Growing up, I would often stay with my grandfather after the school day ended. He and I always had fun, but he also used our time together to teach me about life, family, and music. I learned many things during our afternoon visits, but the one which has carried me throughout life has been the love of music which he instilled in me.

You see, Papa was an extremely talented man. If an instrument had a string on it, my grandfather could play it. From the mandolin to the bass guitar, my grandfather knew how to make an instrument sing. We would often listen to many genres of music, and he would teach me how to distinguish which instrument was being played. Because of this, I now love all types of music. Depending on my mood, I enjoy listening to anything from bluegrass to gospel. I guess that is why my mind is like a radio. Unless I'm asleep, there is always a song playing in my head. During a conversation, I will often have a song pop-in my head that relates to what was just said. For me, life is a musical.

Since I was a teenager, I have always worked with children in some capacity. From working in a children's home to being a teacher's assistant, I have worked with hundreds of children over the years. One of the reasons I enjoy working with children is because I never know what to expect; everyday is an adventure. Five years ago, I had one of these adventures with a four-year old. He had been placed in the state's custody because he had been neglected and abused. Even though he was four, he couldn't talk because no one ever spoke to him. Developmentally, he was closer to the age of a two-year old, not because he was mentally challenged, but because no one ever cared for and loved him. Because of this, I was completely shocked and appalled when he spoke his first word.

I've always loved flowers. It brings me joy to look out my window and see the bright colors of lantana, petunias, and begonias. But even with all of these beautiful flowers, my garden still needed something else. So last year, I planted a rosebush in my flower garden. As I eagerly waited for the many blooms to appear and blossom, I noticed something peculiar. Even though I was watering my rosebush everyday, it was struggling to stay alive. Instead of roses blooming, the plant was withering and dying. Although I was doing everything I knew to do to help my roses grow, the rosebush was wilting under the hot summer sun. By the end of the summer, my rosebush only managed to produce a few roses, and the ones which managed to bloom were small and dull. Needless to say, this was not the outcome for which I was hoping.

I have an addiction. It's not a normal addiction to something like alcohol or drugs; it's an addiction to sweets. This wouldn't be such a bad thing, except for the fact that I have been diagnosed with gluten-sensitivity. For the non-bakers out there, almost all desserts are made using flour - aka gluten. Every cookie, cake, and pie has gluten in it. But needing to feed my addiction to desserts, my cool sense of logic prevailed and I realized that the majority of pies only have gluten in the crust. The delicious filling does not contain flour, which means I can enjoy the best part of key lime, pecan, apple, and chocolate pies. Armed with this knowledge, I have now mastered the art of eating pie. I have learned how to eat the inner goodness of a pie without letting my fork touch the crust. No knife is required. When I am finished satisfying my sweet tooth, the pie crust is left perfectly intact so someone else can enjoy it.

My dad and I love to camp, and when I say camp, I mean sleeping in a tent and cooking over a fire. Because of this, my four-year old nephew has been begging us to take him camping. Two days ago, my family embarked on an adventure that will forever be remembered in Austin family history. What started out as a simple, three-person camp out turned into an expedition with a total of six people in attendance, including: two campers, my nephew's mother and grandmother who hate to camp, an excited four-year old, and an eighteen-month old. Suffice it to say that even though my dad and I had properly planned our camping trip, there was a fair amount of chaos.