1 year

Dear Mom,

As of tomorrow at 5:00 am, I will have lived a year without you.  365 days without my mother.  365 days without hearing your voice.  Without your guidance.  Without you.

It seems like yesterday and a million years ago at the same time.  I struggle to hear your voice.  If I concentrate really hard, I can hear the way you said, "Darlene" on your voicemail.  But that's it.  I can't hear anything else.

I haven't cried in awhile, until today.  I don't know why today makes it harder, it is really just another day.  But I keep thinking back.  Thinking of the constant vigil at your house.  Thinking of watching you.  Worrying.  Waiting.

I wish I had realized how bad it was when you told me you had cancer.  I wish I would have scooped you up and taken you away for a fabulous vacation.  Did you ever even have a great vacation?  Ever in your life?  I don't know.  Money was always so tight. There was so much I wanted to do for you when I was able.  So many places I wanted to take you.  Things I wanted to buy you.  All the things you didn't get to do or buy because you were busy providing for us.

I remember one year for my birthday, you redecorated my bedroom.  I came home from school and I had a new comforter, shelves, pictures, everything.  I don't know how you always had the money to give us the things you did.  But I will never forget all you did for us.

I miss you, so very much.  Yes, it has gotten easier.  I don't cry everyday anymore.  I don't often have that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the pain that takes my breath away.  But as time goes by, I miss you more than ever.  I wasn't ready to be a grown up without you.

Mother's Day is this weekend, and it will be the second time I haven't had a mother to shop for.  How I wish I had the problem of figuring out what to buy for you.  Or where we would go for dinner.  All I can do is say thank you.  Thank you for everything you did for us while you were here.  Thank you for it all.

Beautiful placenta....

Drew has been a little terror lately.  He is 4 now.  I really feel like my other two were little grown people by now.  And Drew is still a baby.  I know, this is partially (all?) our fault.  He is a little more spoiled than the others were.  It is hard with the 3rd.  By then you are so tired you just want them to leave you alone, so "yes" is a lot easier to say than "no"

There is one instance that comes to mind.  Luke was having a corndog.  Drew was throwing a fit for his corndog.  Now, when we only had 2 kids, we would have told the little one to cut the crap, you can't have your brother's corndog.  But now there are 3 of them.  And one of them is... difficult.  And he has been crying all day.  And he never sleeps.  And so, before you know it, you've said, "Luke, give Drew your corndog".  Or you've given Drew whatever he wants at a swim meet/basketball/soccer/baseball game, just so that you can make it through and maybe see your other child participate in the sporting event for more than 10 seconds.

You reap what you sow.

However, it may not all be our fault.  I came across another theory to his evilness awhile ago.  It was my best friends 30th birthday.  And in typical fashion, we were talking about things that made us realize how old we are.  Like babies, and mortgages, etc.  One of our friends is prego, so the word placenta came up more often than it should have.

And BAM!  It hit me!  When I had Drew, everyone in the hospital commented on how beautiful my placenta was. And the umbilical cord.  I am not lying.  They brought other nurses in to see them.  This had never happened with my other two, so it isn't like my placentas are naturally beautiful. Now, I've never actually seen a placenta.  Jimmy says it's the grossest thing about child birth (and he's seen me poop myself while having a baby, so he should know).  I am not sure how it can be beautiful, but they were in awe.

Anyway, I digress.  The point is this : THE PLACENTA STOLE ALL HIS GOODNESS!!  It is the only explanation.  He was robbed of all the sweetness he was supposed to have.  I should have blended that thing up and fed it to him in a bottle.

This child.

Dear older Drew:

If you are reading this and you are horrified at the things I say about you, just wait until you have kids.  You will understand.  But you will also understand that I love you so much anyway.  And uh... sorry about that whole #drewsreignofterror thing...