Mommy, I have a joke for you. You will laugh so hard.
Okay Noodle, give it your best shot.
How do you wake up Lady Gaga?
I have no idea babe.
Poke her face.
I laugh for a good five minutes. My girl, such a little comedian. I love six. Six is a great age.
Last night, she got up three times and each time turned the hall light on. Each time, I’d wait a bit and shut it back off. I wanted to be grouchy. I really did. Yet, she’s six. When she gets up and leaves her room for any reason, she gets scared and needs tons of light. Nightlights in her room and the hall aren’t enough. She won’t be this small forever. She won’t be afraid of the hallway at night forever. She won’t come in at 6am and crawl into bed with me for long. Someday she won’t want to hold my hand in public at all times, lacing her fingers in mine. A day will come when I will embarrass her. Probably a day soon.
Not yet. Today she is six. Six is lovely.
********************
Bubbie you have to slow down. Say that again. Mama can’t understand. He sighs at me. My two year old sighs at me. Something he learned from his big sisters. I am exasperating him.
He is so animated. He talks with his whole body. He speaks in complete sentences and his entire self moves. At times though, he speaks too fast. When you are missing key letters in your vocabulary, you need to slow it down a bit. Ha. He has a very large personality. We have intense conversations about everything. Cars. Toy Story. His blue cup. The moon. Why dogs can’t be ridden. Why my iPhone isn’t his, because he’s pretty sure it is. Why he “no use big boy potty yet. My big mama, but not dat big.” Why his bed at daddies house isn’t acceptable for sleeping in. “My Twain bed make me cry mama. Wah. Wah. I cry wike dat.”
He looks older and speaks as well as most three year olds, so people assume he is three. He tantrums like a not yet two and a half year old though.
I like this stage. He’s so tiring, yet so very fun. Two is entertaining.
*******************
Morgan it does. It has red in it. I remember the red.
Mother? You need new eyes. You need to go to the doctor and say, my eyes are defective, I need new ones. Please and thank you very much kind doctor. There has never been red in that couch. Promise.
I laugh and laugh. We are at Kohls attempting to use my Kohls cash before I forget I have it and find it three minutes after it expires. We came for pillows for the futon couch in the basement. I am convinced it has red in it and well, she’s convinced I’m a lunatic.
We go back and forth on it for twenty minutes in the store. She tries to convince me to buy black or light tan pillows. It has both of these colors mom. Just those. NO RED. I want the red. I’m convinced it has red. In the end, we don’t buy any because she convinces me I will be grouchy if I come home and they are wrong.
I am wrong. There is no red. Red pillows would look weird on that futon. She only gloats for a minute.
Nine years old and full of opinions. I take her shopping with me for clothes, because she always tells me the truth. She is my memory at the grocery store, remembering that we needed Lysol wipes and Kleenex, where I’d surely have forgotten.
She is funny and opinionated and makes sure her thoughts are always known. I’ve noticed lately how she is nicer though. She has started thinking before she speaks. She listens to everything I am trying to say, before working on her rebuttal. She has started taking a few deep breaths or asking to be excused to her room for a minute before she blows up at nothing. My baby is getting big.
I like nine. Nine is a great age.
*****************
A Sunday full of normal. A movie in bed in the morning. Blueberry pancakes. Errands. Lunch out. Video games. Laundry. Reading more chapters in books. Dinner at home. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It’s my favorite type of day. I’d really love another one. Today, I wish for a second Sunday.
1. Last night, I went into the kids bathroom to turn off the light that my six year old always gets up and turns on, once my nine year old is asleep. (Side story: One needs complete darkness to sleep, but falls asleep in seconds. One wants light and takes a bit to fall asleep. It’s taken till now to find a compromise.) When I walk in the room though, I realize the toilet wasn’t flushed. Again. I flushed it and it started to fill up. Because yes, what I want to do is unclog a toilet at 10pm. I thank the bathroom gods that it doesn’t over flow and go locate the plunger and unclog the toilet. Then I curse my children in my head…and in email to my bff’s, for not bothering to say, hey mom, the toilet is clogged.
This morning, when questioned why it’s so hard to just tell me, they both swear to god that it wasn’t them. One blamed the boy. Which in future years will likely be true. However at the present time? He wears DIAPERS! He does all his bid-ness in diapers. The other child? Swore it was me and I just forgot. Yeah. It was me. I forgot clogging the toilet. I forgot to flush the toilet. Because I knew the toilet fairy would take care of it for me. Sheesh. Really? Come on now, someone fess up.
2. Same children who woke me up by 6:45am every single morning that that they were home and with me over Christmas break? Have been late to school the last two mornings. Because they won’t wake up. (The first morning, was my fault. I set my alarm wrong. But still, when I woke up an entire hour late? They were all still asleep.) This morning, they were dragging. They had to basically be dragged out of bed. I just don’t understand. Is it a kid thing? Parent germ warfare? Sleep in during the week, be wide awake and talking and needing nourishment and crap at the butt crack of dawn on Sunday?
3. I can’t find my TV remote. I can turn my TV on without it, because I have the cable remote. I also have the DVD player remote. But not the actual TV remote. I’ve looked for it for the last hour. The boy, he hides it. He finds things hiding places. Of course today is his dad’s night too. Which sucks. Because I won’t be able to find the dam thing. He will, when I ask him tomorrow. But me? Not a chance. I have spend way to much of his very short two years and three months of life, trying to find the things that he hides.
I have been trying to write a post for my tiny son, for almost a week now. It’s hard. Because I want it to be perfect and sweet and funny. Yet, he’s not sleeping, because of two year old molars, so in turn I’m not sleeping. It limits my ability to write coherently.
On Saturday, Harrison turned two. Which is just shocking too me. I don’t know how this keeps happening, this growing up thing. No matter what I do though, they just keep doing it.
I remember the day they told me he would be a boy. I remember it, like it was yesterday. I laughed and laughed and when the doctor asked me why, I said: been there, done that dude. The doctor was unaware of Bailey’s story, so I had to then explain. My doctor of course, said: oh no, this one really is a boy. She then again, showed me his parts on the little bitty screen. Okay doc, I said. The truth is, once you’ve had a delivery room surprise, you never believe it again. (Even now, six years later, when someone tells me, oh I’m having a girl…I still think well okay, sure, whatever.) It didn’t matter to me either way. Yet, I sensed he was a boy.
It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny newborn all cuddled on my shoulder. Now, I can only get him to cuddle at 2am. Which, sadly doesn’t really work for me. In fact, I’m really over the 2am thing. And the 4am thing.
Harrison is all boy. Complete boy. If there was a need for a picture and definition of all boy, he would be it. He is destructive, loud and dirty. In love with cars, trucks, balls and trains. He can throw a baseball farther than I ever will be able too. He is strong and sturdy. He eats absolutely everything. When he falls, he jumps back up and says, woooaaa cool. He can also be the sweetest, most loving child in the world.
He does this funny thing when he wants something. He gets this little smile, shows off one dimple and cocks his head. Then he says all sweetly, mama pwease? His eyes literally sparkle when he does this. It’s very hard to resist.
We play a game every night at dinner, on the nights that the kids are with me. It’s called High/Low. I stole it from a movie years ago. Around the time Morgan was born. We each say our high and low of the day. In the past few weeks Harrison has started adding in his own. Trains. Cars. MAYER!!! Swings. The park. Candy. Those are generally his highs. Nap, is every single day, his low. It cracks me up.
On Saturday, while we looked at trains with his cousin, I asked him how old he was today. Uhhhh mine fwur he said, holding up three fingers. Yeah, not quite buddy.
Oh my baby boy, you are not four. You are just two. Please slow down I want to tell him, but I know it does no good.
We are playing some perverse game of musical beds in my house. It has to stop, I am just not sure how to stop it.
It started out all innocently. See, when Harrison was born, we had a scare in the hospital. Nothing big, but scary enough that I was a neurotic mess the night he came home from the hospital. When the choice came to put him in his crib, I hedged. The girls had always slept in their cribs. But that was a different time and I was a different me. So….I brought him to bed with me. Logan raised his eyebrows at me, but didn’t say a word. It just sort of worked. Harrison was a great sleeper as an infant.
Fast forward about nine months and he stopped being a pleasant bed baby. We transitioned him into sleeping in the crib. Which worked out okay. However? He’s not a great sleeper. At nearly two years old (Sigh. When did that happen?) he still wakes up and cries out for me a couple times a night. He’s lost his bink. He’s gotten caught up in his blankie in a way he doesn’t like. He…well whatever, he just doesn’t sleep through the night. Or he won’t and he screams, which isn’t pleasant for me or his sleeping sisters. However? In January when Logan moved out, I started going to get him when he woke up. Bringing him into bed with me. Partially because listening to him cry, made me weep. Partially because I already wasn’t sleeping, so what did it matter.
Also, Bailey has pretty much slept with me non-stop since January. I put her to bed in her bed. Most nights at least. However, as soon as I leave the room, she gets up, takes her blankies and goes and gets in my bed. Two or three hours later, when I go to bed, I’m not willing to move her, so I generally leave her.
I don’t mind her in my bed. She’s like the perfect sleep buddy. She rarely moves. She barely makes a peep. She’s cuddly. I do mind Harrison in my bed though. Yet, I don’t seem to be able to stop it.
Reality is, it’s hard to say no at 2am. I know he wants me. He knows he wants me. I am weak. It’s hard, this single parent gig. Some people do it non-stop. I don’t. We share custody. But still, there are three of them and one of me. at night, when I’m tired? I loose the will power to be strong.
I am also very, very tired. He’s rolly. He’s like a baby steam roller. He’s a blanket thief. I don’t even think I can explain to you what happens to the sheets. He’s insane. He’s a toddler blanket dictator. Bailey and I wake up shivering. He kicks too. Some mornings, I play, where are my children. It’s a fun game. Where fun equals weird.
This is a night/morning example from a few days ago: (I copied it out of a chat with Liz from last week.)
At midnight maybe, Bailey came into bed with me. At 1am Harrison woke up.
I brought him into bed with me. At 3am I know Bailey got up and went to the bathroom, at 6:45am I woke up, I was alone. Went to see where my children all were, can only assume Bailey got tired of Harrison kicking and left. She was on the couch. Maybe Harrison went to sleep with Morgan for some ungodly reason, because that’s where he was. He Probably kicked her too many times she got up and slept in Bailey ‘s bed? Is insane. No fucking wonder I am so tired today.
Yeah. That was a few days ago. Last night? I slept with the little two in my bed. I woke up on the edge, with Bailey basically huddled right next to me…probably for warmth, since Harrison had stolen all of the covers.
Is it a wonder that I’m tired all the freaking time? I should know how to do this. But I don’t. It’s hard to break a habit that I started. I never started it with the girls. The reason Bailey sleeps with me, is solely because she was just too sad when her dad and I separated and needed me. She may still, which is why I’m not willing to kick her out of my bed yet.
I feel bad that I’m okay with her in my bed, but not him.
He’s gotta go. I just don’t know how to be a hard ass at night. I’m great at it during the day. At night though? I’m a big ole wuss and he knows it.
Halp? Any ideas? Tell me I’m not alone. Please someone. Anyone?
-The way he looked at me and said: mama, I pway wain? He cocked his little head and gave me the dimple smile, just hoping I’d say yes. Sure bubs, I said. Go play in the rain. He took off outside, running and jumping and kicking a soccer ball in the pouring rain. After a bit he came in. You wet enough yet smoosh, I asked? He patted his shirt, his shorts and his cheeks before saying: no, I pway moar wain and running off again. All boy. This kid is all boy. He likes to be dirty. He like to throw balls. Play with trucks. Run in the rain. I adore him.
-The way she comes in at 2am. I hear her coming from down the hall. (Oh the joys of being a light sleeper.) She comes in my room, lifts up the cover and sneaks in. She gets as close to me as possible, some nights even lifting my arm up over her. I listen to her breath. I wait as she falls back asleep. I kiss her head and play with her hair. I smell her shampoo mixed with the smell of little girl. She won’t always want this. She won’t always want me. She will one day decide she is too big to come into bed with me at night. For now? I enjoy it.
-We went and played mini-golf, just the two of us a few weekends ago. She kept writing down one less number for herself than she should have. Most days I won’t let her cheat. I know for her, being called on it, is generally the way to go. Her competitive nature gets the best of her. That day though, I let her cheat. That day, I played worse than I would have on purpose. We laughed and told each other jokes. I watched her watch the teenage girls in front of us play. I watched her listen to their conversations. Watched her watch them joke around with each other. I silently thanked them for being seemingly nice, polite, well behaved girls. When Morgan said on the way home, when I’m big, I’ll be like those girls, I said, yes my love, I’m sure you will. Then I stopped and bought her a Slurpee at 7-11. Just because. At the check out, since she didn’t ask, I offered to buy her a bag of Silly Bandz. Just because.
I admit, I stole this idea from my friend Emily at Wheels on the Bus.
Dear son,
21 months might be a weird month to decide to write you, but hey, you gotta take it where I can give it. The other day, you and I went on our very first mommy, son date. Sure we do things together all the time. We go to the store, we drive your big sisters around like a taxi, we hang out on my bed while I work and you play with your six MAYER trucks. See, you? Are sorta easy. Compared to your sisters at least. You will go anywhere and do almost anything. You will sleep in my lap, on the couch, in the stroller, or just about anywhere. Therefore, you are easy to just tote around. As long as you are fed and have a car to play with, you are good to go.
What I’m trying to say, is we do spend tons of time together. But on Saturday? I decided to take you someplace that was special. Just us. We went to the Children’s Museum for a few hours. We looked at everything. We played with everything. You were absolutely thrilled to spend time touching everything and not having to be buckled into a stroller. Or have me say, uh-uh bubs, that’s not for touching. You touched everything. Every inch of space in the entire place. Every kid you passed. You even picked up some binky off the floor and put it in your mouth, before handing it back to the little girl who had dropped it. I shudder at the thought of that, but you are a binky fool, so what can I say?
You talked non-stop. I have a theory about this. That you and your sisters have a very high word quota a day. Not sure where you get it. Ahem. You even said your very first sentence today.
Mama, yook-it, Bub’s big man now.
Son? You may be big. But you are not a big man now. You were wearing a fireman’s outfit though, so I’ll let it slide. You are not even 21 months until Friday. Please to be remembering.
You liked dressing up like a Fireman. You loved the train room. You adored sitting in a big cocoon thing. You liked playing with the fake food, which I found funny, since you could care less to play with the fake food we have at home. Maybe fake food is better tasting there? No clue.
This was the first of many, many, many, mama-son days. That I can promise you.
Love you son,
Mama
Smoosh,
Today you are 18 months old. A year and a half. In some ways it seems like you were a tiny newborn yesterday and in other ways, I’m already beginning to forget what you were like then.
You are so big. Truly. You look about two and a half years old already. You are tall and sturdy and already loosing the baby look in your face. Women always look at me all weird when they see you with your binky and blankie in the middle of the day. Don’t take it personally son, they just think you are too old for it. If you were actually two and a half, maybe. But not yet. You are still my tiny little baby boy. You hold onto the bink for as long as you want. The other day we were in Target and a woman asked you a question about a toy. I laughed as you said HI!!!! She I think expected more of a response. Then you showed her your Mater truck and said YUK MAYER!!!! I had to tell her that you were not yet 18 months old and that you really had no idea about Batman yet. She was surprised. I am starting to think this will be a trend.
You are a pretty good toddler, if not completely destructive. There is not a table you won’t stand on, nor a plant you won’t over turn. You can destroy the living room in 2.5 seconds. I wonder why I even bother picking up all the toys, when you systematically go from room to room taking all toys out of the bins. Not that you play with many of them, you just believe they should be free. You love destroying anything that your sisters are playing with. You hide just about everything. Seriously son, where is the dogs Frisbee? I’ve cleaned this house from top to bottom and two months later, I still haven’t found them.
You are addicted to the movie Cars. I think I may be staging an intervention one of these days. You love all cars, but OMFG MAYER!!!! You adore Mater. You have about six Mater trucks. You literally sleep with a stuffed MAYER!!!! Each and every time you say Mater, you say MAYER!!!! He may be your favorite. Just a guess.
You have tantrums which I could have done without. It seems a bit young too me. But you know, third kid, you have to be advanced at this, right? I am a tantrum ignorer, which annoys the ever loving shit out of you. You throw yourself on the floor and scream and flail about. When I get up and leave the room, you get up all quietly and follow me, and then throw yourself at me again, screaming and flailing. It’s really kind of funny.
You eat. You adore food. I have never had a child that liked to eat anything besides air before. It’s new and strange for me. You will eat absolutely anything. Your favorites are hot dogs and yogurt though. You’d eat a hot dog for every meal if I let you. You ask for one each meal. When I say, sorry bud, no hot dogs, we’re having french toast this morning, you say, otay mama. As long as I feed you often, you are a pretty happy boy.
Wah dat mama? Is your new term. You say it often, as in all dang day. You are still a yes boy, although you do say no often. You are loud. I am constantly telling you, shhhh baby, inside voice. You think I’m very funny. Also most likely that I’m talking to hear myself talk.
You do this funny thing that we call, Bub’s adventures. You take us by the finger and make us follow you and then you force us to sit or do or see whatever it was that you wanted. Sometimes, you want me to sit in a different chair, so you can have mine. Sometimes you just want to show me what you’ve destroyed, or to have one of us retrieve MAYER!!!! from wherever he has gotten stuck this time.
Son, you are amazing. You are kind and gentle and super sweet. Your sisters and I adore you.
Happy 18 months.
Love, mama
This is a hard time in my life. Very hard. In my trying to make it through each day, I find that I’m forgetting things. Small things. Things like, I’ve needed to buy more Tums for a week. (Can someone explain to me why I still get heartburn when the boy is nearly 16 months old?) Things like, my printer has needed ink for three weeks. Have I been places where I could buy these things? Oh yes, many times over. But I forget when I’m there, because my brain is on overdrive trying to figure out things, that it just doesn’t understand yet.
Where is my plug for my iPod? Why can’t I find my 2008 taxes? Did I give Morgan, Bailey’s lunch today? All very good questions. Things I’d normally be able to give you answers for. Right now though? You guess would be as good as mine.
Anyway, I have a few things that I wanted to remember. In case I forget later. I thought it may be good to write them down here.
-I’ve been having trouble getting Bailey to eat. It’s slowly getting better. She’ll eat for me, but she’s still not eating much when she’s with her dad. It’s the stress, it just makes her un-hungry. Also, she’s a complete mama’s girl. However, when you are only in the 4th percentile for weight, you can’t afford to miss many meals.
Anyway, last Thursday she came into my bedroom in the morning and we had this conversation:
Bailey: Mama, guess what?
Me: noticing that she is butt nekkid. Um, I don’t know, you forgot how to put clothes on?
Bailey: No.
Me: An alien ate all of your clothes while you were sleeping.
Bailey: NO MAMA.
Me: It’s nekkid day at school and I missed the memo?
Bailey: laughing. No silly.
Me: I give up love. What?
Bailey: I’M HUNGRY. Like super-dup really hungry mommy. I NEED pancakes.
Me: cries.
I took them to ihop for breakfast and then took them to school an hour late. Sometimes, it’s just the right thing to do.
- Harrison does this thing where he makes you get up from where you are sitting to follow him. He pulls on your finger and makes you follow him around. Sometimes it’s to retrieve his Mater car from someplace where he can’t get it. Sometimes it’s to show you the fridge. Or the mess he made of the dog food again. Sometimes, he wants you sit somewhere else. Like two spots over on the couch. Or on the other side of his train table. It’s very adorable. We call it, Harrison’s adventures. He’s taking us on an adventure. When he’s done with you, he lets go of your finger, but not until he is done. He’s a very cute little dictator.
-The girls and I have been watching American Idol. Although I’m a mean mom and I make them watch it the next night. I can’t handle watching it live. Commercials and I don’t really get along. I also need to able to fast forward during some of it. The other night, we were watching the second episode from last week. Morgan and I were both covering our face and plugging our ears at the same things. Go past this mom, she kept saying. It’s too painful. This person shouldn’t be on the show. Agreed baby girl. Agreed. Last year, she made me suffer through it all. This year? She’s come over to the dark side. The, I can’t stand to watch people make fools of themselves on TV side. It’s about dang time.
-I have posts that I’ve written. Posts that I’m unsure if I’ll post. Or if I do, I will try to give you guys some other stuff to read as well. I adore you all. But I know, that you worry. That I worry you. I know that I’m depressing to read these days. That honestly may not change for awhile. But I need you to know that I am okay. This space is my outlet. It always has been. I write things here, that I’d only say out loud to my mom, my best friend and my shrink. I promise you all, I am okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. I am taking care of myself and my kids. We are surviving. One day, we will get used to this. We’re not there yet. But we’re all taking the right steps.
-In other news, I’m going to be working on my blogroll for the next few days. It will be on the page marked friends. Right now if you hit the friends button, it just has the post I wrote about 31 unknown bloggers in it.
If you’d like to be on my blogroll let me know and I’ll make sure to add you.
I keep thinking that I should be doing better by now. That somehow I should be able to make myself feel better, be less sad, stop feeling as if my life has completely crumbled. I am constantly reminded by others that it is okay. Okay to be sad, okay to cry, okay to grieve. It’s okay. It’s not been long. It’s really only been two weeks. Tomorrow.
It’s only been 6 days since I realized this is permanent. I didn’t know that for sure until then. Six days. I lost all hope that day. Not sure why I still had some, but I did. Six days isn’t long, it’s not even a full week.
I wanted today to be the day that I stopped crying the second my kids go to bed. Or the second I drop them off with their father. The day that I stopped wanting to cry all day. The day that I’d start feeling like I may be capable of doing this.
I wanted today to be the day that I didn’t dread my day from the second I woke up. The day that I could see something good in my future. I wanted today to be the day that I answered all of the sweet emails and comments from all of you.
I wanted today to be the day I started actually reading posts again and engaging on Twitter. Doing more than opening and closing Facebook. Emailing people again.
Today is not that day. I am just not there yet.
Instead, this is what I know I can do for today:
Today I will remind myself that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to not be okay. That there is no timeline on grief.
I will remind myself this afternoon, when my kids go to their dad, that they need him as much as they need me. That I will get used to this new schedule. That they will be home for bed.
Today I will rejoice in the fact that Bailey ate an entire donut and drank an entire glass of milk for breakfast, instead of worrying about the fact that she hasn’t eaten in a week. I will remind myself that she’s five and it’s been a week. They’ve only known for a week. That as long as she eats something, she will be okay.
I will call and un-enroll Harrison in toddler class. The last thing he needs right now is more change.
I will make more blueberry cobbler, because it made Morgan happy.
Today I will send you over to the Babble Top 50 Mommy Blogger list, which someone added me onto. Whoever did that, I adore you. To each of you who voted for me, I adore you too. Now, will you all do me a favor? Please go over and vote for Mamaspohr. Please. For me? Thanks.
Today I will thank each of you right here and now, for your sweet emails and comments. For offers to talk, for sending me your phone numbers. For text messages, Tweets and DM’s. Truly, you have no idea how much it means to me. I’ve read it all. I just haven’t found the energy to respond yet. Just know, you have made me feel so supported and loved and that is priceless.
Today, I will be realistic in my goals for myself.
Of everything, that may have been the one that broke my heart the most. Harder than sitting my babies down last night and explaining that daddy was going to live at cousin Ray’s house for a while. Maybe for a long while. That they’ll still see him, but most likely will never live here again. Harder than watching Bailey shut down. Harder than listening to Morgan scream and rage at me for half an hour, until I finally carried her and put her in bed. Harder than laying in her bed and eventually sitting outside her door listening to her sob, until she finally fell asleep.
Is it still real mommy, whispered to me at 2am, may have been the worst. I pulled her into bed with me and whispered the words that I knew she didn’t want to hear, yes baby, it’s still real. She laid there with me, cuddling and crying for about an hour and then went back to her bed. It’s too crowded in here she said. Yes, it was crowded, since her little sister and brother were already in the bed. Mostly though, she needed her space. I get it, but I wish it wasn’t like this.
It is though. Reality has set in and I don’t like it. My girls don’t like it. One is raging at me, angry, so very angry. Wanting me to fix it, wanting daddy to actually show up, so she can yell at him too. The other is shutting down and I’m helpless to stop it. Harrison, thankfully has no clue what is going on. Yet. One day, he will.
Their father and I have wrecked their world. We’ve inflicted pain on them; pain that they shouldn’t have to deal with at five and eight years old. Too much pain. I would do anything to take it back. To make their world innocent again. I can’t. I can’t make this go away. I wish I could, but it’s not possible.
I never wanted this for them. I know this pain. I know how horrible it is. Yet here I am, doing the same thing to them that I swore I’d never do.
Last night, I changed them forever. No matter what, I can’t change that. I just hope they end up okay. I just hope I can explain things to them in the right way, things that I don’t fully understand. This knocked our world out from under us. I pray that I am strong enough to rebuild it in the way they need me too. That I can do this better than my parents did.
That I can remember that this is about them now, not me.
Because yes, it is still real.
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