Bringing Religion Into It

This week, I commented on a friend’s status on Facebook. The status basically said something about their concern for their children’s well being when Christmas rolls around and suddenly presents come out of nowhere.

Completely logical concern. Absolutely. I think most caring, loving parents think about the ramifications of large amounts of gift giving for no apparent reason. This is why I wanted to post something to let my friend know that I don’t believe Christmas is a time to just give gifts. There is a reason to give gifts. We give gifts to celebrate life. 

To paraphrase my comment to their post, it went something like this, “Jesus Christ is the reason for the season.”  I wrote a small paragraph and I did mention Jesus Christ….and, of course, panties were bunched.

I cannot mention Jesus on anything without causing a problem. If I had said I thank God for Christmas….or I thank God for all my blessings….it may have been left alone…maybe. But, dare I say Jesus, and someone wants to argue with me every time. I’ve offended someone. Someone wants to start a fight, and can I just say that this is the real reason Jesus was crucified?! It does not matter if you are Christian or not, Jesus Christ was a person who walked this Earth and was killed for claiming he was God. Mentioning his name then meant persecution. Times have not changed.

Here is the reply to what I wrote:
(I have no idea who the person is who posted this, but since it’s on Facebook…I have no problems sharing it here.)

"Ummm what?!? Since we're bringing religion into this... Christian's took Yule from the pagans to use as Jesus' month of birth rather than the more true date. St. Nick and Jesus were merely put in as placeholders with the Romanization of Britain."

After reading this reply, I decided to take a moment, refresh myself on what the history of Christmas is and then respond. You see, I have a degree in Religious Studies….so as I, myself, choose to be Christian, I have in fact studied many, many other religions. Way back when….in a time before children, I went to College. So, I too, like many Athiests, and Agnostics, consider myself to be a bright individual.

I do not consider myself brainwashed. Let me say that again….I do not consider myself brainwashed. I have a very well rounded education…I did not grow up in Church. We went to Church on Christmas and Easter….that’s it. This is a choice based on experience, emotion and education.

So, as an educated person, I looked into what this Facebook reply said and refreshed my memory on Christmas, Santa Claus and the glorious pile of presents we so willingly give our children on Christmas morning. 

No Christian should ever argue the fact that Jesus Christ was NOT born on December 25th. He was more likely to have been born in the springtime when the weather was better, seeing as though a 14 year old girl gave birth to him outside. And not only that, but based on the life and death of King Herod, Jesus’ birth is probably off by about 4-5 years. This is common knowledge.

Winter Solstice, the middle of winter, has been a time of celebration forever.  In Europe, light and birth were celebrated in the dark of winter. The Scandinavians celebrated Yule from December 21 into January. Romans observed Juvenalia…Germans honored the pagan god Oden…and so it goes. Throughout history, winter was a great time to celebrate life, food, love and, well…..blessings.

In A.D. 525 Dionysius, a Greek scholar dedicated the end of December to celebrate Jesus’ birth, since his death was already known and Easter was already being celebrated. The Pope did not want two holidays celebrated so closely together, so the traditional Christmas date was born…pun totally intended. 

Turns out, St. Nick was an amazing man……who was Christian and wanted to be like…..wait for it…Jesus Christ. St. Nick was born to wealthy Christians. He was young when his parents died and left him their inheritance. He lived by Jesus’ words, "sell what you own and give the money to the poor." St. Nick, who became Bishop Nicholas, left a legacy after his death. This legacy evolved and spread into the Santa Claus we know here in America.

In the end, I deleted my original comment to this friend’s post, due to not wanting to take over their facebook page for a religious debate.

I think it’s absolutely absurd that I be called out for “bringing religion into this” as if I’m trying to start a fight…as if I’m some dumb Christian who’s trying to turn everybody Christian. As if I'm saying something that isn't true. The modern world celebrates Christmas because of the birth of Jesus Christ….IT IS A RELIGIOUS HOLIDAY!!!!!!!

You’re darn right I’ll bring religion into it.

I actually left the house.

Well, I had a hit or miss weekend with the kids. The husband was working, so I decided to actually get dressed and take all three of my babes out to do stuff……

Library…big miss. Note to self, don’t ever do that again.
Barnes and Noble….hit
Chevy’s restaurant….HUGE MISS…should have never left the house.
2 year old’s birthday party…big hit.
Lunch at sushi restaurant. HUGE HIT!! 

We love going to Momotaro in Burbank. Hayden cannot ever get enough of the Edamame. 

 Really, it's what he eats almost the entire time. 

Shelby loves Miso Soup. 

It was Courtney’s first trip and she had a blast too. 

 


Shelby tried new foods and got a star on her chart at home for doing so. 

She loved the first one, the second one fell apart in her hand. 

Shelby is awesome at entertaining the baby when I need to step away for a second.  I let Hayden use the restroom by himself (single person toilet), so I stood halfway from the potty to our table and kept eye on both places.

My kids are adventurous and up for anything.

I love that.

Gobble Gobble

There are a few jobs in this world that I have a hard time understanding. I don’t have a hard time understanding the job; I just can’t understand why people would do them. Let’s take the Esthetician, for example. This person, by choice, goes into the most secret parts of your body to remove hair. Why on Earth would someone want to do this? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful….and in awe, but concerned for their well-being. Also, how does one become ok with the task of pulling up a shoulder length rubber glove and inseminating livestock by hand? I have nothing further to add to that.

There is…on my list of crazy, insane and most of the time necessary jobs, one job in particular I stand in deep respect for. My heart aches for the love the people who do this job have for life…or the caring of the end of it, rather.

The Hospice Nurse.

Tell me, please, how can a person possess so much kindness as to partake in the comforting of loved ones in the end times of a cherished person? How can those sweet angels of people do this job again, even after experiencing one single death? Because, I have to tell you, once was enough for me. One death was enough for me to witness, to know I don’t ever, ever want to witness another.

I know this is impossible. I am young, and I am guaranteed to lose more loved ones. And the truth of the matter is, is that I felt honored to be there with my mother as she passed. It was terrible, and traumatic in many ways, but I wouldn’t have been anywhere else than at her side.

Maybe this is how Hospice sees it? I don’t know, but whoever started Hospice care, was an intensely caring human being. Without our Hospice nurse, the end of my mother’s life…well, I don’t even want to think about how it would have gone without them involved. Thank you Hospice.

Obviously my mother is the reason I started The Rose Run, and a major sponsor of The Rose Run is helping to put on a run this Thanksgiving to raise money for Hospice. Dave’s Performance Footgear is sponsoring a “Turkey Trot” that has been going on for over 20 years in Toledo…and all I’m going to say, is you should do it. You should run it…walk it, get the kids to do the free fun run and encourage your family and friends to do it too. If for no other reason, than to burn a few calories before you consume the most in one meal than you had all week long.

The Smoke The Turkey Trot has fantastic prizes for top finishers and Schmucker’s pies for those who place in their age group. I don’t know about you, but if I won a pie after a race, I’d be eating it with my fingers in the car at 10am on the way home.

This cause is so worth it, and if I were there, you’d see me bundled up running….well, jogging, due to the massive amount of weight stuck on me post baby. (Forget what you read about the pie in the previous paragraph) But I’d be there. Oh, and one more thing...there is a prize for the best dressed Ohio Sate Fan or Michigan Fan! Run sporting your Maize and Blue....or those other colors.

Go for a run this Thanksgiving for those amazing people of Hospice.

For more information and to register online, visit
http://www.imathlete.com/events/EventDetails.aspx?fEID=6713






You can also email me at jessica@theroserun.com and I can send you a paper form to print and mail in or take with you Thanksgiving morning.

Falling Leaves

Just before Courtney was born in May, I was able to take a writing class....and I got published! Ok, so it was just a class book, but I was geeked. Anyway, somebody today let me know how much they appreciated what I wrote in that book and I thought I'd sit down to re-read it.

So, I did.

And I cried.

I thought I'd share it with you too. Its based on a blog post from when I was in the midst of losing my mother.

Enjoy.

The last October I had with her was breathtaking. There are not many things in life more beautiful than A Midwestern Fall. I had been living in California for several years at that point, and the distance had forced me to forget how stunning the changing into my favorite season was. When the cool air snuck in and the colors covered the foliage, my eyes were in heaven and my heart was light. As a child surrounded by such wonder, I had frequently wished there was a way to prevent those leaves from falling, but I always knew they had to.
When the Cancer came to invade my mother’s precious body again, we all knew that it would not be set back the way it was the first time. I knew that if I only had a handful of months left with the woman that taught me nearly everything I know about being who I am, I was not going to be in California. I very quickly made the decision to pack my bags and take my children on a road trip that had an open end. I was going home to be with my mother.
On a crisp, beautifully cool morning, I was driving her to one of many chemo treatments. I had a hard time keeping my eyes on the road as the colors outside the window distracted me from everything else that was going on. I turned to look at her sitting beside me and the sunshine was so bright directly behind her that she already looked like an angel. I thought for certain that God must be pleased with her. She just looked at me and as if the sunshine weren’t bright enough, her face lit up so intensely; I was suddenly overwhelmed with fear at the loss of her. She shot me back a smile that radiated so much love, any worry I had was calmly soothed. My eyes, heavy with tears, turned back to the road where I continued taking her in a direction that I knew was going to make her ill.
During the time I was home, I watched the leaves turn from a deep wonderful green to sweet, thoughtful yellow’s, bold, strong reds and beautiful, vivacious oranges.  Yet somewhere in all of those colors, there were leaves that remained green.
My mother was as strong as those trees that held the leaves. She was sweeter and more thoughtful than any shade of yellow I’ve ever witnessed. She was bolder and stronger than the most vibrant red and simply more beautiful and vivacious than any color of orange that exists. It just seemed that she was one of those green leaves falling before it was ready.
    The months that followed were amazing yet very painful. My head and heart were so confused by all of the emotions that come with watching someone you love die, even a year after she left us, I was still trying to figure them all out. I had slowly come to the understanding that no matter the color of the leaf, there is a time when it must fall. There is a cycle to all life that is hard to grasp until you’ve witnessed the leaves falling, no matter their color. And even with all of the confusion and sadness, the cycle continues and new leaves grow to remind you how beautiful and amazing everything still remains.

Happy Birthday Mom

Today, my mother would have been 56 years old. This is the second birthday of hers we’ve missed. Last year at this time, I was pregnant, in New York with Expressing Motherhood and was brilliantly surprised by my entire family. They showed up, we said happy birthday to mom and we saw a little bit of The Big Apple with each other.

I do so miss her.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Working For The Farm

Hayden earned a new toy yesterday. It’s a very special toy, as I found it while searching through my mother’s things in July. My mom always had a stash of new toys to give for presents (more on that in another post), and when I saw this, I knew Hayden would love it. He didn’t get it until 15 minutes before bedtime, because, frankly, I wasn’t just going to give him a new toy for nothing. So he had to work for it. Hayden helped load and unload the washer and dryer, he helped load and start the dishwasher, he went to the grocery store with me, pushing his own little cart, and helped carry those groceries in the house. He helped pick vegetables from the garden, take out the recycles and clean up all of his toys.

Then he got it.

His new favorite toy….for today. The most important thing though, is that he knows Grandma Rose gave it to him.

Publish Post

Her First Day

Well, I did it.

I mean Shelby did it, but I wasn’t really worried about her.

Kindergarten is a success. A huge success.


On the morning of that first day, I held back tears while I packed her lunch, while I made her breakfast, while I brushed her hair and help her put on her uniform. I held back tears on the way to school, on the walk to the campus and watching her wait with soon to be friends. I held back tears as some other kids in the line for her class were blubbering messes and so were their parents. I held back the tears as I continued to give her a thumbs up and a smile when she looked at me in confusion over the other children’s emotions. I even managed to hold back tears as her little brother clung to my leg crying, “I want my Shelby, mom. She’s my best friend. I miss my Shelby!”
I was so proud of her. I was so happy for her. I was so scared for her, because I know what she’s about to get into.

Life.

I managed to hold it all in…….until she turned to walk away.

She was off to her classroom with her new classmates and then, I cried. I couldn’t speak for a few minutes and shortly after, I was alright.

I was ok that day, until I called my Dad to tell him about my independent little girl’s first day of Kindergarten. He said to me,
    “Oh yeah, I remember your mom on your first day. Once you were on that bus, she was a mess.”

After I hung up the phone with my dad, I cried again. I cried for that moment when I was getting on the bus as a 5-year-old and I had no idea, nor could I, of what my mother went through.

Now that my mom's not here, I really didn’t think I would ever get any more information from that day, but I was wrong. I think I now know how my mother felt that morning…. presumably, the same way I did this week.

A Moment Of Craziness (and its totally ok).

So, here's the thing.

A few nights ago, I posted something and then an hour later, deleted it. I had sat down to write after a terribly long week alone with the kids. I deleted it because I was embarrassed about what I wrote.

I think as moms, this is wrong. Sharing how difficult motherhood is, is one of the reasons why I started Expressing Motherhood with my dear friend. So, by me deleting my absolute crazy jamble of words about how I wished the kids were made of silly putty so I could smash them on newspaper and read the comics, goes totally against everything I believe in as a mother.

We need to talk about how crazy it is. About how lonely it is sometimes. About how darn hard it is.  No one can prepare you for motherhood....but maybe, just maybe, some of us can scare the bejeezus out of you for a minute or two.

For your reading enjoyment, here's the post from the other night, in all of its embarrassing glory.


Single Married Mother Season…..Life preserver please.

I sat down tonight with an urge to write about the mess in my head. I briefly contemplated whether or not to expose myself and share, but it’s not like me to hold back and keep secrets. So, obviously I didn’t really have to think about it long. The answer is…of course I share. Of course I write.

Some of you know…many of you don’t…but I produce a stage show called Expressing Motherhood. My best girlfriend and I started this show when we quit our jobs to stay home and raise our babies. We mostly believed that motherhood was something that needed to be shared…out loud…to other mothers….to non-mothers….to people thinking about becoming mothers….and all of their significant others, spouses, partners, what have ya. So, here is me…..Expressing some Motherhood.

First of all, let me start by throwing out a little disclaimer. To everyone reading this little rant, please understand that I am in full knowledge of the blessings bestowed upon me. I am in great appreciation that I am NOT an actual single mother, because God bless the women who have to go it absolutely alone. They have more strength than anyone watching a Rene Zelwegger film without fear. I acknowledge, that although I FEEL like a single mother, I do not, in fact, have to worry about where the money comes in. I know where he is…and he’s working right now as I write. And he deserves more kisses and hugs than I am capable of dishing out. The opinions in the following complaint are solely those of the author….me…who is allowed to say what I want, because, well,  this is my blog. So, there it is.


Cookie dough.

That is what I had for dinner tonight. I sometimes have cookie dough in lieu of a meal. If my neighbors are receiving freshly baked cookies late in the afternoon, It’s safe to assume that I’ve had a rough day or two. In this case, seven. It’s been a rough seven days.
The husband works in a business that takes him away from us a lot this time of the year, and I often refer to this time of the year as Single Married Mother Season.

So, here I am in the middle of the Season, and I’m having the worst one yet. Having the third child has thrown me for a loop. It’s turned my life inside out and I can honestly say I really don’t know which way is up. Please don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love love love my baby. She’s the easiest of the three children so far, but I feel way in over my head right now and its so unlike me to feel that way. I am normally a cool, collected person. I can be highly organized and I can multi-task like no one’s business. I have goals, and I accomplish them……normally.

I’ve been looking in the mirror, and honest to the good Lord above, I don’t recognize myself. I have no idea who I’m looking at. I see wrinkles and raccoon eyes. I see unwashed hair and unbrushed teeth. I also see complete exhaustion and loneliness.

Today, I thought…. ‘Is this what Post Partum Depression feels like?’

But, I know what Post Partum is...right? I know moms who were hospitalized for it…or thought about suicide….or hurting their children…..and that is not me at all. Not at all. But I know that's not all post partum is.
I’m just sad... and still grieving…and confused…and tired, upset, angry, conflicted, surprised and annoyed...and I think its a little post partum.

This is so unlike me. This is not me. Who am I? Where did I go? What am I doing…I mean, an entire day has passed and I cant remember what I ate for breakfast. Wait, did I even have breakfast?

My days consist of night feedings, toddler wakings, early rising, feeding, changing, burping, nursing, packing lunches, doing dishes, folding laundry, changing sheets, scrubbing toilets, running errands, cooking meals, dropping off children and picking them up, entertaining young ones, asking questions, listening for answers, barking orders, separating fights, reading stories, correcting language, grocery shopping, mopping floors…….and it goes on and on and on.

Somewhere in there, I’m supposed to take a shower, brush my teeth, change my clothes, get some exercise and sleep and take care of my husband’s needs?

Huh?

I just can’t believe this is my life. Where am I? Where did I go? I feel used by everyone.

For the first time in my motherhood experience, I can honestly say I get it. I get what I’ve heard other mothers talking about. About the isolation, and the feeling of being overwhelmed. It has taking having a third child to push me to that point. And my children are good children! They are well-mannered, very active babes. I am blessed, no doubt.

This is truly the most difficult, time-consuming job I’ve ever had. I need to find the strength to make a re-commitment to this job and move forward, because this is so not like me.

I know, I know…..I just had a baby four months ago. I think most of this is sleep deprivation. I am just flat out tired. 

And I miss my mother terribly. Oh, how I want my mom right now. I’m still grieving in waves, and not getting enough sleep does not help that.

I feel crazy. Even reading back what I just wrote here makes me feel sad for that person..but that person is me. 

Oh, boy.
Time to go to bed.  But I have to put the cookie dough away first. Neighbors, be prepared for fresh baked cookies tomorrow. 

Pause Button Please.

I’ve been dreading this day for a long time now…….and it’s not even here yet.

My little Shelby…the first born…the beautiful, blond, spunky, energetic, brilliant little girl (who happens to be the one to have started the horrific tearing of  my abdominal muscles and stretching of the skin on my entire body) is starting Kindergarten next week!

One day, this past Spring, before she graduated preschool, we were sitting at the breakfast table and she began to sing. Unbeknown to me, she was getting ready to perform a little number at her upcoming graduation, and all she wanted to do, was make me fill my oatmeal bowl with tears and search for that remote control to life so I could hit the pause button.

(To the tune of Take Me Out To The Ballgame)
Take me to Kindergarten
It’s time for me to move on
I know my numbers and letters too
I even know how to write them all too
For its root! Root, root for the children
We share our toys and our food…
For its one, two three and we’re off
To our brand…new…school!

As I sat there in awe of her ability to remember the lyrics to any song…my eyes were swollen with tears and a wave hit me. I lost my breath and had to get up and leave the breakfast table. The last thing I needed was for her to think her singing was that awful.

She was really going to be headed to Kindergarten……..and that day is Tuesday.

I remember my first day of Kindergarten. I remember what I wore while I stood at the end of our driveway waiting for the bus to come. I remember turning to look at mom as I was waved safely across the street to board the bus. Of course I have no way of knowing what my mother was going through, but I was elated, excited and not scared one little bit.

I am so sad that my mother is not here to listen to me gush about this monumental moment in Shelby’s life…in all our lives, really.

I have my own memories of my first day, and I pray that Shelby will too.

Let’s just hope her memories aren’t of her mother being dragged away by school security for sobbing outside of her class window, face pressed against the glass pounding fists, while crying out “I love you so much Shelby. I’m so proud of you. I know you’ll love school and I’ll miss you so much when you’re gone all day. Kisses…hugs…Love you Shelby….”

She had an adorable head

I remember this day vividly. Mom was so angry at the hair falling out, she cursed and went straight to the bathroom. She was on a mission. I just grabbed a camera.

This is what she wrote on the post from that day:


August 20, 2008
I shaved my head today. Jeff said that if I ever had to go through this Chemo thing again, he'd do it too. He did. We're nice and almost bald together.
Love, Rose

Mom looked like a weight was lifted when the hair was gone. She was very happy...and boy was she cute.

Bearing Fruit

When we bought the house we’re currently living in here in sunny Southern California, we were ecstatic and in awe that it had an orange tree in the back yard.

An actual orange tree.

A tree that bears citrus fruit.

You want an orange? Go to the backyard and pick it off the tree.

For a girl hailing from the great state of Michigan, this was just an amazing bonus to this house. We were sold. I suppose the size, location and neighborhood also had a persuasive direction as well…but let’s talk about this orange tree.

When we moved in, the tree was full of oranges. They were brightly colored, perfectly round, sweet and juicy Valencia oranges. I picked them and shipped most of them back home to family, showing off how awesome my backyard was. ‘Looky here guys…I’ve got oranges growing on a tree in my backyard.’ I might as well have shipped a picture of me sticking out my tongue with my thumbs in my ears along with them.

The boasting didn’t last long. After a year, production of oranges came to a halt on that tree. Over two years went by without a single orange. Not one. I watched the tree grow and never produce another orange. Needless to say, I stopped bragging about my glorious fruit tree and chalked it up to the tree being a ‘lemon’…so-to-speak. My minivan is also a lemon, but I’ll save that for another post.

I had actually considered removing the tree. I mean if it’s not producing fruit, then really, what good is it to me? That was before my dear, sweet sister-in-law came for a visit.
I adore her, really I do. She is a no holds barred, tell it like it is gal.

I simply adore her.

As we were standing in the backyard, I was complaining about that pesky, selfish little orange tree that was keeping all its fruit to itself when she said something profound.

“Have you pruned it?” she asked.

I was so embarrassed at the suggestion that I didn’t know how to take care of the tree in my backyard.

“Uh, well, no I haven’t. Maybe that would be a good idea.”

She started giggling, and when she giggles, you know something is coming. She giggles a lot and really, it’s a sweet sound. She’s so straightforward; the giggling helps you swallow what she has to say much easier.

    “Well, look at it. It looks like an orange bush, not an orange tree.” Her giggling continued. “You need to get a pair of loppers and give it a good prune.”

Cut to her and her hubby headed back to the hotel for the night, and me with children in tow, headed to Lowe’s for a tool I knew existed but didn’t know the name of.

The very next morning, while my children watched silently (and probably terrified), I clipped and chopped and hacked that bush back into a tree. I eliminated the suckers that were growing everywhere, cut off all randomly growing branches and said a little prayer for guidance on how to give a tree a haircut. The kids’ hair sometimes turns out ‘not so well’ when I do it myself. I was hoping the tree situation would be different.

And it was.

In one month…one month…it had blossoms! After over two years of not even a sign of life, the tree was suddenly covered with such sweet smelling blossoms; I would venture out to the back yard just to smell it! And as of today, the tree is covered with small, green bulbs destined to be shipped to my family when ripe.

Ok, so here is where I’m going with this whole “orange tree-pruning thing.”

I was in church recently and someone said something about pruning their life so they can bear better fruit. It struck me right away. Prune so you can bear better fruit and so that the fruit that is produced is bountiful and fulfilling.

What a concept.

I am now fully dedicated to cutting out all of the unnecessary stuff that has no bearing to fruit production…so-to-speak.

   

To Leave or Not To Leave....

I am burned out. Oh, yes I am. Today I was thinking how cool it would be to punch out at 4 and go home. However, in that dreamland, I would have magical powers and lose the post-partum belly that resembles something out of an awful horror movie. Then I was thinking that maybe I could walk off the job. But, I wouldn’t just walk off the job. I would have to make a scene. I want to make it known that I quit and then storm out of the house. Before I left, I would certainly take a shower to prove to myself I still know how. On my way out of the house, I would knock over every miniature size chair that only half my butt fits in and shout to upper management “This job sucks!” while flipping the bird directly to the faces of those who treat me like a slave day in and day out.
Unfortunately, that will not work. The people I work for are 5, 3 and newly born. Knocking things over, flipping them off and shouting will only result in copycat behavior or tears…to which I would then have to stay on the job and console and later explain to the neighborhood moms why my 3 year old son is flipping them off.

So…….that’s not going to work.

    This type of internal hysteria has left me with a significant question.

To leave or not to leave?

    I often, and when I say often, I mean constantly, wonder if we lived closer to family, would having the demands of three children and everything that comes with it, be easier? I’m not joking when I say this, but this is why people here have help. It’s not because we’re all rich, it’s because we’re all losing our minds.
The Husband is working long hours to allow me to stay home. I feel very fortunate…most of the time…to be able to do so. We can’t presently change his schedule since we know how lucky he is to have a good job in the current economy. I don’t have The Uncles to just hang out after work and let the kids climb all over them. The Aunts, well, they would be like angels doing things to help a mom out without being asked and there is not a Grandma or Grandpa in the vicinity of 2300 miles.
My friends and neighbors…my dear friends and neighbors are amazing, it’s just different. (No need to unfriend me on Facebook, I’m only venting.) I think about the space we could provide the kids elsewhere, not to mention the lighter traffic, trees to climb, cousins to play with, boats to fish in, changes of seasons….blah blah blah.
When it comes down to it, I have more of a chance of seeing a pig fly, Hell freeze or being entertained by something Rene Zelwegger has done than to get my husband to move back closer to home.

(Big Sigh)

    I don’t hate California. I actually really love most everything about it. Especially those friends and neighbors who are NOT unfriending me on Facebook. I just wish we could use some scissors, cut out my home and everything I love about it and glue it somewhere else…closer to family.