I've been trying to consciously keep better track of my kids funny moments so that I can jot them down. It's not easy when we are this damn busy running around. But I found one!
This fall my husband was out of town so I was the only option to work "our" shift for the Football concession stand. A chore every sports parent has to do in fall season. Both boys wanted to go to the football game anyway so it was a Win-Win. At least for us, not the Football team as someone had to lose.
Anyway my 15 year-old took off for his band friends which I am not cool enough for. (HA!) My 12 year-old, I was trying to keep some what of a leash on, considering. This is my child that had he been lost in the airport in England at age three would have found us before we could have found him. However, I was trying to be the parent somewhere between helicopter and free range.
I never say him all night. When I did find him it was time to bug out so he waved me over to a dark corner under the bleachers. I felt like I was meeting a drug dealer. Not that I have ever done that, at a football game. Anyway I told him I was headed to the car and that I needed him and his friend to head toward the car when the clock ran down to 2 minutes so that we could get out of there before it was a madhouse. He said OK that's fine. Just don't talk to me when I'm with my friends -we are hanging out by the ticket booth.
Excuse me?
"You know, just pretend you don;t know me when you leave, cause you have to walk by us and Z said you can be a real dork in front of his friends."
I stood there stunned under the freaking bleachers as he looked both ways before running away from me. LIKE I WAS THE DRUG DEALER. or worse, like I was his mom.
Now I am not so naive to think that I am the cool mom. In fact I have never aspired to be the cool mom. When I as in high school the cool mom's where the ones that stocked the garage fridge with beer or kept their pot in their nightstand. I AM not that mom. But being called a dork by band kids?
Am I in trouble??
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Why haven't I written more....
The sole reason of this blog, truly, was so that someday when my boys said "Where's MY baby book? You don't have any pictures of my third birthday?! You don't remember my first words." I could say no, BUT I wrote down a lot of other stuff.
When they were younger it was easier. They were cute, the stories were cute. By Junior high, the stories are not so cute anymore. I seem to start to write about them and it turns into a rant about the world we live in. A friend was lamenting the other day about these ages and the era of - FORTNITE. Why didn't anyone tell me about this! They said, Oh babies are so hard you'll be so tired, but you will forget it and do it all over again. No one said, This is as good as it gets. Being tired, being in control, knowing where they are at and what they are doing. Enjoy it. It goes too fast.
sigh.........................
So I'm here to write to my boys. Inhale that baby smell, everyday, even at 3 am when you have been up for 24 hours and sleep is not in the near future. Tickle that toddler, kiss that curious questioner, laugh at the laboriousness of teaching a pre-schooler anything. (because you will say it 500 times before it sinks in) Smile at shoes on the wrong feet, and Batman in the backseat on Sunday Morning. In all fairness, you did say "Dress-up clothes".
Be patient with the I hate broccoli, I love broccoli, I hate broccoli, I love broccoli. When you are teaching them to tie a shoe, ride a bike, or set the table. Let them help you crack eggs, make cookies, clean the house, the yard, the car and don't worry if it is messier after you are finished. I promise they are learning.
What comes next gets messier and scarier than a skinned knee. A little cold. A tummy-ache. Did I let you cry enough? Too much? Becomes, can he get expelled, kicked off the team, arrested? Laying awake at night to watch them breathe becomes laying awake at night wondering if they are breathing and where? Making yourself sick. What kind of a parent am I? How did this happen?
My boys haven't stopped being cute. Quite the opposite. They are very cute, beautiful, smart, athletic, kind, funny, talented. I would rather hang out with them then anyone else. They are awesome. Maybe that's part of it. They are awesome, they have lives that are getting bigger and mine is getting smaller. I revolve around them. They are my Sun. I am their Pluto.....but that's ok.
But what I will say to them as new parents is the late nights and worry will not end, you just won't always have them in your arms. So while you do enjoy every moment you can. Sleep when they do, pray, laugh, and love, love love. Be a lighthouse of love beaming out to them at all times so they can always find their way home.
Ask yourself a lot - What would Grandma do? Then do that thing. Do not wait 50 years to enjoy yours kid's kids. Spoil them once in a while, play with them often, take a pictures (or 500), write a blog or a note or a post. Read to them, sing to them, dance with them no matter how old they get. Kiss them every chance you get even if they are 6'3" on Varsity and have a girlfriend.
No matter what - keep the light beaming. I promise I will.
When they were younger it was easier. They were cute, the stories were cute. By Junior high, the stories are not so cute anymore. I seem to start to write about them and it turns into a rant about the world we live in. A friend was lamenting the other day about these ages and the era of - FORTNITE. Why didn't anyone tell me about this! They said, Oh babies are so hard you'll be so tired, but you will forget it and do it all over again. No one said, This is as good as it gets. Being tired, being in control, knowing where they are at and what they are doing. Enjoy it. It goes too fast.
sigh.........................
So I'm here to write to my boys. Inhale that baby smell, everyday, even at 3 am when you have been up for 24 hours and sleep is not in the near future. Tickle that toddler, kiss that curious questioner, laugh at the laboriousness of teaching a pre-schooler anything. (because you will say it 500 times before it sinks in) Smile at shoes on the wrong feet, and Batman in the backseat on Sunday Morning. In all fairness, you did say "Dress-up clothes".
Be patient with the I hate broccoli, I love broccoli, I hate broccoli, I love broccoli. When you are teaching them to tie a shoe, ride a bike, or set the table. Let them help you crack eggs, make cookies, clean the house, the yard, the car and don't worry if it is messier after you are finished. I promise they are learning.
What comes next gets messier and scarier than a skinned knee. A little cold. A tummy-ache. Did I let you cry enough? Too much? Becomes, can he get expelled, kicked off the team, arrested? Laying awake at night to watch them breathe becomes laying awake at night wondering if they are breathing and where? Making yourself sick. What kind of a parent am I? How did this happen?
My boys haven't stopped being cute. Quite the opposite. They are very cute, beautiful, smart, athletic, kind, funny, talented. I would rather hang out with them then anyone else. They are awesome. Maybe that's part of it. They are awesome, they have lives that are getting bigger and mine is getting smaller. I revolve around them. They are my Sun. I am their Pluto.....but that's ok.
But what I will say to them as new parents is the late nights and worry will not end, you just won't always have them in your arms. So while you do enjoy every moment you can. Sleep when they do, pray, laugh, and love, love love. Be a lighthouse of love beaming out to them at all times so they can always find their way home.
Ask yourself a lot - What would Grandma do? Then do that thing. Do not wait 50 years to enjoy yours kid's kids. Spoil them once in a while, play with them often, take a pictures (or 500), write a blog or a note or a post. Read to them, sing to them, dance with them no matter how old they get. Kiss them every chance you get even if they are 6'3" on Varsity and have a girlfriend.
No matter what - keep the light beaming. I promise I will.
Friday, August 24, 2018
Please do as I say....not as I did
Do you ever feel, as a parent, that a lot of what you are trying to say to your child is -
do as I say -Please! Not as I did!
There is a lot of debate over the merits of telling your child what you did in your youth. Do you admit to smoking pot, getting drunk, dropping acid at a Phish concert? (none of which I did of course) Or do you just repeat the Reagan Era slogan drilled into our heads -
Where do I stand on this issue? Not the Just say no, that was the worst campaign ever. Right up there with abstinence. On whether to be fully and completely honest with my kids about all the stupid stuff that I did in my youth, where I was almost arrested, expelled, beat up, or killed. I sometimes wonder how I made it through my teenage years alive.
I just ran into someone who grew up about 30 minutes from where I did. Another small rural community where Friday night football, fights, and beer where the norm. We were discussing our misadventures in front of his now grown son who was standing there aghast. His son said "You never told us these stories!" To which he immediately replied "Now can you see why?"
So it brings me back to my question, How much do I share with my kids? They know that my dad was an alcoholic, my uncle a crack addict, that addiction runs heavily in my family. I have talked about how that affects not just the person's life, but everyone around them. But they have never seen it - because neither my husband or I drink or socialize- at all.
I was over exposed if that's possible. My parents were either out drinking or hosting the debacle every Saturday night my entire childhood. I was mixing a mean Gin & Tonic with a twist by age 7. I knew the difference between Wild Turkey and Jim Beam. Turkey you served to the hunter/fishermen crew, Beam you served to the Doctor/Judge/Banker crowd. Beer was beer - it just had to be cold and don't you dare shake it up. Always pour generous, use a tall glass for the fisherman and the good glasses for the Judge, just keep them coming.
That still didn't stop me from getting drunker than a skunk at maybe 12-13 years old when I ended up tagging along to an open air. (it's a country kid thing) I think my older siblings were there somewhere, I can't remember now, but what I do know is that upon walking in someone handed me a half gallon jug full of beer. In all the times that my parents threw those parties, all the drinks that I made and served, I never understood that those people were so "happy" not because I made them a great drink, but because they were drunk.
How do you explain drunk to someone? Especially a teenager? Without making it sound like the coolest thing ever?
So you drink a little and start to feel good, happy, social, carefree. After a few more drinks then you start to feel even happier, invincible, and maybe a little dizzy. The next stage everything around you becomes the funniest thing you have ever seen or heard and you want to tell everyone but they can't seem to understand you anymore. Your going to start getting really close to people and talking really loud, but they still won't understand you. Oh yeah and also at this point, you maybe having trouble standing up so your going to be hanging on to them like Kate Winslet held on to the Titanic.
Then you will throw up, pass out, piss yourself, and wake up feeling like you licked a cat all night long while someone used your head for a bongo drum. And they still are. It's Awesome!
I only had to drink once. That once. That I was taken to an open air, given a half gallon jug of beer, and do not remember the rest of the night. I do remember being kicked awake in a strange house soaking wet from the waist down feeling like total shit by someone yelling "your mom's here dumb ass and she's pissed". I NEVER EVER wanted to do that again.
Is this the story that I tell my kids so that they don't have to go through it? Is it something that you have to go through to figure out you never want to do that again? This is what I wrestle with considering the struggles my family has with drugs. What if they don't hate it? What if they think that is Awesome? We talk about drugs and alcohol and how they are bad for your body in general and how dangerous it can be but I feel like our talks always end the same way.....Just Say No.
do as I say -Please! Not as I did!
There is a lot of debate over the merits of telling your child what you did in your youth. Do you admit to smoking pot, getting drunk, dropping acid at a Phish concert? (none of which I did of course) Or do you just repeat the Reagan Era slogan drilled into our heads -
Where do I stand on this issue? Not the Just say no, that was the worst campaign ever. Right up there with abstinence. On whether to be fully and completely honest with my kids about all the stupid stuff that I did in my youth, where I was almost arrested, expelled, beat up, or killed. I sometimes wonder how I made it through my teenage years alive.
I just ran into someone who grew up about 30 minutes from where I did. Another small rural community where Friday night football, fights, and beer where the norm. We were discussing our misadventures in front of his now grown son who was standing there aghast. His son said "You never told us these stories!" To which he immediately replied "Now can you see why?"
So it brings me back to my question, How much do I share with my kids? They know that my dad was an alcoholic, my uncle a crack addict, that addiction runs heavily in my family. I have talked about how that affects not just the person's life, but everyone around them. But they have never seen it - because neither my husband or I drink or socialize- at all.
I was over exposed if that's possible. My parents were either out drinking or hosting the debacle every Saturday night my entire childhood. I was mixing a mean Gin & Tonic with a twist by age 7. I knew the difference between Wild Turkey and Jim Beam. Turkey you served to the hunter/fishermen crew, Beam you served to the Doctor/Judge/Banker crowd. Beer was beer - it just had to be cold and don't you dare shake it up. Always pour generous, use a tall glass for the fisherman and the good glasses for the Judge, just keep them coming.
That still didn't stop me from getting drunker than a skunk at maybe 12-13 years old when I ended up tagging along to an open air. (it's a country kid thing) I think my older siblings were there somewhere, I can't remember now, but what I do know is that upon walking in someone handed me a half gallon jug full of beer. In all the times that my parents threw those parties, all the drinks that I made and served, I never understood that those people were so "happy" not because I made them a great drink, but because they were drunk.
How do you explain drunk to someone? Especially a teenager? Without making it sound like the coolest thing ever?
So you drink a little and start to feel good, happy, social, carefree. After a few more drinks then you start to feel even happier, invincible, and maybe a little dizzy. The next stage everything around you becomes the funniest thing you have ever seen or heard and you want to tell everyone but they can't seem to understand you anymore. Your going to start getting really close to people and talking really loud, but they still won't understand you. Oh yeah and also at this point, you maybe having trouble standing up so your going to be hanging on to them like Kate Winslet held on to the Titanic.
Then you will throw up, pass out, piss yourself, and wake up feeling like you licked a cat all night long while someone used your head for a bongo drum. And they still are. It's Awesome!
I only had to drink once. That once. That I was taken to an open air, given a half gallon jug of beer, and do not remember the rest of the night. I do remember being kicked awake in a strange house soaking wet from the waist down feeling like total shit by someone yelling "your mom's here dumb ass and she's pissed". I NEVER EVER wanted to do that again.
Is this the story that I tell my kids so that they don't have to go through it? Is it something that you have to go through to figure out you never want to do that again? This is what I wrestle with considering the struggles my family has with drugs. What if they don't hate it? What if they think that is Awesome? We talk about drugs and alcohol and how they are bad for your body in general and how dangerous it can be but I feel like our talks always end the same way.....Just Say No.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Boys need real chores
I think I've noted before, but it is worth saying again since I am desperately trying to get paid for listening to podcasts, but I listen to A Lot of podcasts. Recently I was listening to Trevor Noah, The Daily Show Ears Edition when I heard him riff on this....
NPR-girls do more chores than boys
so it made me do some more digging....
NPR _ Why can't he do the dishes
My boys have always had a few chores, not enough to get an allowance. Not that we would have paid and allowance. Hell if anyone gets an allowance around here, it starts with me! But when I went to work part-time and they were home alone in the mornings for a few hours I started leaving a longer list for each boy of what had to be done before I got home. This has been a struggle since day one. The first summer I came home everyday to nothing being done so by Friday I was screaming at everyone while "we all" did the chores.
By the second summer I got smart and started screaming at them by Wednesday so that by Friday, when I am not at work, it was only half the screaming chore time. This summer I started with screaming at the beginning thinking I would nip this in the bud before it even buds. Ok. Better. I only had to come home and scream the chores done about once a month. Well, mainly because I have run out of energy and figure cleaning once a month is enough.
You may be asking at this point, What is your point? With chores and this blog? My point is that I do not want my boys growing up thinking that girls cook, clean, do the laundry, shopping, scheduling, and picking up after everyone- everyday. I want them to understand it is the Twenty First Century and men CAN DO ALL THAT TOO!!!
Men can cook dinner and change diapers. Women can mow the lawn and change the oil. And it is not like they have not seen their mom do anything a boy can do. It's also about being aware, which is what we discussed this summer between screaming chores done. I am not the only one in the house that can see the sink is full of dishes, I'm just the only one that cares. Working for a property management company that owns rental units in a University area is great for getting my point across.
Bringing home stories of maggots covering a kitchen floor so thick the Property Manager thought someone had spilled a bag of flour - until they started to move. During an eviction recently the Property Manager thought the mattress was covered in mold, until it started to move. Bedbugs. Or the Baseball players house that smelled so foul from spit cans and beer that we had to tear out all the carpet. They had converted a small back bedroom in to the "recycling center". By the time they moved out she couldn't open the door all the way because it was full of beer cans. Don't think this is just boy houses. The maggots were in a house full of girls and they have trashed many a rental unit.
In his riff on this article Trevor Noah mentions that many boys get paid for chores like taking a shower and girls get paid for cooking or laundry. His take is very funny and accurate because 13 year-old boys do stink, badly. And yes, I have resorted to paying them to get in the shower. But not without letting them know that if they ever want to have a partner in life they will need to take hygiene WAY more seriously.
All of this comes back to me being that nagging bitchy mom who doesn't pay her kids to pick up their rooms, vacuum and dust the house, or mow the lawn. But I also do not charge them to live in my house-meals included- or the gas money to get them back and forth to soccer five nights a week. Because, as I have told them since they were two, my job is to keep them safe and make them a gentlemen.
I hope their wives appreciate it.
NPR-girls do more chores than boys
so it made me do some more digging....
NPR _ Why can't he do the dishes
My boys have always had a few chores, not enough to get an allowance. Not that we would have paid and allowance. Hell if anyone gets an allowance around here, it starts with me! But when I went to work part-time and they were home alone in the mornings for a few hours I started leaving a longer list for each boy of what had to be done before I got home. This has been a struggle since day one. The first summer I came home everyday to nothing being done so by Friday I was screaming at everyone while "we all" did the chores.
By the second summer I got smart and started screaming at them by Wednesday so that by Friday, when I am not at work, it was only half the screaming chore time. This summer I started with screaming at the beginning thinking I would nip this in the bud before it even buds. Ok. Better. I only had to come home and scream the chores done about once a month. Well, mainly because I have run out of energy and figure cleaning once a month is enough.
You may be asking at this point, What is your point? With chores and this blog? My point is that I do not want my boys growing up thinking that girls cook, clean, do the laundry, shopping, scheduling, and picking up after everyone- everyday. I want them to understand it is the Twenty First Century and men CAN DO ALL THAT TOO!!!
Men can cook dinner and change diapers. Women can mow the lawn and change the oil. And it is not like they have not seen their mom do anything a boy can do. It's also about being aware, which is what we discussed this summer between screaming chores done. I am not the only one in the house that can see the sink is full of dishes, I'm just the only one that cares. Working for a property management company that owns rental units in a University area is great for getting my point across.
Bringing home stories of maggots covering a kitchen floor so thick the Property Manager thought someone had spilled a bag of flour - until they started to move. During an eviction recently the Property Manager thought the mattress was covered in mold, until it started to move. Bedbugs. Or the Baseball players house that smelled so foul from spit cans and beer that we had to tear out all the carpet. They had converted a small back bedroom in to the "recycling center". By the time they moved out she couldn't open the door all the way because it was full of beer cans. Don't think this is just boy houses. The maggots were in a house full of girls and they have trashed many a rental unit.
In his riff on this article Trevor Noah mentions that many boys get paid for chores like taking a shower and girls get paid for cooking or laundry. His take is very funny and accurate because 13 year-old boys do stink, badly. And yes, I have resorted to paying them to get in the shower. But not without letting them know that if they ever want to have a partner in life they will need to take hygiene WAY more seriously.
All of this comes back to me being that nagging bitchy mom who doesn't pay her kids to pick up their rooms, vacuum and dust the house, or mow the lawn. But I also do not charge them to live in my house-meals included- or the gas money to get them back and forth to soccer five nights a week. Because, as I have told them since they were two, my job is to keep them safe and make them a gentlemen.
I hope their wives appreciate it.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
When life becomes a Dystopian Novel
There is a new app form our Public Library that suggests books based on your reading habits. Considering that I use only one card for all of us (even though the boys have had a library card since they were 5) I think I broke the app. I read a very eclectic variety and then being summer I also checked out books for the my boy's.
One of the books it suggested was The Giver. I knew that it was made into a movie fairly recently and honestly I could not remember if I had read it, or one of the boys did, or if I just saw the movie trailer. So I downloaded the series on my Kindle. I am currently reading book three in the series.
And this morning while I was cooking breakfast I started thinking - I am not reading a dystopian novel - I am living it!
How many people: children, teens, young adults, have to be diagnosed with Cancer and poisoned with Chemo to save their lives? How much of the Ice caps need to melt, and plastic needs to be found in oceans, and fresh water disappear. How many natural disasters have to happen earlier and stronger and further in. And not to mention the leadership or lack there of, weapons of mass destruction, and school shootings. Obesity, starvation, Ultra-Rich, Ultra-Poor, Republicans, Democrats, Communists, the gaps get wider, greater, stronger.....
I could go on and on, but I am already having a panic attack writing this. I am not totally sure what my gift is, although I have always thought it was writing, but this I do know. This is not a drill. We are no longer a maybe. We can no longer pretend it is not happening or expect the next generation to take care of it. We are all responsible for this world and for each other, because we are in this together. Destruction, Dystopia, or Destiny. If you do not choose someone else will.
One of the books it suggested was The Giver. I knew that it was made into a movie fairly recently and honestly I could not remember if I had read it, or one of the boys did, or if I just saw the movie trailer. So I downloaded the series on my Kindle. I am currently reading book three in the series.
And this morning while I was cooking breakfast I started thinking - I am not reading a dystopian novel - I am living it!
How many people: children, teens, young adults, have to be diagnosed with Cancer and poisoned with Chemo to save their lives? How much of the Ice caps need to melt, and plastic needs to be found in oceans, and fresh water disappear. How many natural disasters have to happen earlier and stronger and further in. And not to mention the leadership or lack there of, weapons of mass destruction, and school shootings. Obesity, starvation, Ultra-Rich, Ultra-Poor, Republicans, Democrats, Communists, the gaps get wider, greater, stronger.....
I could go on and on, but I am already having a panic attack writing this. I am not totally sure what my gift is, although I have always thought it was writing, but this I do know. This is not a drill. We are no longer a maybe. We can no longer pretend it is not happening or expect the next generation to take care of it. We are all responsible for this world and for each other, because we are in this together. Destruction, Dystopia, or Destiny. If you do not choose someone else will.
Thursday, May 17, 2018
Help, Thanks, Wow
Anne Lamott wrote a book called Help, Thanks, WOW:The Three Essential Prayers. I was introduced to this writer by a neighbor who gave me this book just before my mastectomy. I liked the book and I am glad that I own it. I'm never sure about giving a book to others though - I always wonder - What if they hate it?
A beautiful family that I know is going through an unimaginable time. The woman is a friend from college, we were in a sorority together albeit briefly when I was at University. She met her husband there, after I had transferred, but I have met him several times since as we all live in the same community. She has two handsome boys about the same age as my oldest son. Her husband has cancer.
I'm not on Facebook so the news that this is happening and hospice has been called in has taken my breath away. How quickly my life has become small. A circle, the size of my family. The day is filled with our stuff, our busy, and then I go to bed. The only places I frequent are work, the grocery store, and the places that my kids need to be.
At first it was a very conscience choice. It was a choice I made to insulate myself from the ugliness of a small community. The gossip, the clique's, the politics, all the stuff that I suck at and that make me feel like that 12 year old bullied girl all over again. But here is the problem with insulating myself - it's also isolating myself. And now, I live in a small community that can rally in times like these for a family going through something heart breaking, and I am not in the circle.
I know that I need to reach out - not only to my friend - but to people in general. I know that I need to widen my circle. But as the saying goes...Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
For someone who fancy's themselves a writer, I struggle for words right now. I want to tell the family of the impact their love and light has brought to others. That seeing a couple so perfectly matched makes me believe in SoulMates not just RoomMates. Watching them raise two amazing young men and interact in their community is more than inspiring. It sets the bar high for the rest of us.
More than that, I want to reach out with my words and wrap them all in love and support. Giving them a literal, or literary hug. I wish that somehow, my mere words could convey warmth and comfort in this devastating time, but those words seem to evade us all. If only my words could conjure the Angels, I would write them, shout them, sing them.....but I end up with only one.
Help.
It's ok that someone else has the words, writes the prayers. I'll write the jokes. Right now all I can think of, is Help. Please dear God, send them your Angels to wrap them in all they love you have.
Thanks.
A beautiful family that I know is going through an unimaginable time. The woman is a friend from college, we were in a sorority together albeit briefly when I was at University. She met her husband there, after I had transferred, but I have met him several times since as we all live in the same community. She has two handsome boys about the same age as my oldest son. Her husband has cancer.
I'm not on Facebook so the news that this is happening and hospice has been called in has taken my breath away. How quickly my life has become small. A circle, the size of my family. The day is filled with our stuff, our busy, and then I go to bed. The only places I frequent are work, the grocery store, and the places that my kids need to be.
At first it was a very conscience choice. It was a choice I made to insulate myself from the ugliness of a small community. The gossip, the clique's, the politics, all the stuff that I suck at and that make me feel like that 12 year old bullied girl all over again. But here is the problem with insulating myself - it's also isolating myself. And now, I live in a small community that can rally in times like these for a family going through something heart breaking, and I am not in the circle.
I know that I need to reach out - not only to my friend - but to people in general. I know that I need to widen my circle. But as the saying goes...Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
For someone who fancy's themselves a writer, I struggle for words right now. I want to tell the family of the impact their love and light has brought to others. That seeing a couple so perfectly matched makes me believe in SoulMates not just RoomMates. Watching them raise two amazing young men and interact in their community is more than inspiring. It sets the bar high for the rest of us.
More than that, I want to reach out with my words and wrap them all in love and support. Giving them a literal, or literary hug. I wish that somehow, my mere words could convey warmth and comfort in this devastating time, but those words seem to evade us all. If only my words could conjure the Angels, I would write them, shout them, sing them.....but I end up with only one.
Help.
It's ok that someone else has the words, writes the prayers. I'll write the jokes. Right now all I can think of, is Help. Please dear God, send them your Angels to wrap them in all they love you have.
Thanks.
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