It is difficult to express the sense of void and sorrow that envelops anyone on the death of a mother. All I know is that I will never ever be as loved as I was by her.
I have a funny feeling this will be one roller coaster ride where no seat belts are required.
I distinctly remember being impressed with the two-zone heating system, noting that it wasn’t until my third move that I had such a feature in my house. Alas, the new features out there seem to have eclipsed the Beast.
It can be said that the human spirit operates on faith – the same cannot be said for the human body or, for that matter, a 21st century coffee shop.
From fairy tales to film, everyone is obsessed with the idea of one’s “firstborn.” But what about the lastborn? For my part, I’ve recently discovered that the lastborn child has magical abilities.
We forget all sorts of horrific experiences we vowed never to do again. A few months pass, and, there we are, willfully signing up to do it all once more. Unlike child birth, we can’t blame it on a lack of – ahem – rhythm.
I’ve been, naturally, thinking about the whole thankfulness concept, and what, in particular am I thankful/grateful for right now. I was reminded of the mess we went through with child #4 starting when he was about a year old. He had allergies, serious ones: to cats, cockroaches, and dust mites. When I say serious, I …