And a 'slimmer" too??? Virginia, there IS a Santa.

This is a post script to my last post. I ventured out today again for a red church shirt/blousy thingie because I am determined.......and stupid. It was rush hour, but I had my hair pulled back, make-up on, easy off clothes and I was bound to find some dang clothes from this century. So, I went to TGMax - or however you spell that - I am dead dog tired right now. It was productive. I found a great pair of jeans, a very cute RED short sleeve sweater turtleneck, and a white shirt that fit. Great. Then I saw the line of one million people and promptly put all the stuff back.

On to Ross. OMG. It was awful. It looked like a tornado hit. I walked in one door and out the other.

Then on to Old Navy. They had workers unpacking the spring collection. Right out the door. So I gave up. I went across the street to Target to buy one last gift for my man's kitchen.

And it was there that I HIT THE JACKPOT. I can't even tell you what I bought for not very much money. And I found a little thing I knew nothing about (did I say I was not very smart when it comes to fashion?). Now I am no stranger to spanks. They are my friend. But, did you know spanks now are built in to clothes??? Sweet. I thought the skirt I tried on was defective. But no. It was these spanks built right in. They are built into my shirt and dress, too. I may never diet or watch what I eat again.

Santa came early this year, my friends. He's hanging out at Target and he looks like black biker shorts. ;o)

Over 19, but under dead section?

I can't remember when I lost all sense of style. In fact, as I was thinking of writing this post I am not really sure that I ever had any sense of style. See, when you are raised largely on hand-me-downs and what's on sale it is difficult to acquire taste in clothes. So, I think that is where I started and I somehow ended up here.


So, yesterday my husband watched three of our kids (baby was asleep and doesn't count) so that I could go quickly and buy a red shirt that I could pair with a pair of black pants (already in my closet since the 90's but still tasteful - I think) and wear to church. I recently turned on daytime TV - note to self - don't do this - and heard that "black" washes you out if you are over 40 (I'm not saying I am over 40). What? I always thought black was safe and simple. This was ground-breaking (and terribly upsetting to me) news. More than half the clothes in my closet are black, and I would rather be water boarded than shop, so this will require some time. The man on TV recommended starting with red.


Okay, back to the red shirt/blouse/thing. Simple task, right? Easy to do in the span of time that baby is asleep? Right now I think it would have been less time consuming and less painful to stick sharp needles into every area of my naked body......oh, wait..........isn't there a name for that?


Holy cow. Let me just give you a low down of the trip and maybe you will join me in a protest against clothes shopping and selling in any way shape or form. Enter me into a nice (not Kohls, but not Nordstroms) department store where the salespeople are helpful but not pushy. First rack I see I think, "I would wear that and it costs less than a million dollars. Okay, let me try that." Now, my body is it's own entity. I used to be in charge of it, but now it pretty much runs itself. So, I'm thinking okay I know 10 is too big, there are no fours, so I pull a six off the rack thinking it should be safe. I hold it up and there are still two feet hanging off my shoes. And now I have wasted five minutes and now the shirt (which isn't red) doesn't look too great either.


On to the next rack. And so it goes for about another 10 minutes. So, I decide to meander toward juniors (big mistake) since even the fives (which are slim pickings) are swimmingly huge. Now, don't get the picture (if you don't know me) that I am slim. I am not. Let me just say that as a real junior I was slim and not shapely (well, if 'board' is a shape -then, yes, the shape of a board). Having four kids made my body, well, flat. Anything that should protrude doesn't. And my belly (which I don't think is supposed to protrude) does. And, I know I am being explicit here. Bare with me. He-he.


I find a couple of junior red sweater/shirts. Yay. I try them on. Wow. One of them looks, well, Startrek-like and the other is so skin tight and see-through that I am wondering how it could feel like a sweater??? Okay. Back to the rack (only have wasted about 30 minutes now). I pull off a cute gray sweater dress. The hell with the red shirt. I try it on. Hot dog. It fits and looks fairly cute. But, it's close to black. Oh, well. And, what kind of shoes do I wear with this thing? And, it's kind of cold for short sleeve. And, it's not on sale. Oh, well. I am buying this thing. So, I put it over my arm very decidedly and move on to shoes.


Okay. I really like black boots this season and there are a pair on sale for $49!!! They are cute. And I think they will look good with this dress. No pairs in my size, though. (I am now up to 55 minutes and counting). So, I meander around the shoes. Nothing looks good. I look back down at the dress and go back to juniors and put it back. I came in for a red shirt/blouse/thing and somehow got distracted and went down a bad path. So, I start over.


Suddenly there are no red shirts and I am exhausted. I give it one more go just so I can say I did. A sweet saleswoman asks me if there is anything she can help me with. I briefly think of saying, "Yes. Do you have anything that will not make me look washed out, give me boobs, suck in my stomach, push my butt back out, make me taller, and be red and Christmassy?" But, I know I am leaving empty handed, so I just say, "No, thank you." As I am breezing out the door (now thinking how I can wear the black outfit one more Christmas and shop for red next year) I see a red shirt that doesn't look half bad. I go up for a closer look and see that it's got a weird collar and is made out of some strange feeling fabric. Uh, no. Keep going. Out the door.

I may try again tomorrow. Or I may not. And this, my friend, is why I've been wearing the same clothes since 1989. ;o)

Day 27 - Bittersweet

Well, today is my oldest's eighth birthday. I am so happy and proud of him. He was up at 4:15 a.m. to open his presents. Typical M. - completely in character for him. I, on the other hand, was up last night till twelve fifteen making his yummy school treats and then I was up just thinking. Yes, sometimes it's a blessing, but most of the time it's a burden...my thoughts.

I am so happy for my sweet boy, but as is often the case when I am happy - I am sad as well. Happy for my M. that he is growing up into what I hope is a great boy. Sad for me that I am growing older and ever losing the sweet baby boy that I know. I tell the kids every year, "Enjoy this day. It is the last day that you are going to be (insert whatever age)." They laugh. I don't. It's true. The day passes and you can't ever get it back. It reminds me to live carefully.

I also can't help thinking of mom on birthdays. How careful she was to remember everyone's birthday and send them a card. One time (or possibly more than one time) she told me, "You need to always remember to send your siblings a birthday card. It's such a great way to show your love for them." She was so smart about those kinds of things. If any of my siblings are reading this remember that I am not that smart or organized - so you can go on not expecting a card from me but just knowing I love you. ;o)

As I lay in bed last night I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep. My thoughts wandering to mom and how she and dad would call every birthday of anyone in my house and sing to us. So sappy, yet so sweet and predictable in a completely comforting way. The last birthday in my house was Ed's. November 23rd. No call on Ed's birthday. As she had already been dead for three days. Of course my mind went back to the day of Ed's birthday when I wandered half asleep (from days in the hospital and then days of new grief) out to the mailbox which hadn't been checked in a while. The kids were playing in the cul-de-sac as I checked the mail. On top was a card. I immediately recognized my mother's handwriting on the front of the card. "Eddie DeLaCruz." The tears filled my eyes right away. I checked the postmark and it was mailed the day she died. Soon I was holding this huge pile of mail and sobbing. Trying not to sit down right there at the mailboxes.

I got back in the house with the kids screaming, "Mom, what's wrong??? Why are you crying???" Ed knew as soon as he walked in the door that something had happened. "What's up?" "Go look on the table," I managed. He opened the card. Mom had written in her precise cursive something like - to a great son-in-law, father, and husband. We love you and hope you have a happy birthday. Had she only known. Curiously what was printed on the card said something like, "Birthdays are a way to remember the people who love or have loved you." So, maybe she did know.

Well, there will be no phone call from ma today to wish bubby a happy birthday. But, Bubby opened his great card from sweet, sweet grandpy this morning. He asked me how grandpy left the card since he was in Michigan. I told him that grandpy gave it to me right before he left so that Malcolm would have it on his birthday. It was kind of strange seeing dad's writing on the card instead of mom's. The message was the same - full of love. Bubby was so happy. Eight shiny new dollars. Of course, that made him happy.

Birthdays have changed for good.

I will have to get used to this....and it may take a while.

Oh, and another thing........

After our crazy, low-budget family Christmas picture yesterday we did make it to the piano recital where my kids performed fabulously (yes, I am prejudice). It was so worth all the fussing to see them play in the mall in front of strangers..........who clapped for them! Proud Parent Moment.

Then we saw Santa in the restroom. Bonus. I am a mean mom (in case you haven't been able to tell from my blog) and we do not wait six hours to see Santa. So, it worked out perfectly. Course, Malcolm was suspicious that Santa takes a leak, Sofia said it was icky, Corina was creeped out (as I was), and baby screamed through most of it. But, I can rest easy. Got my kids to the recital on time AND saw Santa.

But, lest I believe I am reverting back to Perfect Parent, yesterday was breakfast with Santa and not only did I not have all my kids - they weren't quite dressed. Years past I would have tediously groomed them for the occasion. This year I wanted to get there before Santa had packed it up and gone back to the North Pole. So, Malcolm is wearing an eclectic outfit, Sofia looks like a Christmas doll, and Corina has jeans and a shirt and some funky socks because she tore her pantyhose and therefore decided she couldn't wear the Christmas dress. But, they look awesome. They are so happy and all smiling and they are CUTE. I love it. It could be the best Christmas picture they've ever taken......oh, wait.........except for the one kid that's missing. ;o)

How We Went From Bribery is the Root of All Evil to GIVE THAT GIRL SOME CANDY!

This is a quick (well as quick as I can be) tale about how I went from point A to point B after four kids. Let me start by saying (and this is something I've said many, many times): I cannot believe I became friends (and remain friends) with a funny, creative, sweet woman who had three boys right after M. was born and went on to have a fourth boy. This is so incredible to me because I have no idea why in the world she put up with me. I was amazingly uptight, not to mention crazy nuts. Let me explain the insanity. It came in the form of: I am the perfect parent, can do no wrong and therefore my child will be perfect. Oh, and I know everything about parenting and could probably even write a book about it. Our son didn't watch TV, eat candy, was always impeccably dressed (from birth), took regular naps, and never had to do anything he wasn't really "in the mood for" or had to (God forbid) be bribed to do - read "spoiled." Well, that parenting which I will heretofore (I just love to type that) refer to as First Time Mom Parenting lasted right until our second baby came along.

I still tried to keep it up as much as possible. There is proof of this that I keep proudly displayed on the bookshelf. A Christmas picture of brother and sister when they are under 3. They are beautifully dressed and posing nicely at Target. But First Time Mom Parenting relaxed a little (and became more like Still Keeping Up Parenting) when the good friend in paragraph one told me most bluntly one day at the park after I'd been crying and moaning ("I don't understand why all this is happening and why I feel so awful.") "It's called two kids. It don't get any better. So, get used to it." So I became quite comfortable with Still Keeping Up Parenting. Then along came baby #3.

There is no Target Christmas picture from that year because although I managed to get everyone dressed beautifully and carted them to Target it was in the middle of nap time (because that's how long it took to get everyone fed, cleaned, clothed and me showered and dressed) everyone was cranky, and M. wouldn't stop pinching S. Even when the camera lady gave them like a whole bag of M and M's they wouldn't be still and smile. Crazy, right? Finally the sweet high school camera lady encouraged me to reschedule at another time when my kids might behave better. Like I said, no picture from Target that year. The descent from Still Keeping Up Parenting to Not Keeping Up Parenting began.

I wondered up until I got pregnant with baby #4 when exactly the downhill slide started. I am pretty sure it was right after #3 came home from the hospital. Some things went uphill like fun, enthusiasm, time with the kids while some things suffered like cleanliness, organization, laundry. I began to sacrifice things like decent clothes, nice curtains, and furniture from the 90's (yes, I said 90's) for a cleaning lady who actually could clean because I couldn't. I grew into the role of Not Keeping Up Parenting. Not to mention the fact that three kids cost some money and we only have one person working in this family. So, things just began to change. More sacrifices were made for the children and that was all right. Then came baby #4.

Now, let me tell you the parenting now (and I use the term "parenting' loosely - it's actually more like "herding") could be called My Kids Run the Show and They Will Respond To Bribery Parenting. Which brings me to the scene in our living room yesterday.

It started as all weekends normally do - a flurry of piano practice, breakfast cooking and cleaning up, two loads of laundry, maybe some playing outside, baby screaming incessantly at some point, someone torturing someone, someone going to time-out, etc., etc. But then at around 11 a.m. I started to gather the troops in order to be across town, dressed and prepared for a piano recital at 1:00 p.m. At 11:50 (we need to leave at 12:00 noon) one girl is dressed and looks beautiful, one girl is dressed and looks positively dreadful because she HATES dresses and pantyhose, one boy is dressed but refuses to brush his teeth because it is illegal (what???), one baby is dressed and snottty because she can't ever seem to be healthy - and is screaming because she hasn't eaten lunch or had a nap, one husband is dressed and even smelling good, and one mom is bathed, but has no make-up on, and is still wearing stained, ripped and generally nasty clothes (see previous paragraphs).

So this is what happens (follow closely here) and when it happened it just made me wonder - HOW DID I GET HERE???: I push the kids downstairs (one of them carrying crying, snotty, hungry, sleepy baby), scream at husband to quick take a Christmas photo that I can use for our card, and lock myself in the bathroom to get ready. This takes longer than expected because baby has thrown my make-up bag on the floor early in the morning and no one has picked it up. Two seconds later: Husband is screaming at me - am I ready to take the picture. WHAT???????????? Did he not understand the parents are not in the picture - just the kids? Who wants a picture of a harried mom with clothes from the 70's??? So, I pick from my ever vanishing clothes that fit and are not stained, throw some mascara on, brush my hair (when was the last time I washed it? not sure - too late to care) and hobble downstairs at which point I see all of them eating chips in the living room which has been turned into some sort of quasi-Christmas studio. Baby is screaming until they shove chips in her mouth at which point husband says, "That's it! Places everyone! When I say go - feed baby a chip and she will smile. Better yet, who has candy???"

Long and Complicated or Day 21

Some days there is a lot to write, some days not so much. Or, at least none of it is worthy of "publishing." Even the titles suck. So - I have mostly sat down to write, nothing comes out except drivel and then it is "saved for now" or immediately deleted. Today there is a lot to write, but I will try to stay focused and on topic. I will resort back to something I learned in high school (and that is scary on so many levels). Pick a topic to write about, introduce it, say three well-rounded things about it, and then conclude. Short and simple. And you know when you say that, it's just not true.

God never gives us more than we can handle. True? I am not sure. Nor am I completely sure what the heck that means (readers - feel free to clue me in). Lots of people told us that when we lost Frank. And lots of times I thought in my head, "What a load of crap." Or, more politely, "I must be a freaking wonder woman, then." I prefer to think (because I have known this to be true) - God tries to prepare our hearts for what is to come. Whether we recognize this preparation depends on us.

When we lost Frank, Ed had become a Catholic (okay - that still sounds weird when I say it and now I know that it writes even weirder). He had attended a retreat that could be labeled "charismatic" (I am pretty sure there were no snake charmers, men speaking in tongues, or head healings - but I cannot be completely sure.) When he got home he said, "Moni, I think God is telling me that He is preparing us for something that might not be great and I am a little frightened." And you know I am paraphrasing because if you know me you know that I am feeble-minded. Okay, so when I heard this I had several thoughts. Them being: 1. What? 2. Are you Nostradamus now that you are Catholic? 3. I have been Catholic since before I was born and God has never told me anything or prepared me for anything. 4. Again, what? Then Ed said he thought my mom or dad might die. So, I was a little freaked out. Time passed and the world didn't end, so I figured Ed was off his rocker.

Then we lost Frank.

I couldn't shake what Ed had said. I still can't. And I've had a good nine years to think about it.

Fast forward nine years, and I will tell you that I think I was being prepared for my mom's death. How did this happen? Like so many things God seems to do - quietly and in tiny bits. Strangely, I had been finding lots of interesting stories and quotes in the bible. Not a book I would pick up on a regular basis, but I had been. I found myself listening during the sermon at church (I think that's what we are supposed to do, but have been known to pull kids' ears - don't worry - just my own kids, think about the week ahead, or plot the ways in which I can reprimand the kids after church). This had gone on for a few weeks, and then around October I was handed the task of helping Malcolm prepare for his first reconciliation.

Now I am pretty old (not as old as light or the dinosaurs - but "old" nonetheless) and when I was a kid confession was to be feared. It was owning up to God for all the awful things you had done. Worse still it was having to tell these awful things to a PRIEST of all people. And, this is what I largely still believed going into said "preparation." I am an old Catholic, so I do rely on guilt as a daily (if not hourly) way of walking a straight line. And I largely thought of confession as a necessary, but useless sacrament made once and then put on a shelf never to be seen again. The first introduction into a guilt-led life. So, I took on this task of preparation less than enthusiastically and frankly a bit disgustedly since my own feelings about "reconciliation" left a lot to be reconciled.

Well, then we had our first preparation class and I learned what reconciliation and grace were all about. Among other things, I was reminded of Pope John Paul (the second??? yes, I think so) who went to the prison in order to forgive his shooter. I have heard this story before, but this time it was like I was hearing it with new ears and I was struck with the beauty of the story and its implications. Then Father said something just a little scary. He recommended parents go to confession at the same time as their children. Ah, yikes.

Well, you can just imagine how much pause that brought me. We went over the 10 commandments (which I can report I know now) and what they mean in daily life. And I realized that usually by about 8:00 a.m. every day I have broken at least two of the 10 commandments. I was also versed on An Examination of Conscience. I found this to be downright scary, but I wanted to not be a hypocrite and do this right. So, I examined my conscience. And, I was right. It was scary.

But, I did it. I went to confession. I cannot say that I am sold on the sacrament. And this is by no way an attempt to proselytize or sell you on confession. It was strange and I am not sure about all the implications of it, but what I can say without a doubt is that the following week I felt a strange feeling that I can only describe as calm.....possibly peace. This was two weeks before mom died.

It was with this residual feeling of calm and peace that I weathered the first experience I have ever had with a child going into the hospital. And it was with this fading feeling that I found out mom had died.

Fast forward again to last Monday night. Malcolm made his first Reconciliation. I am deeply comforted by the fact that mom had it carefully penciled in on her notepad that she kept by the phone. "December 7 - Malcolm - First Reconciliation." I know it's because she was going to pray for him. Faithfully pray. As she always did. One thing you can be sure of - if mom said she would pray for you - she would. Unceasingly.

I was there in church waiting in line in a strange scenario of little nervous second graders lined up to "confess." And their parents standing with them. Malcolm looked up at me with a silly grin and I prayed to mom, "Please, ma I know you were going to pray for him. Granted not like this. But please look down on him and bless his mind so that this brings him calm and peace.....And me, too."

Mom did bless him. He was granted peace and calm - it lasted about one day. But, that makes me smile. I confessed, too. Rest assured you will not have to read that. Instead I will share something the priest (without knowing of my current situation) said to me that has brought me peace and that I have thought about a lot. And this is my prayer for Day 21. He said (and, of course, I paraphrase), "For your penance I want you to pray the Our Father this beautiful prayer. But this time when you are praying it think about how you are a daughter. A beautiful daughter.................of God."

Day 21 Prayer of Our Father

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.
On earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day, our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.

Amen and thanks for the read

Ten Four Good Buddy

Ed has the kids' Christmas walkie talkies out and is "testing" them. He has all four of them powered up and is seeing how he will put them in the stockings for his grand plan. The last I heard was, "Breaker, breaker this is Santa coming through..................Moni, are you there?........................Moni, are you there?" Me after I figure out how to work one of the three walkie talkies he has now placed next to my laptop, "Yes, I am here dangit. I am trying to write my blog." Him, "Well, can you pick up one of the three walkie talkies there and test it?" Me, "Go outside far away and I will test it."

What I Am Thankful For This Thanksgiving

First - the title. Yes, it's kindergarten. Sorry. Yes, it's going to be a list. You know you want it and when you think about it - have missed my lists. Yes, it's I Can't Remember How Many Days AFTER Thanksgiving - but, I've been a little busy. So...here goes (oh, I am feeling really thankful today - so if you are like me you will skip to the end and decide then if it's worth the read ;o).... - but know that you might skip yourself.

I am thankful....

1. for Smokey Robinson. I have had this amazing song running through my head for so many days now - "Take a good look at my face. You'll see my smile looks out of place. If you look closer it's easy to trace the tracks of my tears."

2. JC knows how to cook amazingly well. Who knew? I didn't know the breadth of it. She kept my family fed for a while. AND I am thankful for all the other stuff she did for our family (too extensive to list ;o).

3. CB knows how to shop at Costco. Wow. Is it two kids and a husband that likes to eat? I don't know. But, that woman can shop and shop well. See the last sentence of #2 as well.

4. for SM and her calling me from across the globe to make sure I was okay. I love a woman that will tackle a time change for a friend.

5. for MG. What can I really say here? So, this is what I have thought - We've been friends since middle school. She knows more about me than most people and still is my friend. She is here for me through thick and thin. I love/loved her parents. She saved me from possible injury by driving me to and from Kerrville. I love her.

6. for a dear friend of long ago who has been sending me really, really kind messages on FB and my blog. You know who you are. That she would take the time to do that. Did I say wow? Wow again.

7. for LH. Her ways inspire me to be a better more thoughtful parent and friend. Always has and probably always will.

8. for my family. What else can I say here? There are no words.

9. for S. who sat through the Nutcracker (where I did not want to be) smiling and innocent. I love her with all my heart.

10. for love lost.

11. for M. who said (and I am paraphrasing here because I can't remember the exact words), "Grandpa didn't die and he's the one who makes cookies."

12. for C. For her prayer every night without ceasing, "I pray for grammy and grandpy."

13. for JW for just asking quietly, "How are you? You doing okay?" oh, and for putting up with ALL my kids ALL the time. AND see #2 last sentence.

14. for all the sweet, sweet FB condolences. Crazy, eh? That just sounds "not right." Like, "That kid ain't right."

15. for The Chandler Family. I am so not used to that - that I couldn't remember who the heck it was when I saw the gorgeous plant. ;o)

16. for my great P and P customers who forgave my late prints and came to my house to pick up others. They will never read this, but I have put key to screen and that makes me feel better.

17. that nine years ago someone told me, "Write three things you are thankful for everyday - even if you don't feel like it." At the time I think I thought, "Well, that's stupid." But, I did it.

18. that I have already been through hell on earth a few times to prepare my heart for these days.

19. whoever did something great for me and didn't make the list will forgive me because I am feeble-minded. ;o) Or they will remind me in the comments so that I can thank them tomorrow. ;o)

20. for MM. A person who knows what hell on earth feels like because she is going through it right now. But, in her pain takes the time to check on me. For her sincerity and genuineness after all these years.

21. for DL for crying (I hate to do that) on the phone with me.

22. for love lost (did I say that already?).

Day 12 or The First Epiphany

I don't remember much about losing Frank. And the body is probably designed that way for your own protection, self preservation, and well-being. ;o) What I do remember comes to me vividly and is triggered by odd random things. I remember sitting on the toilet (not using the toilet - just sitting there to have to avoid actually talking and interacting with people - basically wallowing in my sorrow) in my friend's house which she had so graciously offered to us while we were going through the depositions. There was a Reader's Digest on her bed stand that I had picked up and taken in the restroom. I flipped through it and stumbled upon an article about a woman whose husband was an Olympic athlete (I think I have this story right and someone who reads my blog - oh, wait does anyone read my blog besides me? - may know who this actually is) had lost her husband and months later her daughter to (I think) disease and accident. Okay, now that I am writing this - the details are sketchy. MAIN POINT being - she was suffering a lot. Her life was rocked like an earthquake - 10 on the scale. But, she came out on top. She took all her pain and used it for good to help other people. She became this amazing motivational speaker. It was really at the time an amazing read for me. I remember so vividly thinking - holy cow. There are people who go through 100 times worse than I am going through right now and guess what - they not only live they make the best of it. Buck up, baby. It was an epiphany. Not the last - just the first.

Last night I was flipping channels and stopped on the Catholic channel because I love it sometimes. Father Eddie was talking about justice. Of course I thought of mom. Justice was high in her book. It was a really good conversation about advent being for justice and treating your fellow man with humanity because that is what we are called to do. But one thing Father Eddie said struck me right in the head. He said, "Jerusalem, take off your robe of mourning and misery; put on the splendor of glory of God forever." Baruch 5:1. Now, that just happens to be for this Sunday's readings, and it thumped me on the forehead. But, then he said (like he could see me flopped on the couch) - and I am paraphrasing a little because I can't remember how he said it exactly, "Now, I've had a bad week. I have been crying and having a pity party for myself but then I went to BAMC and saw a guy whose leg was shot off in the war and a bunch of other soldiers who weren't doing so great. And I was lifted up." Hmm.

This could be the first epiphany for me.

30 Days of Grieving....I'll Take It

My aunt sent my dad a little book of prayers with 30 Days of Grieving. I am slightly confused by the 30 days, although I am sure there is a good explanation for that. I think my Organized Sister has made a copy of said book for everyone. So, maybe I will understand later. If I remember correctly from the last serious loss I suffered about 9 years ago - it was more like 365 Days of Grieving. But, ah well. Anyway, I have decided to do my own book (and I use that term loosely).

So, this is Day 11. What does it feel like? So far (and, keep in mind it's 7:00 a.m.) much like Day 10 and Days 1-9. Do I have a prayer for the day? Yes, I do. It goes like this: God, give me the strength to get through the day. Numb my brain so that I can focus on what I need to do. Touch my heart so that it feels love instead of emptiness. And, let my thoughts wander away from mom to other things that will bring comfort instead of unending pain. Amen.