Something to Post About

"When your spouse does something right, tell the world. When they do something wrong, tell them in private."

This morning Terry brought me breakfast in bed for MLK day. It was very cute because I thought he had already gone out the door to do his morning run. He's been practicing getting the eggs perfect (one set of eggs landed in the garbage)! All I could think of when he left was what could I do for him? You love whom you serve. Love begats love, and "besides" he says, "I want you to have something nice to blog about".

I'm just tellin' ya.

For those who know: Obama who? You will always, first and foremost, be more important to me.

The Visit

Audrey, Lily and Turner were being watched by Terry and me. Their mom Jenni, was doing one of her favorite things to do every year: Filming a Short for The Annual LDS 24-hour Film Festival. Jenni was off with her "film crew" (the rest of the Turner family) writing, producing and acting out their movie. While they did their 24-hour thing, we settled in for our 24 hours with the grandchildren.

All three of the kids were being mesmerized by the Disney Channel. And yes, sometimes that is a very good thing. Tonight, however, I announced, as I sat dinner on the table, that the TV was being turned off, and we were all going to "visit". (I had informed my OWN children many years ago that we were going to visit, only to have Jared remark bewilderingly,"what kind of a word is VISIT?") My grandchildren are so much smarter than their parents, for when I asked if they knew what the word meant, Lily immediately raised her hand and gave a brilliant definition, and it was obvious that she and Audrey were very eager to visit.

The rules were that Papa and I could ask them each a question, and then they could ask us one. We went back and forth asking and answering questions. Although we had a slow start with a bunch of really silly questions, we soon got to some really good ones:

"Papa, how many girlfriends have you had?" "Five, but your Nana was my favorite."

"What's your favorite color Nana?" "Pink, just like your favorite Lily."

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" "A dishwasher" says Audrey,

"A Rockstar" says Lily, "oh and a Chef."

"What kind of food do you want to cook?" Nana asks.

"Teriyaki Food"

"Hey Audrey," I say thinking (I've wanted to ask her a question for a couple of months now: she quit calling me Nana and now calls me Grandma. I would really like to know why).

" . . .why do you call me Grandma?"

She squints her eyes, tilts her head, and looks at me and exclaims, "because . . .you . . . .LOOK . . .like a Grandma??

Visit over.

It's a new year--think I'll make some magic!

Yesterday, I reminisced about my mom, and then I smiled about my grandson. Two years to the day, one said goodbye and the other said hello. Life can be like that you know, and how often have we heard the phrase that when a door closes, another opens up? Well it did for us--and it was in the form of a beautiful baby boy . . .

Jonathan and I took down the Christmas Tree today, and for the first time in a very long time, I turned our home into a walk-in Valentine. There are hearts everywhere. Pink, red and white lights flicker as the Valentine Bunny sits in her spot on the table. Tomorrow I will fill the clear jars with red lids full of candy hearts and valentine sweetness.

Valentine boxes and tins in all shapes and sizes greet visitors in the entryway. Some are old fashioned, Victorian or romantic, while others are simple, sweet and lovely. I love hearts and I love romance. Most people give up on romance way too soon. To two old birds like Terry and I, nothing is sweeter than when we take the time to romance one another . . . things like when he stays awake and downstairs at the kitchen table while I am in my office editing photos, because he doesn't want me to be alone. . .so he waits for me to finish so that we can walk hand in hand up the stairs to our bedroom.

Or the many nights when I am up editing photos into the wee morning hours, and even though he waits awake as long as he can, I find him sleeping. The sweet part? My side of the bed has been folded down, all smooth and beautiful like the finest hotels do, my pillow fluffed up, and my night table has the light on so that I don't have to find my way in the dark.

He loves MY dog. He rubs Tommy's belly, and let's him sleep at the foot of the bed making any turns difficult when you have a 25-lb dog sleeping on your feet, or snuggling between your legs. He is the one to let Tommy out in the very early morning hours only to bring me the morning paper to read in bed.

Saturdays (and other mornings too) he makes me breakfast--not cereal mind you--but the best fried eggs, toast to dip in (yes, he makes perfect runny yolks!).

This is romance. He is love. I sent this to him in an email the other day as I was feeling so much gratitude for this magnificent man:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

I want Nana and Papa's house to be magical for when my children and grandchildren come and visit. I want them to feel love. I want them to see beauty . . .and I want them to have romance!

My Mother's Day Revelation

It's just a day, for heaven's sake. So why do I always have such a sense of dread? My children are wonderful on that day--and I make it hard for them too. Maybe it's because of my crummy attitude. So why is it crummy? I am sure that GUILT has a little to do with it (I can hear a chorus of women saying “amen”). You get “a day” each year to remember all the times where you didn’t measure up as a mother--at least that is what I do to myself. You sigh at lost opportunities, unmet needs, and missed cues--and maybe not loving/being in tune in just the right way with what every child wanted or needed. And since we always remember the sensational stuff (whether good or bad) we tend to judge ourselves by those memories. Just a little narcissistic maybe?

What's missing sometimes in our minds, and even in the minds of our children (that is until they become parents themselves) are the memories of the thousands of minutes, days, months, and yes, years where you did your job, and you did it elegantly--maybe even brilliantly. You did it through sickness, fatigue, sadness, sorrow, frustration and fear. You did it with poverty, isolation, loneliness and loss. You did it with faith, courage, determination or just plain stubbornness—and with never enough time. It was easy to do when you were skinny, happy, financially stable, and with a marriage made in heaven. It was a lot harder to do if you lost your faith, your friends, your sweetheart, or even your dog. The minutes, days, weeks and months of excellent mothering get forgotten by us as we measure our mother's worth by all our imperfections. By all our weaknesses. By all our regrets.


We all have trials--and often the casualties of these trials are the scars we pack around that constantly remind us of the battle. And Mother's Day, it seems, is the holiday we use to celebrate that battle. I've changed my outlook for that day--for several very good reasons--my children. My crummy attitude was affecting their affection for me on that day. I know that they dreaded it too as they looked forward to a day where they would be walking on eggshells. If they didn't say the right things or do the right things they assumed that they would reinforce my own screw-up view of my motherhood. That's a terrible burden to give children, don't you think? Especially when it has NOTHING to do with them. It was all me, but I was inadvertently putting them in charge of fixing me.

Because that is such a dead end path, I choose another: I look forward to seeing them all today while looking into their eyes and seeing the wonderful human beings they are and have become. And yes, even knowing that I DID have something to do with it, and be proud of that work. I know that I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. And also, just in case, if I taught them anything--I taught them to be forgiving. I trust that that is why they will love and celebrate me on this, my day.

How to Screw up a Child

I took four of my five grandchildren to McDonald's for lunch yesterday. They all wanted to eat and play in the play area.

I sat at the table close to the play area so I could watch my grandkids playing and still feed my littlest grandson Campbell in his highchair. I happened to notice an older woman who was there with her daughter and two of her grandchildren at the next table. The daughter had gone to the play area with her daughter, and the grandmother sat with her five-year-old grandson at the table where the following conversation took place:

"Now if you want to go back into the play area you can't be mean anymore!"

He sits silently looking around.

"Are you going to be like Jesus or Satan?"

He stands up, blankly staring into her face.

"Sit down and do as you're told or you'll make Jesus cry."

He doesn't sit down, so she smacks him in the face, and he cries loud and hard.

Then she tells him to "sit down and be quiet", and to eat his "happy meal".

And he does.

Alone Again.

My children are very good to me. When their Dad travels, and I am left at home, they are very conscientious about making sure that I am okay . . .and not spend any time alone. Jared invited me over and even tried to hide my car keys so that I would have stay in his guest room. Jonathan forces me to be with everyone when they gather, and Jacey and Jennifer both have dinner invitations to keep me busy with. I love and appreciate each and every thoughtful gesture and am grateful for their kindness and selflessness.

After living for many years with a traveling husband I finally lobbied for, and won, the right to get a much-longed-for dog. Jared found Thomas Magnum a.k.a. "Tommy Boy" in New York for me some three and a half years ago. He has been my constant companion since. He's a Malti-poo and therefore has been bred to stay close to his owner. And so what happens after all these years? Terry quits traveling as much--so now I have both Tommy and Terry in bed (and on the bed) with me! And I welcome the company.

My beloved grandmother lived alone as a widow for some 40 years. I only knew her as a widow, except for a brief marriage when I was a child. I used to hate to leave her house after spending the weekend with her, because I knew that she would be alone. She actually never complained, in fact hers was the neighborhood party home, and she lived a very full life in her church and neighborhood. I just remember thinking that I would be lonely if I was her--and so my heart would literally break, and tears would secretly flow, each Sunday as I drove away with my parents and four siblings, watching her wave goodbye from her porch. To this day, I still remember how unbearable that was sometimes.

Now, as a very grown up woman, I have known loneliness myself. I truly know what it feels like to think that you will be alone, or are alone, or are experiencing profound periods of loneliness. It was in these times that I introduced myself--to myself--and found out that I had the potential to be pretty good company. It was hard at first, for I am truly a creature of crowds, laughter, family and friends. But I did, and I gained something that has served me well, and for many occasions since. It is not only okay to be alone with me, but I need it more than ever. Almost on a daily basis, I need to fill up my soul, think about my life, talk to my Father, and dream of things to see, places to go, lessons to learn, and how I can best love more fully and completely.

I learned to turn what was once a lonely uncomfortable situation, to one of growth and realization. And so when Terry schedules a trip--after I mourn a little--I know that I am in for another great time of introspection, meditation, soul-searching, and yes, to-do-lists. It also "takes me off the hook" for a whole list of other things, but that is another blog for another day.

To this day, I still have my moments. The worst are when I drop him at the airport and have to travel home alone in a car that still smells of his cologne. And sometimes when in our great big house I hear a great big CREAK, and I wish I was not alone. I miss him in the morning, where for years, we have discussed EVERYTHING as he comes home from a run, or readies himself for work. I miss him searching for my hand at night for we always fall asleep holding hands.

In case there be any confusion, although I've learned to love my alone time, I am most happiest in the middle of people who I love and who love me. You know who you are. And in that crowd, I never feel alone.

Girls are like
apples on trees. The best
ones are at the top of the tree.
The boys don't want to reach for
the good ones because they are afraid
of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they
just get the rotten apples from the ground
that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples
at the top think something is wrong with
them, when in reality, they're amazing.
They just have to wait for the right
boy to come along, the one
who's brave enough
to climb
all the way
to the top
of the tree.

What do you think?

Sing, Damn You, Sing!

Getting physically older is not fun, nor particularly graceful. As I get ready in the morning I moisturize my dry old skin, perk up my eyes with eye-liner & mascara, cover my age spots with foundation (the oily kind because powder makes your wrinkles stand out). I pluck out the white eyebrow hairs, and the black "boar hairs" and then turn my mirror to magnify so I can pluck out various hairs that grow on my face in weird and frustrating places. I outline in permanent lipstick color where my lips should be, but aren't. I put on my contacts or glasses, and plop a hairpiece on the top of my head (female surgery took care of the hair on my head--half of it has fallen out--but I am hopeful. I see new brave hairs coming back so maybe I can get rid of the "ferret" in a couple of months). Turtle necks are my favorite shirts, and I couldn't live without my orthopedic shoes!

A man dated this gorgeous Opera singer, famous for her beautiful voice. After a wonderful courtship, he married her, and they soon found themselves alone in their honeymoon hotel.

He watched perplexed as she took off her long, beautiful hair. She removed her beautiful blue eyes and put them in their containers. Next came the falsies, a girdle (that made her waist look so small) and of course, off came her makeup. Then he watched in horror as she removed her teeth.

He only had one thing to say to her: "Sing, damn you, sing!"

At least SHE could sing . . . :)

Blogging is Good for a Woman's Health

Raising children with technology is a bane and a blessing. TV, and later Nintendo, were the interlopers in our life as I was raising my children. You have TV, Nintendo, X-box, home PC's and Macs, and all their attendant helps and hindrances. Doing the Tango with technology, and finding a good balance and appropriateness are your big challenges today. Best of luck. It's like dieting; it's not like you can give up food. The way the world is constructed today, you cannot live without technology i.e., the home computer, and what a blessing . . .

So, just why is blogging good for a mother's health? Because it connects you to the world. I remember being so isolated and alone. And speaking "kid-talk" for hours on end. I would drive my husband nuts when he dared to show his face in the kitchen after work. I would talk and talk and talk--I so craved another adult voice, or a simple adult conversation.

He wanted quiet.

But somehow we would both muddle through it. I would find a way to get my needs met, and he would just hang on hoping for the period that never came--only cascading commas, as I let loose all the "big words" I'd saved up for the end of the day, seemed to flow. John Gray calls women Venusians and men Martians, and explains this very phenomenon very well in his book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". (My husband loves that book so much that he gives it out for wedding presents--he has even given out the Spanish version)

So now what can women do about this? Sit down at your computer, click and therapy begins! You can talk with other women, read about other women's difficulties, thoughts, ideas, musings and experiences. And you don't have to leave the house (as if you could sometimes). I marvel at the candor you young women have. You are fearless, you are open, expressing your thoughts candidly through humor, love and yes, even courage. And because of that, the floodgates have been opened. We no longer have to judge "our insides by someone else's outsides". We are all inside now.

When I was a young mom, sadly, when our churches should have been knocking down these walls, they were fortifying them. Unintentionally, you were pitted against perfection, and perfect-seeming people. No one came forth to declare "hey, I did that once" or "my kid did that more times than I can count". No, we hid behind our "can do" personalities, and worked like the devil to appear saintly. I am so glad that times have changed. And if they haven't where you are--they will--or you will just have to go ahead and do it anyway.

There will be thousands of women online ready to cheer you on, to hear you, to teach you, to heal you and show you in many hundreds of tiny ways that you are not alone. We all make mistakes, but as one of my best friends once said, "they have have to do with our growth--not our worth."

My Daughter Turns the Big Three Oh

She was the most beautiful baby. It seemed to her Dad and I that she saw right through us. Also, her soul was somehow not as hidden like in most people--it was perceived and it was old. Old and wise. She has grown into a wise old Pacha Mama now, but not too old to laugh, be adventurous, to create, to explore, to learn, to wonder, to teach, to love, to nurture and well, this list is endless. She is the daughter of dreams born in the heart of a young girl imagining the future and how blessed she would be to someday have a little girl. A little girl that would be named Jennifer, the perfect companion to the little boy that came before.

Feliz Cumpleaños, mija.
Con mucho cariño y mucho amor,
Tu Mama

Obama--My President

I can't remember when I have been more excited, more hopeful, more confident in our future as Americans as I have been since the world realized that for the next four years, Barack Obama will be the 44th President of the United States of America. I can't count the times I was moved to tears as Obama gave his acceptance speech--and I was equally moved by the final words of John McCain. In fact, I felt that it was McCain's finest hour, and one of the greatest speeches of this election time. He was all McCain, and he went out the true statesman that he is.

This election year, I wasn't concerned about making history. . ."the first Black man, the first female vice-president". I was more interested in getting the best person for the job. Gender and color shouldn't matter--and I think that the world is getting closer and closer to that ideal. The best person for the job was elected--and he happens to be black. I'll tell my Grandson Campbell about this night--and how important it was, but somehow, maybe the world will be so much better, that he won't understand how Americans had to fight and sacrifice to get to a place that future generations will probably take for granted. Hopefully none of the lines that separate us from each other, will be there when Campbell, and yes, Turner too, grow to manhood.

Our family gathered for prayer after the announcement that we had a new president. Terry gave the most beautiful, heartfelt prayer--asking for a blessing on our new President, his cabinet and this nation as well. It just felt right.

God bless America and President Obama, his wife and children.

In Honor of My Dad

Dear Pops,

I can't believe that it's been two years since we lost you. And yes, sometimes, we have literally been lost without you. You can't believe all the things that have happened since we last saw you: three new great-grandsons, a new Missionary (Dad loved Missionaries, especially his grandson's), grandchildren earning their higher education degrees, and a new Democratic President, who happens to be African-American! There have new jobs for some of us, new church callings, and some of us have even retired, un-retired and retired. Some of us moved into different homes, remarried and had significant medical problems. Some of us have gotten skinnier, and some chubbier. Some of us are fighting battles that may be too difficult to win. But, all in all, Dad, I think that you would be proud of us and all that we've accomplished. There might be "Atta Kids" all around.

We love and Miss you . . .and we will "never give up".

Cheryl & Ryan: The Bouquet

"Okay," I said "Your colors are blue and brown, so what kind of flowers would you like? Can you give me an idea?

"Yes" she said "I want Ivory roses, feathers and birds."

"Feathers?"

"Yes."

"And birds?"

"Yes, feathers and birds--and roses"

Love and Leg Hair

This morning I got a chance to reflect on my life as a woman who has had to shave her legs for over 43 years. I can't believe that there was a day that I actually looked forward to this lifelong drudgery. Thank heavens, the look after is worth all the trouble. The first pair of nylons that covered my brand-new shaved-for-the-first-time legs were some nylons that my dad found in a barrel at the hardware store where he was buying plumbing supplies. They were such a bargain (there was an entire barrel full to the brim) that he bought several pairs and brought them home for me.

I was dumbstruck.

You see, the reason for the "big sale" was because they had this funny "seam" running right down the back of them. Never mind it was the 60's and seam nylons went out with WWII. . . and to top it all off, my first occasion to wear my first pair of nylons, with my just-shaved-for-the-first-time legs, was to my great-grandfather's funeral. It was hard enough that you had to put on a polyester"harness" around your hips, where some cotton straps and dangley metals things, clung to your nylons (they only went up mid-thigh) so they wouldn't fall down. Oh, and when that "special time" came around once a month--you had another "harness" that, well, we'll save that for another story.

Everyone at the funeral remarked how much I must have loved my Grandfather (which I did) so much, because I stood by his casket all evening. The real reason was that next to the casket was the only wall which I could stand in front of, hiding the hideous seams behind me that etched up my leg on the back. Yes, I actually "backed" into the room, and I "backed" out of the room. And Dad was very proud that he'd bought me something so special . . .

Fast-forward to the greatest invention of all time--knee socks! Trouser socks! Wonderful contraptions to hide the fact that you didn't have time, one too many times, to shave. Winter can be a boon to too tired hands, and worn-out blades! Just cover it up with a dark sock. . .

Jacey is studying Cosmetology. She did her last semester in aesthetics. In other words--she learned to wax. And she waxes everything. Her brothers, and yes, even her Dad, get regular "nose hair" waxing--and they all swear by them that they actually breathe better. She said, "Mom, grow out your leg hair and I will wax your legs" Okay, that sounds interesting, I'll try it--I really like smooth legs. Well, Jacey has the social calendar of a national leader, and she was getting married to boot. She kept postponing my waxing. You know when I gave up waiting for my wax job? When one morning as I was walking down the stairs, I felt the "wind blow" on my legs. They were actually "blowing in the wind" as I walked! Disgusting. I shaved that day.

Now, with no, or very little estrogen coursing through my body, my leg hair is noticeably softer and less noticeable. Maybe I will become like my mom who never had to shave in her golden years. But I am not there yet.

Today, as I was shaving my legs, my little four-year-old granddaughter, Audrey, stood by me watching. "Nana, why are you cutting that grass?" I fell on the floor.

"Gwamma, what makes the grass grow there?" Fall on the floor again.

I don't know. I just know that today--it was a lot more fun to shave!

Me, Tamra & Paisley's Planet

Tami and I have been working on Tami's dream--her "Gap" year. Tami is my cousin, on my mother's side, and we have been working on her idea of creating a children's book called "Paisley's Planet". Tami will be traveling the world, visiting with children, writing her book and enjoying her life as an independent observer of life, enjoying all this world has to offer. Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?

It will not come without sacrifice. She has sold or stored most all of her "earthly possessions" while her greatest blessings in life, her children, will be in constant contact with her through the gift of technology. Apartment--gone, car--soon to be gone.

Until she makes this big leap in her life, she will be working on business plans, Paisley's blog, travel arrangements, translators and housing. Many have offered her a home in some wild places . . .but she will always be here, with us her family, in the home that we call our heart.

"The Baby" is Getting Married

Life is pretty much a whirlwind of activity these days as we prepare for the wedding of "our baby". "The baby" is almost 22, has chosen a really good man, and is halfway through her college education. She is getting married in the right place, and it feels like the right time, and with a man that feels right for her.

It seems only yesterday that I saw her name "Jacey", written on a piece of surgical tape, taped at the foot of a NBIC crib for all the world to see. I still have that piece of tape. It meant the world to me at the time because it signified her importance--she wasn't just a little bit 'o nothin', tiny as she was, she was a force to be reckoned with. She had a name. That meant that the doctors had to do everything they could to not only save her life, but make that life as normal, physically, as possible. They did. With the exception of a little problem that most of her friends, and all of her family can attest too--Jacey fluffs. Often and loud.

She has a tender heart, the tenacity of a lion mixed with the compassion of angels. She is loyal and kind, and though sometimes--because she is so young--she takes her time getting to the right place--she always gets there. Always, she is quick to recognize her errors, slow in correcting them (she tortures those she loves) and then quick to make it better. Don't you just love this about her?

Jacey has tried her whole life to do the right thing. She has survived. She has loved--but most of all she has forgiven.

I wouldn't have missed one moment with this child--it has all been worth it. She is precious to me. She is my little girl. . . and she has grown to be such a beautiful, talented, and loving young woman. I must have done something good . . .for God gave her to me to raise. . .

Uncle Doulou

I have this uncle--he's my mom's brother. He's very special to our family. He has a fabulous wife (my Aunt Sherlene) and together they gave me a whole family full of cousins to love. He is an exceptional granddad. Some of the double-dating stories, with my parents, are for a whole other blog-type! He loved my parents, especially his big sister, Deedy.

I know that you are having a hard time with your heart right now, and I just wanted to say that I was thinking about you, and wishing you well. Thank you for braving the cold on Easter with us, and for all the love and enthusiasm you have for anytime we can get together as a family. You are this family's biggest cheerleader.

I love you.

Parents

Oftentimes, while in my room at the hospital, I imagined Merrill and Deedy walking into my room. Mom would come over and give me a kiss on the cheek, and pat my hand. Dad would bend over and give me one of his "bony one-arm hugs" that I miss so much. They both would sit down and start chatting. Mom, of course, would tell me everything she'd read on the subject and make recommendations--and Dad, well, he would listen to my stuff, and then would encourage me to hang in there. . .he probably would have brought me something in a sack that he knew was my favorite.

Dad's death was a shock. I remember how hard it was to answer Dad when he looked at me straight on and asked me, "Am I dying?". I looked at him and simply said, "yes". I knew that he wouldn't want me to get emotional, so I responded as simply as I could. I was able to tell him how much I loved him before he died--even though I didn't feel that I necessarily needed to. He knew it, and I knew it--we'd spent a lifetime making sure. Our mourning was indescribable, until 14 months later.

Mom's passing was such a surprise. She said that she was "trying to check out"--but we really didn't believe it--even when the doctor said so. "Past the point of no return" was something like what he said. Later, we were told it was a heart attack that took her. Her final breaths were taken as all of her five children, and grandchildren, surrounded her bed. We watched peacefully as she drew her last breath and her full and loving heart beat it's last beat. Then we sobbed.

I had my parents for 55 years. Growing up I had one great-grandmother and 3 grandmothers and 2 grandfathers. I was in a five-generation picture until I was 51 years old! Now, they are all gone. They all "checked out".

I was born of goodly parents. Thank you Mom and Dad, for this pain I have in the middle of my chest. It's presence only confirms that I really had quite a life with you both. . .and now, Dad, guess who's at the top of the conveyor belt?

TAH: Post-Op 3 weeks today . . .

Hey, that's what all the "sisters" say on the "Hyster-Sister" website. . . That's how you are identified, summed up, figured out and explained. . .

TAH stands for "total abdominal hysterectomy". I still don't know quite how to feel--even reading the name. You see, I agonized, as rarely I have before, whether to have this done to me. I had to trust other people (who sometimes weren't all that convincing) that it was the right thing to do. You say I have to have my uterus, cervix, ovaries, etc. out? Why can't I keep my ovaries? I hear that I need them until I die . . .who is telling the truth?

Okay, I forget--it doesn't really matter anymore--they are gone. The house I grew my babies in is gone. The almond-seed-sized laboratories of my libido are gone. All I have left are hopeful words, both spoken and written, that everything will be okay.

Right now, my "swelly-belly" is burning, sensitive to both pajamas and sheets. But I feel okay. I actually feel good. Tired, but better than I imagined. I am sick of "Lifetime" movies--but still look forward to the "Golden Girls" and "Will and Grace" and all the laughter I know that comes with them. I have a love-hate relationship with the TV. Books, my past salvation, are curiously harder to read and enjoy. I take photos of birds--I love birds--from my bed. Terry leaves birdseed out on the deck to draw them in. Jared bought me a book so that I can begin to know their names. I love waiting and watching for them. They have been my salvation.

I love prayer. Earnest prayer. And I love and am thankful for blessings. Blessings really do come true.

Did I tell you I have a "nanny"? I do, and Kelsey watches over me and little Campbell until Nana gets strong enough to watch him all by herself. What a guilty pleasure.