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Have been busting my butt for the last week and a half trying to get ready for our daughter to visit with her youngest. Finally got all the decorations up, most of the presents bought (but yet to be wrapped — tomorrow!), groceries bought for the next week, and on and on. I still have a list a mile long to do before she gets here, primarily because she will be having her girlfriends over for an evening and I wanted the house to be a bit “above par” for them.

We’ll be thrilled to see them, of course, but her hubby has only one week of vacation, so while she’s coming here with Caleb, the other two boys will be flying to Oregon with dad on Christmas day to visit with the other grandparents. Our daughter will fly out that day to Portland as well. It’s created a bit of a tense atmosphere in our house as it’s been over a year since we’ve seen the boys. And while my head tells me how difficult it would be for one mom to fly with three boys under the age of four, my heart is still a bit crushed.

What makes it more difficult is that I haven’t had time to sit down and journal and process it all. My journal is the one thing that keeps me sane. AND probably keeps me in my family’s good graces! LOL But I’ve only managed this last couple weeks to get my daily journal caught up at night. It’s small with just the highlights of the day. Enough so that when I do my Kitchen Khronicle journal on the weekends with news from the family, etc., at least I know what I did during the week. If I miss a night, it’s not unusual for me to say to his lordship, “Did I do anything at all on Thursday?” Thank God HL’s memory is better than mine.

I have two days left before she gets here, and then I doubt I’ll even boot up the computer till she’s gone. But since I haven’t been able to find time to sort through my thoughts and emotions about things, I’m feeling more like I can’t wait for December 26th to come rather than looking forward to enjoying our visit with her and the baby. What a fundamental place that journal serves in my life. Come hell or high water (or ten feet of snow) I WILL be writing in that sucker Thursday morning before we go to the airport.



Life is changing,
and I’m afraid
I’ll lose my way.
Day in, day out
I drop pieces of my life
in my daily journal
the way Hansel and Gretel
dropped bread crumbs
through the forest
so they could
find their way back home.

Perhaps — if the birds don’t
follow along and eat them —
perhaps one confusing day
when I have Alzheimer’s
I’ll read them and feel sorry
for that person who had
such an uneventful, boring life
that they cared so much
about such mundane matters.

Caleb (1 year)

Caleb (1 year)




Grandma's little buddies!

Grandma’s little buddies!