Anya Speaks!

Anya Speaks! from Ronica on Vimeo.

Bonus: lots of belly shots.

Pink=Girl. DUH.

Day One:

Pink flowered summer one-piece outfit, with ruffles.
Pink socks.
Pink flowered shoes.
Pink pacifier with pink floral ribbon clip.
Denim bib. (I guess this is my mistake.)

"What's your brother's name?"

Day Two:

Black, white, TWO shades of pink and red flowered top with a bow.
Light and dark pink striped pants.
Two-toned pink socks.
Pink pacifier with pink floral ribbon clip.
Pink mary-jane shoes WITH pink flowers.

"This little fellow is really wide awake!"

ARGH.

If it happens again, I think I'm going to have to write, "I may not have hair*, but I have a vagina!" on her head. In Sharpie. PINK Sharpie. With glitter.





*Her sister also didn't have hair at this age. In fact, she didn't have hair until she was at least a year. She's now three, and it hasn't even hit her shoulders yet. I'm working with what I'm given, people. Give me a break!


Hilarious photo by gregoirevdb on flickr. Thank you!!!

"Mom, I'm sorry you're so mad."

Everyone says I'm close to delivering. I hope so. I have been desperately trying to get things finished. Of course, not everything is, but it's probably good enough. My husband is irritated with me because I'm irritated with him (because he's not doing the things I NEED him to do, obviously.) My daughter has been loud and talkative and energetic and kind of driving me nuts, but she has also figured it out, so spends a lot of time apologizing for making me mad. I'm really trying not to be mad and to enjoy my last days of having only one kid, but it's hard. I am trying to hug her a lot and tell her I'm sorry I'm cranky. We sing songs. Tonight, she told me, "I love you, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck and a barrel and a PEEP."

Confession: I think I have PTSD for colic. Is that possible? (Please God. This one? No colic, OK?) My hunch is there won't be colic. But I've been wrong before. And I'm scared of the colic. It was so bad, really. Colic sucks.

Another confession: I spent about an hour alone in bed Saturday night crying because I miss my mom. It's been twelve years now. I wish she was here. I know she's watching, and she's proud of me, but I wish I could talk to her. She totally would have helped with the slipcover. And my freezer would be full of homemade food, not Wegman's premade (which is good, but still.)

It was Mother's Day on Sunday. Rowan kept saying, "Happy Murz Day!" We went out to brunch, and our server forgot to put in our food order and she cried. We got our brunch for free. It was really good, even though we didn't eat until 3. I ordered dessert. For supper, I had more ice cream.

Today I burned through the house putting crap away and being mad at everyone who left their crap out and cleaning and finishing slip-covering the chair and changing my pants three times because they were all falling down. Apparently, my hips are spreading even more. Even my undies are too tight. This sucks. I had to do laundry because I only have a couple of things that are comfortable to wear right now.

I got the bathroom upstairs reloaded after Dr. B painted it yesterday, and cleaned it, and got all the painting stuff put away again. If I'm not in labor, tomorrow I'll clean the downstairs one. Vacuuming is done, chest and bassinet are moved, Rowan's room is fairly clean, clothes are put away, one more load of laundry is done (not folded, though). Dishes are done, kitchen is fairly neat, chair is finished, sewing crap is put away. Extra junk is up in the attic. Patio is swept (50 mph winds left piles of leaves and sticks everywhere. It really was necessary, I swear.)

Blogging, check. Boring, rambling, yes. Sorry about that. This is how my brain works right now.

Tonight, Dr. B ordered me to call his mom. I did. I complained about some of the stuff he's been telling me lately and she laughed at him and made me feel better. I love having her for an ally.

Here's an example, 20 hours after his last final exam was graded and grades were turned in, he complained of "that anxious feeling when I don't have a project!" So I bought paint and told him to paint the bathroom, which I've been asking for going on 3 years now. His response? "I don't like doing other people's projects!"

Huh.  I don't much like being pregnant. You do it.

Or your laundry. Or cleaning your toilets. Or picking up your shoes every stinking day.

His mom laughed and laughed. And swore she taught him better, but she was pretty sure it's a B man thing, because his dad does the same thing.

So during our phone conversation (probably when he realized she was totally backing me up), he took the dog for a really long walk. I got the house half vacuumed before he got home. Then he went upstairs and put the stuff in the attic that I had asked him to do 2 weeks ago. He noticed I'd moved the heavy cedar chest, and he said, "Bootsie's coming soon. You've got a lot more strength tonight than you have had in a long time."

Not necessarily. I think I just have a lot less patience.

We'll see... the next time you hear from me, it might just be good news. Here's hoping.

Nestorama!!! Now! With Upholstering!!!

Two weeks to go. I must be nesting. I'm getting stuff done right and left, but still feel like I'm spinning my wheels. My list is shorter, but the things that are taken care of are kind of minor. (That's OK. I like crossing them off, so I'll take it.) I have new contacts (that aren't dry! It's wonderful!) I have a dentist appointment next week, with Rowan (her first.) She did great at the eye doc, though she wasn't examined, but it kind of gave her a taste of what will happen. Hopefully it will all go well at the dentist.

I called the doc about her, um, blockage issues and got her started on Miralax. Glad she can't read or she'd be mortified that I am telling the internet even more about her poop. Things are much easier now, though the potty training is completely gone. Oh well. I give up. Now is apparently not the time, and she is not ready to be done. So fine. She's not. Sigh.

I have packed her bag and started mine (though there are so few things that fit me right now, I think I'll have to wait with a list on top until the moment labor starts to finish.) Laundry is fairly caught up. Little cleaning projects have been happening. Yard sale stuff is gone to the church.  Baby stuff is down from the attic, the infant car seat is waiting in the hall, and we are just waiting on the pick up of our new dresser to finish putting all Rowan's and Bootsie's stuff in the right places. Just in case, I culled it down to a few weeks worth and gave them each 3 drawers of Rowan's dresser for now, and left the big plastic boxes stacked in her room. Dr. B hung the colorful lanterns high over the crib (Rowan destroyed her mobile), and the crib skirt is ironed and in place. (My mother would be proud. I never iron anything anymore.) Sheets are waiting--I don't want them to get dusty. Batteries have been bought, though need to be inserted in all the various battery-needing things. I have confirmed Rowan's and Lucy's caretakers, and Rowan got a new sleeping bag for her first big sleepover. She's very excited.

Dr. B's HoneyDo list is still there, but all I can do is bug him about it. Since school is wrapping up, hopefully he'll get on the stick ASAP. He promised to shampoo the carpets this weekend, pick up the dresser (I may put it together, I haven't asked him yet.) He also promised to shave the dog, which I hate doing, but I did buy a new trimmer kit, so hoping it works. If he doesn't do it soon, I'll take her in to the vet and have it done. I still want him to paint our bathroom, but would be surprised if it got done in time. He still has finals and grades to deal with. I begged off the boring banquet last night--don't know if this was the best idea as Rowan's lack of a nap also seemed to have affected her lack of being nice. Long night. But whatever, I didn't have to get dressed up, eat banquet food and clap for 274 individual student awards. (Not exaggerating. Worst Banquet Ever.)

I am in the midst of upholstering a chair (at the moment actually--I'm taking an ice cream sandwich/blogging break), and when that's done  I will start the marathon shopping, cooking and freezing session. I need to sew tabs on my BumGenius diapers, but have enough econobums and g diapers that it can wait if need be. We have plenty of baby clothes, blankets, hats, and diapers, including disposable backups as well as cloth. I have a few things to order of the internet, but nothing that we won't survive without (most is not baby-related anyway.)

So we're kind of ready. But not really.

Anybody want to come over to dust and do windows???

*crickets*

Help!!! Reliable freezer recipes needed ASAP

The baby's on the way. I am at 33 weeks, so the urge to nest is starting to kick in. No, my house is not spotless (as if), but I'm planning for the practicalities, borrowing a bassinet in preparation for Bootsie's arrival (planning on setting up the pack and play with bassinet and changing table downstairs--this came later last time but was very helpful.) Since this time I have 2 kids sharing one room, Boots is going to need to be with us for a bit (I'm hoping she isn't as loud of a sleeper as Rowan was.) Rowan is getting used to sleeping in the double bed in her room and plans have been made to reset up the crib, banishing her toddler bed to the attic for a while. I'm on the hunt for a new dresser to move Rowan's clothes into (found one I like, but am waiting on a friend who may have one due to some estates in her family that are being cleared out).  I'm researching strollers, because we pretty much wore ours out, but since the baby will be little, for the first few months she'll be in the Bjorn for walks anyway, so it's not pressing. The carseat is in the attic and can be used again, and I have boatloads of clothes. I do have the tabs to sew on the cloth diapers, but other than that, it's all little stuff to do. Except for painting the upstairs bathroom and our bedroom. But those are pipe dreams. If I can get the bathroom done, that would satisfy me. (For now. Ahem! Honey? You reading this?)

However, I do want to begin stocking my freezer with ready-to-go meals. A friend recommended this book, but our library's copy is lost. (Though now that I see the price, I may just order it. Gotta wait a bit though, because we are in the process of switching banks to a local one rather than a big corporate bank and I currently do not have easy access to funds except cash. And knowing our local Barnes and Noble, they'll charge 3 times what Amazon does. And they're both big corporations, so I have to stick it to at least one of the men by going with the cheap one.)

SO! This is where you come in. Do you have some reliable recipes that you make ahead and freeze that you can send me? I have a big, upright freezer, so have plenty of room. I'm looking for things that are healthy and easy, and am trying to avoid huge amounts of either dairy or tomato because of Rowan's lactose issues and my memories of her screams when I ate anything acidic while breastfeeding during the first months (seriously, one fry dipped in ketchup meant hours of crying.) I won't avoid them entirely, but if I can have some good alternatives that I can trust in there, that would be great. I have done some internet searches, but would loves some "I make this and my family loves it" recommendations--proven recipes are always the best. Please send thaw/bake directions, too! If you have links, great, if you want to email them to me, just look on my site for the email link (I think it's still there) or if you know me on Facebook, send it there.

And I'll get cooking! At soon as the shooting pains in my butt from the sciatica stop, anyway.

We're renaming the dog "Clearblue Easy"

She knew, before we did.

One day, she attacked Rudy. Our neighbor's dog, a little black poodle who should really be called a puddle because he just loves everyone and everything and he's all about the love and happiness. He got chomped, blood and everything. I was mortified.

The Fed Ex guy dropped a package at our door, and had it not been for the glass, he would have lost some of his own package.

She won't leave me, for a second. Even in the bathroom. She forces the door open with her head, and if it won't budge, she leans agains the door and whines.

Even when the tests said no, she knew. And she was right.

The baby's due May 15. Rowan is very excited. And Lucy? She's on guard.

Meeting

More soon, but this is from our visit with her cousin of sorts (my first cousin's daughter) in Hershey, PA. I'll get more on the ball soon and get my photos uploaded, but here's a clip. Rowan was determined to give Lilia kisses, and spent the first half hour trying to do just that.

I am terrified of the toilet.

It's time. She's mobile. Upwardly, downwardly, backwardly and forwardly. Kind of wonkily, actually. Hello Adverbs! I love you today!

She's sort of crawling, with one knee and one foot, and making quick progress into whatever she shouldn't be into. She pulls herself up on the furniture, and cruises along, as quick as a wink. She's even tried pulling herself up on Lucy, who doesn't like it very much.

I have learned:

• toys aren't fun unless they can inflict serious bodily harm. Or kill you.
  
• electrical cords are delicious, like spaghetti! Especially the sparky ones.
• little bits of unidentified crud are meant to be eaten. A dog who gets 3-5 walks a day brings in a lot of unidentified crud. (Mom now vacuums daily.)
  
• the bottoms of shoes are tasty and should be licked frequently! Especially outside ones.
  
• Buttons are meant to be pushed, dials are meant to be turned, and all music should be played at level 11.
• Doggie water dishes are baby pools. With added spit!
• Things in drawers or baskets should be out of them and thrown on the floor. Ditto for stuff on shelves.
  
• If you think she won't get into it, she'll get into it faster. Especially when you aren't looking or have your pants around your ankles or have a pot boiling over.
• Dogs don't like to be pulled up on by a 20 pound baby. They don't like vacuums either.

So, we've begun to babyproof. Candles are mostly gone, save the 'necessary' bathroom one for the stinky moments. Sit-around-cute-decor-crap is put away. Baskets of magazines have been recycled and closeted. Plugs are plugged, cords are tucked behind the couches, and stuff is pushed back to an unreachable area on each end table. Plexiglass has been ordered to cover the stereo/cable TV/ computer equipment and cords, and any tippy furniture has been screwed to the wall. She is a climber--she already started with her dresser drawers. At 10 months! And people wonder why we call her the evil monkey.

And the next paycheck plans include a mounted gate for the top of the stairs, toilet locks, drawer locks, cabinet locks and any other assorted baby safety crap that becomes an absolute necessity when I'm standing in the store.

They'll be able to smell a sucker like me a mile away.

Lullaby: Edited

Rowan loves to hear me sing, and often her bedtime involves a lot of it. As mentioned before, the cry-it-out theory does not work with her, and I have since dumped the pediatrician who tried to make me feel guilty for not using it. Some nights, she gets placed in her crib with her entourage (the bears Roosevelt and Eleanor and the red Monchichi with the leaf on her head, Apple), tucked in, and she goes to sleep easily by herself to the sound of the WombBear as we happily skip downstairs to a bowl of ice cream and some boob tube /internet /movie /book.

Other nights? We rock. And rock. And rock. Sing, sing and sing. Or even lie with her in the big bed until she falls asleep. (And try not to fall asleep ourselves. Usually failing.)

You'd think that a music teacher would have tons of great lullabies floating around in my head.

Yeah, you'd think.

Nope. Seems the only things I can remember are the Chipmunks Christmas Song and some very inappropriate Monty Python tunes. Ahem.

So, I'm learning some new ones. I now know all the words, in French, to À la Claire Fontaine, Au Claire de la Lune, Gentil Coquelicots and Frère Jacques (yeah, that one's pretty easy). We sing some jazz tunes, like the Gershwin tune I sang at my sister's wedding. And I make up new words to pop tunes that I can't remember the real words to (like Safety Dance: in my version, "we can dance! we can dance! everybody's wearing their pants!" I think it actually makes more sense than "everybody look at your hands!" as the real lyrics go. Why?)

But the most valuable tunes are the ones you can extend over and over, when she's just about there but needs a few more verses. So here are our current favorites.

• Old McDonald (on his farm there are not only animals--we've got tractors, combines, swathers and sports cars! Tonight, there were squirrels. They go "chitter". Just so you know.)
• He/She's got the Whole World In His/Her Hands! (Anything works with this. He can have trumpets and bassoons, she can have armpits and toejam, he can have a glass of wine for Mommy--whatever!)
• Oops--I forgot! This Little Light of Mine. We keep it going by not hiding the light in lots of places, including the trunk of the car, the linen closet, and if Dr. B is singing, "my armpit" and other, um, unmentionable places.
  

So, I would love some new ones! Do you have any favorite lullabies? Especially never-ending ones? Please, tell us!

And just because you know you want to watch it, a little Men Without Hats.

Defeat

Rowan is four months old now, and she's starting to develop a schedule. She isn't rigid, but she often takes a morning nap, and sometimes takes an afternoon nap. She likes to go to bed around the same time and wake up around the same time, playing by herself for a few minutes in her crib every morning and greeting me with a grin and a giggle. And knock on wood, she's sleeping through the night. (She won't tonight, because I said that.) I can go out and do errands, but only after the morning nap, and not every day.

When she was little, we'd often strap her in the carseat, go out for dinner, and she'd be great. We could head out late, enjoy our supper, and she'd sleep away, charming the waiters and other restaurant patrons with how good she was.

Dr. B was determined that our child would be different. She'd grow up with our lifestyle, and would naturally take to it. She wouldn't be like other kids, and force her parents to do her bidding. She'd eat artichoke hearts and camembert sandwiches, eschew chicken nuggets and mac'n'cheese, and would behave herself perfectly well in the most trendy/snotty/fancy/of-the-moment restaurants while we leisurely enjoyed a glass of wine and rosemary goat cheese wontons with thai curry lingonberry chutney*.

Last night, Dr. B got home rather late from work. He had a very important phone call with a very important group about a new project that he and a colleague want to try that day, and he had been very nervous about it. The call went well, and he wanted to celebrate. Since he knew I had run errands during the day and taken Lucy for a long walk, he offered to take me out to dinner. But, by the time he got home and we were ready to go, it was 8 PM. And Rowan wasn't having any of it.

We diapered her, put her in her jammies, and strapped her into the car seat. That's when the trouble started. Before we could snap the buckles, she was wailing. Dr. B was not about to be told what to do by a 17 week old baby. He grabbed the car seat, and walked out the door. As I picked up the diaper bag and began to follow him, the tears started. Dr. B stomped to the gate, and then stomped back when I asked him to lock the door to the house. By the time we clicked her into the base in the car, she was going full force. Bloody murder screaming.

Determined, Dr. B set his jaw and put the car in gear. "I'll feed her at the restaurant," I offered. "The place is close, right?"

More screaming from the back seat.

"I'm sorry, Honey. It's just late. She wants to be home, going to bed."

"She can sleep in her car seat. She'll be fine," he said.

"You tell her that."

We stopped at the end of the drive, and Dr. B sighed. We listened to her scream for a few minutes more, and I turned to look at him. "We can go, honey," I said. "There aren't any cars coming."

He sighed deeply. "I'll take you back, and go get the pizza and bring it home," he said, angry but defeated.

As soon as Rowan's car seat was picked up, she stopped crying. As I unstrapped her, she sighed with relief. She ate slowly as if savoring her meal, and muttered not a peep when I layed her down in her crib, even though her mobile was out of batteries and she had to make due with just the womb bear and a soothie.

Dr. B came home just as I walked back down the stairs, loaded down with spicy stuffed banana peppers, BBQ chicken pizza, wine, and yogurt and coffee (the things I had forgotten at the store.)

"You were right," he said as he poured me a glass of wine. "I pushed it and it didn't work, it wasn't fair. To either of you."

"You can reason with just about anyone," I answered, "except a 4 month old baby. There's no messing with her."

Bring on the chicken nuggets.



*I made this up. Sounds gross, doesn't it?

The Deal

Dr. B has been very busy at work, building his new program and wanting to impress (or at least not tick off) the people around him, so managing the household is pretty much left up to me (except for the AM and PM Lucy walks--he takes care of them.) With a house full of boxes and a 3.5 month old baby, I don't exactly have all my ducks in a row yet, but I'm working on it, slowly but surely. After waking up several days in a row with an aching back, I gave myself a little more slack when it comes to unpacking (and it helped--my back feels much better now). Dr. B promised to help more on the weekend, and I took him at his word. As long as I was able to sit on the couch again, find clean towels, clothes and dishes, and had a bed to sleep in, I could survive.

On Friday night, we were invited to a colleague's home for supper and dog-acquainting. Rowan had another of her no-nap days (after several blissful sleeping-through-the-night and 3 hour nap days), so I was a bit frazzled when he got home from the U. After helping him to find a pair of casual pants to wear (searching his closet and the laundry bin, and subsequently rejecting 5 or 6 options for various reasons), I asked him to change her pants and her outfit so I could also change out of my unpacking clothes, slap on a little lipstick and fluff up my hair.

He laid her on the couch, and got ready to change her pants. Overheard, from upstairs...

"It's naked time! Whoopee! Naked time! Are you ready?"

"Goooo!!!!" (that was Rowan.)

"Ok, here we go. Are you wet or poopy? Just wet. OK, no problem."

He pulls the diaper out from under her.

"Alright. So, I have to reach over there for another diaper. Now, don't pee. It will be just a second, so don't pee. Do we have an understanding?"

"Gaaaahhh!" (Rowan again.)

I am sure you can see where this one is headed.

He reaches for the diaper, and in that split second--you got it.

Pee.

All over the couch and his carefully chosen pants.

"Hey! Ack! What the... Argh! We had a deal! We had an accord!!! I thought we had an understanding!!!"

Rowan: "Goooo!!!"

Then, she giggled.

Yep. She knows exactly what she is doing.

Tub

Rowan loves baths. Loves being in the water, waving her arms and legs, doesn't mind getting her face wet or even "going under". Just like her Daddy, she is a water baby. She'll sit in there until the water is cold, and not fuss a bit.

But a little advice: it's a good idea to put in your ear plugs before you take her out.

The Motherlode

With no labor in sight, I taught a full day on Friday. French at a middle school--not a bad assignment. It was a tougher school, but generally, the kids in French classes aren't too difficult, I know the subject matter very well, and I've found that they tend not to mess with me too much when they see just how pregnant I am. Though I'm not very "big" on the scale of pregnant women due to my freakishly long torso (one girl asked me yesterday if I was 4 or 5 months along), an announcement of my due date being "Wednesday", usually results in a few jaws scraping the floor. Even the tough kids back off when they hear that, telling me about their mothers or aunts or sisters who are expecting, and hoping I don't go into labor right then and there. Heh! Whatever works!!!

After school, I planned to hit a garage sale I'd seen listed on Craig's List. Y'all know I love me my Craig's List. After a successful find a few weeks ago of a complete starter set (with extras she added when I arrived) of G diapers for about 1/4 of the cost online, I had a sneaking suspicion that my Craig's List luck may have run out, but decided to perservere nonetheless.

This sale was listed as "everything you need for baby", so I hoped to find a few things we didn't have yet, though I didn't count on it. I was showing up at the end of the day on day 1 of a 2 day sale, so I knew my chances weren't great.

As it happened, we were in a tornado watch, so the sale people were pulling things inside when I showed up, about 3:30. They didn't have anything I needed. I was a little disappointed, but figured I'd just have to keep watching the website for more, and I'd eventually find things.

"We don't have any of those things, but you should check their sale," the lady said, pointing down the street. "Keep driving around--there are lots of sales in the neighborhood."

And boy, was she right!!!

I found an exersaucer jumperoo, a swing, an older style baby gym, a travel bed and an antique wooden Jenny Lind highchair, that I will probably strip and refinish to match our table set and the hutch my grandfather built.

For all of this, I paid about what I would have paid for our highchair. (And that one was plastic.) And, I'm recycling!!!

Today, my cousin and her husband are going to help us pick up our crib, and then we should be pretty much set.

Except for one little thing.

Mother's Day

My very first Mother's Day is today, though the blessed event hasn't occurred yet. I guess it counts, since it's pretty clear there's a real, live human being in there, ready (pretty much) to join us, though it's still very surreal to me.

I've been remembered, with cards, gifts, fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, and flowers. Dr. B gave me a very special gift, to remind me that just because I'm a soon-to-be Mommy, I'm still a Hot Wife to him, though I may feel not so sexy due to hormone fluctuations, hot flashes, mega-zit explosions, leaky bits, funny smells, constipation, parts of my body I can no longer see, tight clothing, funky cowlicks, puffy feet, interesting color changes, cankles, parts of me that now sit permanently on other parts of me, and of course, the ubiquitous enormous bump in the front. I won't mention my thankfulness for certain other pregnancy symptoms I haven't had to deal with, because it's not over until it's over. (Or until the Fat Lady sings, and I have a feeling I'll need some recovery time before I'm in any mood to do that.)

But today, I admit, I've got the blues. Maybe it's due to hormones. Or the weather (it's rather gloomy here.) But I think it's more due to missing my mom, who we lost in 1998, before we could celebrate Mother's Day that year. My anger over the reasons for her death is long gone. I understand now. I've accepted it. I know that I couldn't have saved her. I tried, so many times. But it wasn't up to me. I know this. But it still hurts, that she's gone. That she left us so early. Knowing what she is missing.

I've been missing her more and more as this pregnancy has gone on, wishing she was here to share our excitement, joy, and impart the practical and frank wisdom she was known for. I've had a few dreams of her, and I know she is watching, but it still aches that she's not here. It's amazing how fresh it can feel, even after nearly a decade. I've carefully washed and pressed the little dresses she saved for me, the blanket she bought for our baby over 9 years ago, when we were only newlyweds, and the baptism dress and blanket she stored away from my own baptism in 1973. I've hung the antique lithographs of children she collected in Zizou's nursery, and placed the "Mother's Prayer" plaque that hung above my own crib nearby. I'm grateful to have all these things, reminders of her, and of how much she already loved her grandchild, years before she came into the world. But I'd rather have her.

I worry. That I am not prepared. That I'm not going to 'do it right' when it comes to labor. That something will go wrong. That I won't be able to handle it. That I'll make some major mistake. That I won't be a good mom. That I won't be as good as she was.

I know that all these fears are irrational, and that I've been preparing the best way possible for as long as I can remember. (Ten years of teaching is nothing to shake a stick at.) I know I'll do fine, and will have great support from family and friends, that my instincts are good, that she'll love me no matter what.

But still. That little voice won't stop saying, "what if?"

I wish there was a direct phone line to Heaven.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.