I can remember two costumes from when I was little, and several years my mother dressed us up as angels, but I do remember one costume in particular.  She made me a Jasmine costume when I was in the second grade, from Aladdin, back when I still had hope in Disney.  I don’t remember much of being in the costume, I remember sitting at my desk and feeling so proud that my mom made my costume and the only other memory I have is of her hunched over the sowing machine, picking out material, and waking up several nights to find her still working on it.  And for the life of me, I can’t even remember if my father was there that Halloween or not. Today when I woke, I looked up at the snow that just seemed to be sneaking in, floating slowly like a thought easing into my mind, and I felt that pang of guilt for ever believing my father.  Of ever wanting to be “Daddy’s little girl”.  My mother has done so many things for me, but the one thing I want to thank her for today is being strong enough to leave my father and to stand aside and be the better person.  For six or seven years of my life my mother stood back and said nothing while my father told her darkest secrets and twisted her image into that of a monster.  So tonight, when I take my mother out for her birthday, I’m going to laugh, giggle, and squirt milk out of my nose and enjoy her company.