Last night, our hamster, Chuck, was having a major freak out. He was running around his home, bouncing into walls, not eating or drinking, and completely ignoring his wheel. So it was no surprise when my husband found this morning that the Chuckster had gone on to the big hamster wheel in the sky. We'd had Chuck for 2 1/2 years (and his brother Boris for slightly less time). He had reached the end of his life expectancy and he was sick, too. Chuck had been a well-taken care of pet and we're happy he doesn't have to be sick anymore.
Now comes the inevitable question of what to do with Chuck's little rodent remains. When Boris died, Gavin was going to bury him in a ziploc bag (Gavin may have even suggested just throwing him away). I calmly persuaded him that the little dude deserved some sort of coffin and a decent burial. So Boris is buried in our yard in the box our last order of checks came in. For Chuck, there were no nice little boxes ready to serve as a hamster crypt. But necessity being the mother of invention, Gavin created a burial box for Chuck. He shortened the sides of a box of fruit snack bars and then taped the created lid shut with packing tape. Once it stops raining, we will bury him, too. My husband is a genius.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
8:30
It's 8:30 on a Friday night. Gavin and I are having some tea. Milo is already asleep. And I think I am going to bed soon myself. I suppose I should feel old or something, but I don't. I could have gone to Taste of the Town. A lot of my friends are there. Or Gavin and I could have gotten a sitter and had a nice little dinner at one of Burlingame's great restaurants. But we stayed home and I'm glad we did. It's quiet here. The dishwasher is running. There is quiet music playing somewhere. It's peaceful at home.
I end the week with a little poetry, a few lines from one of my favorites by Rudyard Kipling that sums up how things went for me.
"...If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on'..."
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on'..."
Night, everyone. I hope your weekend treats you well.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Speedskating
I've been searching for speed skating schools in the Bay Area. No such animal as it turns out, but I tried. Why you may ask? Olympic fever has struck our house and Milo is a huge fan of the speed skating. He "skates" around the hardwood floors in his socks, asking me if he has the starting form right. Trying to get his dad to skate with him. It's fun to watch. Of course, I saw the video of J.R. Celski cutting his leg open at the Olympic trials and almost bleeding out on the ice. I am not really interested in my son becoming a real speed skater and I'm kind of glad there aren't any schools around.
But I love watching kids discover the possibilities of sport whenever the Olympics come around. Two years ago, Milo was the biggest Michael Phelps fan I knew (except he called him Michael Phillips...technicalities). Milo is actually on a swim team now because of the Beijing Olympics. Right now he wants to give that up, move to Canada, and be a speed skater. I like his ambition, but I'm guessing this will pass. I remember the '84 Olympics. My sister Tamara was a precocious toddler, 17 months old and a climber. We found her on the fence in the backyard doing her best balance beam walk saying "Ibee Mahwylou" (I be Mary Lou). Students at school right now are talking about how cool the Nordic Combined is or how the biathlon looks fun. The journalists on the paper I advise write this column called "He Said, She Said", basically a battle of the sexes idea. Anyway, tomorrow's edition is all about men's sports vs. women's Winter Olympic sports.They even wade into the ski jumping argument (For the record, the Olympics should have women's ski jumping. Seriously!). A particular favorite of my husband and his college friends is ski cross (that hare-brained, four skiers on course at the same time, ridiculously dangerous thrill ride that gets to be called a "sport").
The Olympics are great for so many reasons. Mostly for the possibilities. And because I know that somewhere in the stands sits someones mom. She probably ferried her kid to practices and competitions, reveled in triumphs and endured heartaches, dusted a million trophies and polished medals, washed uniforms and costumes, packed bags, and found the missing ____________ (fill in the blank). Those moms (and dads) are my heroes.
But I love watching kids discover the possibilities of sport whenever the Olympics come around. Two years ago, Milo was the biggest Michael Phelps fan I knew (except he called him Michael Phillips...technicalities). Milo is actually on a swim team now because of the Beijing Olympics. Right now he wants to give that up, move to Canada, and be a speed skater. I like his ambition, but I'm guessing this will pass. I remember the '84 Olympics. My sister Tamara was a precocious toddler, 17 months old and a climber. We found her on the fence in the backyard doing her best balance beam walk saying "Ibee Mahwylou" (I be Mary Lou). Students at school right now are talking about how cool the Nordic Combined is or how the biathlon looks fun. The journalists on the paper I advise write this column called "He Said, She Said", basically a battle of the sexes idea. Anyway, tomorrow's edition is all about men's sports vs. women's Winter Olympic sports.They even wade into the ski jumping argument (For the record, the Olympics should have women's ski jumping. Seriously!). A particular favorite of my husband and his college friends is ski cross (that hare-brained, four skiers on course at the same time, ridiculously dangerous thrill ride that gets to be called a "sport").
The Olympics are great for so many reasons. Mostly for the possibilities. And because I know that somewhere in the stands sits someones mom. She probably ferried her kid to practices and competitions, reveled in triumphs and endured heartaches, dusted a million trophies and polished medals, washed uniforms and costumes, packed bags, and found the missing ____________ (fill in the blank). Those moms (and dads) are my heroes.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
God Bless My Girlfriends
Lately, I've been just overwhelmed with it all. I volunteer for the PTA at my son's school which recently has included meetings and a parcel tax get-out-the-vote campaign-rather quiet considering how hectic September and October were. I'm running the lap-a-thon for my son's swim team. Yep, that goes live on Monday. Oh, and let's not forget the walk-a-thon for the 8th grade at my middle school. I'm a public school teacher in a district badly in need of reform (and reforms are happening), but as you may have noticed, there isn't a lot of money for public education right now. Which is why I am going to a board meeting to hear about possible lay-offs in my district tomorrow night. Unrelated to the budget issues, but just as exhausting, I am teaching without a prep this year (6 periods a day, everyday, no planning period). And Milo is playing basketball on Fridays along with swimming four days a week. Did I forget anything? Yes! Baseball starts this weekend and Gavin and I are the assistant coaches. I left out the part where I tutor a neighbor kid two days a week. I feel a little guilty mentioning it, but I also have a really big family and try to make time for as many people as often as I can. Okay, my point here is that I am a busy girl!
Yesterday was typical of my schedule. I got to school around 8:30, started teaching my classes which include two seventh grade language arts sections, one 8th grade language arts, a two-period reading remediation clinic, journalism, and homeroom at 8:45 (thank goodness for late start times), went to a staff meeting that didn't end until 5:15, made my acupuncture appointment (love acupuncture as a pain management therapy since I have psoriatic arthritis), and got home around 6:40. Then I left again 10 minutes later. But this time it wasn't for a meeting, practice, or any other obligation. It also was not to hang out with Gavin and Milo (which I LOVE to do). It was a girl's night.
We went to Shabu House, a Japanese fondue place. There were 5 of us, cooking our meat and veggies-or just veggies for one of us-drinking Japanese beer and saki, and talking about everything under the sun. We each have a son in second grade, yet our boys weren't the focus of the evening. The day was really more about hanging out. We were at the restaurant for close to three hours and then hit a local pub for one more drink before heading home. I got to bed way too late, but it was worth it. Just hanging out with my friends, laughing, was what I needed. I don't think I've been laughing much lately and it's important. I felt rejuvenated (even though I had a rough time dragging my butt out of bed this morning). Honestly, I felt like me again.
So thanks. Helen, Lisa, Maggie, and Susan...you may not have known it, but you helped a friend in need.
Yesterday was typical of my schedule. I got to school around 8:30, started teaching my classes which include two seventh grade language arts sections, one 8th grade language arts, a two-period reading remediation clinic, journalism, and homeroom at 8:45 (thank goodness for late start times), went to a staff meeting that didn't end until 5:15, made my acupuncture appointment (love acupuncture as a pain management therapy since I have psoriatic arthritis), and got home around 6:40. Then I left again 10 minutes later. But this time it wasn't for a meeting, practice, or any other obligation. It also was not to hang out with Gavin and Milo (which I LOVE to do). It was a girl's night.
We went to Shabu House, a Japanese fondue place. There were 5 of us, cooking our meat and veggies-or just veggies for one of us-drinking Japanese beer and saki, and talking about everything under the sun. We each have a son in second grade, yet our boys weren't the focus of the evening. The day was really more about hanging out. We were at the restaurant for close to three hours and then hit a local pub for one more drink before heading home. I got to bed way too late, but it was worth it. Just hanging out with my friends, laughing, was what I needed. I don't think I've been laughing much lately and it's important. I felt rejuvenated (even though I had a rough time dragging my butt out of bed this morning). Honestly, I felt like me again.
So thanks. Helen, Lisa, Maggie, and Susan...you may not have known it, but you helped a friend in need.
Monday, February 22, 2010
A Choice
I took today off from work. At 12:30, Gavin and I are going to sit down with a psychiatrist and decide if medication is the right treatment option for our son. This has been a possibility ever since Milo was 3 1/2 and we figured out that he had some developmental challenges. The psychiatric evaluations took a few months, but after a lot of searching, a lot of prayer, and a lot of support we had a diagnosis.
It was not what I wanted to hear. My son, my precious baby boy that I worked so hard to carry as close to term as my body would allow (and still only got to 34 weeks), the light of my world had Asperger's Disorder. He doesn't present like many kids with an autism spectrum disorder, but it is there. Typical of many kids with Asperger's, Milo is brilliant (scary smart, and I am not just saying that because I am his mom). Also typical are his struggles with impulsivity and anxiety. Thus the trip to the psychiatrist today.
Gavin and I talked about medication for months-years really-when our first suspicion was that Milo had severe ADHD. Truly, that is how Asperger's presents in our son most of the time, as ADHD. Because of this and because he is more self-aware than most kids on the spectrum are, we've had family members and friends doubt his diagnosis, well-meaning, but nonetheless unhelpful opinions. There are some who tell us, without knowing what we have been through, what therapies and treatment options we have tried, "please don't medicate your child" or "there is nothing wrong with Milo. Why are you making such a big deal about this." None of this helps.
I have spent some time researching drug options. This is not a decision that my husband and I came to lightly, nor did we really want to say "lets do this." But we have a choice to make. Our child has done incredibly well with all of the interventions afforded to him both at school (speech for pragmatics and articulation and occupational therapy) and at home (a sensory diet, swimming four to five times a week, modified eating habits, a strong schedule, individual therapy and social skills groups). His current teacher modified her classroom management system to give Milo a few more steps to help him correct his behavior. We have done everything right. Yet one day, about a month ago, Milo asked us to get him an appointment with his doctor (psychologist). He wanted to know what else he could do to make his brain work better. He wanted help being a "better boy so people won't get mad at me."
How do I say no to that? How do I say to my son "Sorry, buddy, there is nothing else I can do." I came to the conculsion that I can't. I need to help him just like I always have (and that is not meant to exclude Gavin. My husband is an amazing father to our son). This time it involves giving him a drug. In typing this, I am starting to feel a little better about this decision. But it is one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made in my life.
The most important part of this is that my son is getting help. It's not about me...but it feels like it is. I feel like I have somehow failed because I couldn't find the right diet, or the right therapy, or the right magic spell that was going to make things all better for my boy. That's the hardest part of today...even though I have told countless parents that this is not their fault, they didn't cause their child to have a neurological challenge, there is nothing wrong with seeking pharmaceutical intervention if that is what is best for their child...well, I know what they were thinking every time I tried to reassure them.
This is my fault.
Pray for me. Send good thoughts. Today, even though I am doing the right thing, I feel like the worst mother on the planet. I feel like I have failed my child.
It was not what I wanted to hear. My son, my precious baby boy that I worked so hard to carry as close to term as my body would allow (and still only got to 34 weeks), the light of my world had Asperger's Disorder. He doesn't present like many kids with an autism spectrum disorder, but it is there. Typical of many kids with Asperger's, Milo is brilliant (scary smart, and I am not just saying that because I am his mom). Also typical are his struggles with impulsivity and anxiety. Thus the trip to the psychiatrist today.
Gavin and I talked about medication for months-years really-when our first suspicion was that Milo had severe ADHD. Truly, that is how Asperger's presents in our son most of the time, as ADHD. Because of this and because he is more self-aware than most kids on the spectrum are, we've had family members and friends doubt his diagnosis, well-meaning, but nonetheless unhelpful opinions. There are some who tell us, without knowing what we have been through, what therapies and treatment options we have tried, "please don't medicate your child" or "there is nothing wrong with Milo. Why are you making such a big deal about this." None of this helps.
I have spent some time researching drug options. This is not a decision that my husband and I came to lightly, nor did we really want to say "lets do this." But we have a choice to make. Our child has done incredibly well with all of the interventions afforded to him both at school (speech for pragmatics and articulation and occupational therapy) and at home (a sensory diet, swimming four to five times a week, modified eating habits, a strong schedule, individual therapy and social skills groups). His current teacher modified her classroom management system to give Milo a few more steps to help him correct his behavior. We have done everything right. Yet one day, about a month ago, Milo asked us to get him an appointment with his doctor (psychologist). He wanted to know what else he could do to make his brain work better. He wanted help being a "better boy so people won't get mad at me."
How do I say no to that? How do I say to my son "Sorry, buddy, there is nothing else I can do." I came to the conculsion that I can't. I need to help him just like I always have (and that is not meant to exclude Gavin. My husband is an amazing father to our son). This time it involves giving him a drug. In typing this, I am starting to feel a little better about this decision. But it is one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made in my life.
The most important part of this is that my son is getting help. It's not about me...but it feels like it is. I feel like I have somehow failed because I couldn't find the right diet, or the right therapy, or the right magic spell that was going to make things all better for my boy. That's the hardest part of today...even though I have told countless parents that this is not their fault, they didn't cause their child to have a neurological challenge, there is nothing wrong with seeking pharmaceutical intervention if that is what is best for their child...well, I know what they were thinking every time I tried to reassure them.
This is my fault.
Pray for me. Send good thoughts. Today, even though I am doing the right thing, I feel like the worst mother on the planet. I feel like I have failed my child.
Friday, February 19, 2010
My Man
Last November, I went with Gavin and Milo to New Orleans. My husband's uncle and aunt live there, and we were visiting them for Thanksgiving. It was the first time they were to meet Milo, and as it turns out the last time for any of us to see Uncle Steve. He had cancer and died last week. It was a blessing for the suffering to end for Steve. For many reasons, Milo and I did not travel with Gavin to the funeral. Instead, he went alone and met up with his mother and aunt to say good-bye to their brother. I'm glad he had the chance to go.
The last time we went to New Orleans, we spent much of our time with Steve and his wife Charlotte, so we didn't really do "Nawlins" things. I was forever lamenting (jokingly so) to Gavin that I did not get to try beignets or have a Hurricane (even though we had gone to the French Quarter and the Garden District) on my first ever trip to the Big Easy.
Gavin came home today. He had just buried his uncle and flown all the way across country, changing his flights so that he could get home earlier...with a bag of beignets. And now he is playing bean ball soccer in the hallway with Milo, even though he's exhausted. I married a great man. And the beignets were delicious.
The last time we went to New Orleans, we spent much of our time with Steve and his wife Charlotte, so we didn't really do "Nawlins" things. I was forever lamenting (jokingly so) to Gavin that I did not get to try beignets or have a Hurricane (even though we had gone to the French Quarter and the Garden District) on my first ever trip to the Big Easy.
Gavin came home today. He had just buried his uncle and flown all the way across country, changing his flights so that he could get home earlier...with a bag of beignets. And now he is playing bean ball soccer in the hallway with Milo, even though he's exhausted. I married a great man. And the beignets were delicious.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
It wasn't so bad
Today started out on a bad note. Nothing horrible happened; I just woke up and could only think about when my bed time would be. Yesterday I taught, had two meetings after school, and then a PTA meeting. Gavin had to be in New Orleans, so I was flying solo. Thanks to my sister, Milo made swim practice and then the poor guy had to sit through the PTA meeting (I'm secretary, so I couldn't bail). I finally got home and Milo into bed at 9:30-criminally late for a 7 year old who had school the next day. I got to sleep somewhere around 11. And was back up at 6:00 this morning. Argh.
So, of course, all I could think about was how long the day was going to be. Turns out, it wasn't so bad. My classes all went well. My 7th graders are reading The Outsiders and lovin' it. 8th grade just finished up of Mice and Men and a few kids want to know "if that Steinbeck guy wrote any more books." A couple of the students in my reading clinic have reached benchmark. And my journalism class continues to blow me away with their maturity and skill.
Then I got home...I was able to actually make swim practice today. Milo has been working since November to have 8 practices in a row without getting in trouble for messing around. That means two straight weeks of good behavior which is no small feat for him. Anyway, Milo has gotten close so many times, but could never quite make it. So I don't know who was more excited today: Milo, my sister, his coach, or me. Why were we so excited? Milo finally earned his swim parka. That makes him an official swimmer in his book.
I got a wild hair and decided to make curry this evening. Turned out okay, not great, but it was a decent first effort. What does Milo say? "Mom, you make great curry. I'm only eating yours from now on." Then we go to help some neighbor kids with their science project and my son walks them through a density experiment, explaining each step to them scientifically and patiently. My little Einstein. And for his final trick of the night, I was going through his backpack and found his first ever perfect 10 spelling test (with one correct bonus word to boot). He told me that he had looked at each word very carefully all week and did his best on the test. It's on the fridge for all the world to see.
Sometimes, Milo is frustrating beyond words. Tonight, he reminded me why I am so lucky to be his mother.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
When My Mom Let's Me Drink Coffee
I have a Starbuck's addiction. Earl Grey lattes are heavenly nectar and red velvet cupcakes my chosen ambrosia. If I wasn't going to have a butt the size of Texas, I'd probably indulge every day. As it is, I stop by just a little too much. So much, in fact, that a few of our local Starbucks know my order without me saying it. This is normal right? If you need more evidence of my addiction, there are two of my local Bucks of the Star (as we call it at my house sometimes) that know Milo's order.
Which got me thinking? What the heck have I done to my kid? He used to get a boxed chocolate or vanilla milk and madelines every time we went. More recently, it's been a vanilla steamer and -like mother, like son- a red velvet cupcake. Sometimes, we go to Starbucks because Milo says "Mom, don't you want a London Fog (original name for the Earl Grey latte)" which is code for "Mom, I need a vanilla steamer, STAT." The barista even asked Milo when he was going to switch to vanilla lattes. Vanilla lattes, really? He's seven.
Milo told him he's switching when his mom will let him drink coffee. Nice.
Which got me thinking? What the heck have I done to my kid? He used to get a boxed chocolate or vanilla milk and madelines every time we went. More recently, it's been a vanilla steamer and -like mother, like son- a red velvet cupcake. Sometimes, we go to Starbucks because Milo says "Mom, don't you want a London Fog (original name for the Earl Grey latte)" which is code for "Mom, I need a vanilla steamer, STAT." The barista even asked Milo when he was going to switch to vanilla lattes. Vanilla lattes, really? He's seven.
Milo told him he's switching when his mom will let him drink coffee. Nice.
Friday, February 12, 2010
We All Live in A Yellow Submarine
Today is my dad's 60th birthday (it's also his brother's 59th birthday and my brother turns 33...weird little family trivia). This is bittersweet, because my dad died of cancer six weeks after his 30th birthday. I find myself pondering all that has changed in those 30 years and wondering what Daddy- forgive me that name, I was 6 when he died- would think of it all.
There have been major world events that I think he would have cared about: the Berlin Wall came down and Communism lost its grip on Eastern Europe. I don't know his politics so I can't say what he would have seen as the better times: the Reagan Revolution or the Clintonian 90's. Being a huge Beatles fan, my dad would have grieved John Lennon's senseless death and George Harrison's tragic one. He was a sports fan, so he no doubt would have enjoyed the A's three World Series trips in the late 80's and 1990, the dominance of the 49ers in the 80's, and watching his sons progress through Little League. There have been space shuttles, stock market crashes, national scandals and triumphs. I imagine discussing all of this with him would have been interesting. Part of me thinks we would have argued the way I did with his father over just about everything; maybe we would have agreed. Either way, I wish we could have the chance.
He missed other things, too, and they are what my dad really cared about. All three of his children graduated from college and have professional careers. Two of us are married to amazing people who fit right in to the August fold. My dad has 4 grandchildren, three beautiful, bright, blonde girls and one vivacious, independent, handsome boy. His kids are more than just siblings, but friends who actually like hanging out together. When he died, his parents and brothers did everything they could to stay a part of his children's lives and keep our dad alive for us (without making him god-like...he may not have liked that as much!). And our mom took care of us and let us know in many ways that she loved us and our dad did, too.
Of course, there were little moments that he would have relished as well. My dad would have laughed and teased me mercilessly about the time I tripped and fell on the basketball court after a time out cheer (it really was funny). He would have thought Jeff's blue hair experiment was fantastic, especially when the coloring started to run down his face. The time Kevin got thrown out at second after tripping at first would have been a pretty great story. So was watching Kevin hit two home runs in one game, listening to Jeff's album, Expansion to Venus, or walking me down the aisle at my wedding.
My dad used to play the guitar and some of the first songs I knew all of the words to were Beatles songs. We three kids would sing as our dad strummed the tune. One song in particular stands out: "Yellow Submarine" (We also watched the slightly freaky, at times scary, but cool-because-it-was-the-Beatles animated film).
"As we live a life of ease
Everyone of us has all we need
Sky of blue, sea of green
In our Yellow Submarine"
They're not the lines one would think of in a post like this, I'm sure. But they are true. There has been a great deal of blue sky and green sea. Heart ache has been a part of my experience, too, as it is in everyone's life. Some days, I am more acutely aware of what I did not have because I lost my dad so young. But I have memories, living memories, of a wonderful human being who in six short years taught me much and holds a huge place in my heart. And I have my brothers, knock-offs of the original, both just as amazing in their own rights. My son, whose middle name is for my dad, reminds me every day that as some in our lives must move on, others come to fill our hearts in ways we did not know possible.
Happy birthday, Dad. Want to go watch Yellow Submarine?
There have been major world events that I think he would have cared about: the Berlin Wall came down and Communism lost its grip on Eastern Europe. I don't know his politics so I can't say what he would have seen as the better times: the Reagan Revolution or the Clintonian 90's. Being a huge Beatles fan, my dad would have grieved John Lennon's senseless death and George Harrison's tragic one. He was a sports fan, so he no doubt would have enjoyed the A's three World Series trips in the late 80's and 1990, the dominance of the 49ers in the 80's, and watching his sons progress through Little League. There have been space shuttles, stock market crashes, national scandals and triumphs. I imagine discussing all of this with him would have been interesting. Part of me thinks we would have argued the way I did with his father over just about everything; maybe we would have agreed. Either way, I wish we could have the chance.
He missed other things, too, and they are what my dad really cared about. All three of his children graduated from college and have professional careers. Two of us are married to amazing people who fit right in to the August fold. My dad has 4 grandchildren, three beautiful, bright, blonde girls and one vivacious, independent, handsome boy. His kids are more than just siblings, but friends who actually like hanging out together. When he died, his parents and brothers did everything they could to stay a part of his children's lives and keep our dad alive for us (without making him god-like...he may not have liked that as much!). And our mom took care of us and let us know in many ways that she loved us and our dad did, too.
Of course, there were little moments that he would have relished as well. My dad would have laughed and teased me mercilessly about the time I tripped and fell on the basketball court after a time out cheer (it really was funny). He would have thought Jeff's blue hair experiment was fantastic, especially when the coloring started to run down his face. The time Kevin got thrown out at second after tripping at first would have been a pretty great story. So was watching Kevin hit two home runs in one game, listening to Jeff's album, Expansion to Venus, or walking me down the aisle at my wedding.
My dad used to play the guitar and some of the first songs I knew all of the words to were Beatles songs. We three kids would sing as our dad strummed the tune. One song in particular stands out: "Yellow Submarine" (We also watched the slightly freaky, at times scary, but cool-because-it-was-the-Beatles animated film).
"As we live a life of ease
Everyone of us has all we need
Sky of blue, sea of green
In our Yellow Submarine"
They're not the lines one would think of in a post like this, I'm sure. But they are true. There has been a great deal of blue sky and green sea. Heart ache has been a part of my experience, too, as it is in everyone's life. Some days, I am more acutely aware of what I did not have because I lost my dad so young. But I have memories, living memories, of a wonderful human being who in six short years taught me much and holds a huge place in my heart. And I have my brothers, knock-offs of the original, both just as amazing in their own rights. My son, whose middle name is for my dad, reminds me every day that as some in our lives must move on, others come to fill our hearts in ways we did not know possible.
Happy birthday, Dad. Want to go watch Yellow Submarine?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)