maggie.”

Not only did she want a picture taken, but she wanted me to do her hair.  Shocker.  So of course I jumped at the chance of my daughter allowing me to take pics of her silly face.

I guess I could have washed the pink punch off her mouth in the colored shot, OR I could have photoshopped it off.  But no beans.  I love her just the way she is.  Big hair and all.