It’s too warm for Christmas in Las Vegas

We are back from what feels like weeks and weeks on the road…probably because we’ve been on the road for weeks and weeks.

I left nearly three weeks ago to get Jason and our car and drive from South Carolina to Nevada. It was long and mostly fun except for the part where we ran out of gas in the New Mexico wilderness and didn’t speak to each other for an hour while we waited for the tow truck to hike out and put us back on the road. In hindsight we missed a really good opportunity to make out, stupid stubborn pride. Luckily we made up for it in Arizona.

Halfway through the trip we spent a few days in Texas with Jason’s sisters and their families and I discovered that I am not, in fact, on a diet. Big shocker. That was an extremely fun little stop over, seeing his family after over three years away was amazing. We must return with the children.

We finally blew into our Nevada cement suburb after five days on the road, packed up the kids and some fresh clothes, and headed to San Francisco for Thanksgiving with our dear friends from Germany, the Prices.

Coast to coast in seven days. I’m so done with cars right now.

After Thanksgiving we took the kids down to the Welk Resort in Escondido for a week of beaches and Disney fun and rained out birthdays. June turned seven while we were there.

We made three and a half trips to Disneyland. The half was another unfortunate (and unsurprising) encounter with an empty gas tank because someone in the family has an obsession with finding the cheapest diesel prices in America and not filling up until we can hunt them down. That was a very long two and a half hours with no Splash Mountain at the end of the line. We turned around and had to spend the rest of the day swimming and going to the beach. Lame.

And finally, FINALLY, we are back home in our little house. I have liked this house here in Vegas, it’s not big by any means, it’s not particularly nice and the kitchen is commonly described as “terrible.” It’s half the size of our last place (our garage is packed floor to ceiling with storage) but the kids and I have done just fine here.

So why is it that Jason and his very presence makes it feel like we’re living in a sardine can? I swear four people just moved in. And I’m not talking about stuff, he doesn’t make messes and most of his things were already here, I’m talking about people space. This is not a six person house. Five smallish people maybe. Six? Standing room only.

Frankly, we’re just not comfortable in Las Vegas.

Part of this is due to the fact that I need a constant attitude adjustment. I want to be home in Washington like yesterday, my dad’s health hasn’t been so great and I’m convinced that his life would significantly improve with a regular dose of Us. Also I really want to live by him. And my mother. She’s kind of wonderful. Plus I hate all this blasted sunshine every single day of the year. Have they not heard of overcast? My favorite cloud formation.

For crying out loud, I just wanna go home.

And so our goal right now is to pray really hard that Heavenly Father will please help us do and learn whatever it is we’ve come to this barren place to do and learn so we can move on. Please.

End of rant.

And hey, Merry Christmas! I’m up to my earlobes in holiday tricks and treats, more to come on that later this week…serious mileage on my sewing machine this year.

24 hours…

…and I leave this desert behind and go get my man.

I haven’t written much lately because most of my thoughts have been things like I love Jason, I miss Jason, I can’t wait to see Jason, nine days until I leave to get Jason, Jason Jason Jason Jason Jason.

This last month has taken forever to draw itself out. I can’t complain about my life here, my kids are as good as a group of under 12 children can be–translation: they fight and fit and cry and kick, but it’s interspersed with bursts of affection and refreshingly responsible behavior.

Like last night. It was Family Home Evening so I asked Harrison to put together a little lesson on gratitude. Harry is great at this kind of thing, he usually pulls out something fabulous and the younger kids eat it up. Not last night. Last night I was introduced to a full blown pre-teen tantrum.

After FHE I took him to his room and sat him down. There are things little kids don’t understand and can’t understand but once a child hits that 11, 12 age we have an opportunity to pony up and talk straight with them.

So I did.

I came clean and told Harrison straight out that I don’t enjoy Family Home Evening. It’s not fun and it’s not easy to wrangle the kids together and get them to sit still for a quick lesson, then try to organize something fun where someone always ends up crying. It isn’t enjoyable, it’s never easy and I’d much rather turn on Sponge Bob and go read a book.

I’m not trying to torture them.

We have Family Home Evening because the prophet has commanded it, and if my kids learn anything from us we want them to know that we are obedient, like Rebekah obedient. Remember how Abraham’s servant found her at the well and she watered all his animals? Then when he said she needed to come immediately and marry Isaac, she didn’t wait around for a farewell party or an extra week to say goodbye to the mother she’d never see again, that girl packed her case and took off without looking back. (We just read this story a few weeks ago in Hurlbut’s Story of the Bible, my kids keep talking about it.)

We need to be that kind of obedient.

After that Harrison had to come out and sing The Happy Family Song to his brother and sisters before I’d let him have ice cream. Very inspiring stuff.

Tomorrow morning I leave to get Jason. We are taking five days to drive home together. We need that much time so we can stop and make-out on a regular basis. We’re also visiting family in Texas between make-out sessions.

It’s finally over. This big hard year of single-parenting is over. We made it to America without Jason, we traveled to Las Vegas without Jason, I enrolled the kids in school, dance, football, karate, gymnastics, boxing, etc. without Jason. I managed our entire shipment of household goods and did all the unpacking without Jason.

 

And now I get to move my husband into this house he’s never lived in and try to make some room for him in the closet. I. Am. So. Excited!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

When brothers fight

I’m frightened. I’m frightened of my job as a mother and afraid that I’m going to blow it with my boys.

Last night we had a set of brothers over to play Settlers with Harrison. Up to this point Rex hasn’t learned Setttlers–partially because he’s only nine but mostly because he’s Rex–so just Harry sat down to play with these boys. I noticed about 20 minutes in that Rex was really wanting to be included so I asked the kids if they would invite him to play on a team and help him learn.

“No!” Harrison said.

I was appalled. The other set of brothers were surprised. They of course agreed and happily invited Rex to play.

Rex didn’t play, he instead spent the game being rude to Harrison and bugging Harrison and causing issues with Harrison.

After I put the girls to bed I had a sit down with the boys to find out what in the heck is going on in my family that I haven’t paid enough attention to. What I heard really upset me.

Harrison said he didn’t want Rex there because Rex was bugging him so much. Newsflash: Everything about Rex bugs Harrison all the time. Then Rex said the reason he was acting rude and teasing Harrison (putting a hair brush on his chair when he was gone as a prank) was because he wanted Harrison to leave so he could be friends with the boys and he could sit and play the game.

I sat and listened and what I really saw were two boys–my two boys–who have grown so far apart in the past year that they can’t even socialize politely with each other. More than that. They don’t like each other anymore, at all. It’s not news, it’s been happening for over a year and it’s graffitied all over the walls of my heart.

I know that Rex is different, like tip of the Spectrum different, but you would think that kind of information would make Harrison more understanding and more open to helping his brother in social situations. Harrison doesn’t come across as the impatient, embarrassed type but when it comes to his brother he is beyond impatient. The sad thing is that his friends haven’t minded Rex’s quirky ways (okay, some of his friends).

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this dynamic, maybe it’s just the first time I sat down and dissected it and didn’t pretend like it’s just a phase.

I feel like it’s ruining my family. I feel like it’s out of my hands. I feel like there’s nothing I can do to change a heart but pray and skip meals and try to impose more family game nights where the boys can work together as a team or something. Even that feels like I’m grasping at straws. Oh, give me potty training and pillow forts to clean up again, I don’t want to do this part.

I just want my boys to love each other. I don’t want Rex to grow up envying Harrison his friends and his sports and I don’t want Harrison to grow up trying to pretend that he doesn’t have a brother. I know they’re just kids but these years are important. Boys aren’t like girls. My sister that hated me grew out of it when she went to college and now we talk on the phone constantly, she’s my best friend.

Boys don’t talk on the phone all the time when they grow up.

I don’t need them to be best friends. I do need them to respect each other and I would really like to see a little compassion around here. I feel extremely alone these days, single parenting is the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life. I’ve only got about two and a half weeks left…it feels like an eternity. I have so much respect for women who are going through this parenting gig alone, it takes a certain kind of strength and fortification and I think mine is about run out.

When the Zombies come

I am a closet prepper. Actually I’m more like a mental closet prepper since I don’t really do anything to prepare us. I like to strategize how we’re going to build our farm someday in order to make it super comfy when the internet explodes and the zombies start a-knockin’.

Part of this might be due to the fact that Doomsday Preppers is my secret to a perfect afternoon. I used to let my kids watch it but they started worrying about the apocalypse, and being that they’re super young, I prefer to keep their anxiety in check. We stick to family fire drills and where to meet in the event of an earthquake or an unexpected canyon opening up in downtown Las Vegas (you know it’s going to happen).

Here’s my thinking though. As I watch these shows about prepping for What May Come I can’t help but reference what I know about The Secret–aka using your mental brain power to make things happen. Do you realize that if people keep jumping on this prepper wagon, we, as a society, are going to unintentionally make something terrible happen?

Or is it intentional…

Even though 97% of me knows that it won’t be cool when Pampers is out of business (aka the SHTF), I secretly thrill at the miserable excitement of it all. Do I have any water in my empty water containers? No. Have I stockpiled a substantial amount of cocoa powder and sugar? Not quite. I didn’t realize until today that I need to start storing Diet Coke if we ever want to trade for medical supplies.

So here’s my current list of things we’re going to do on the farm to prepare for dun dun dun dun…The End.

1. Build a house so we won’t be cold.

2. Have a fake floor in our house where we can store all sorts of things like fugitives and Diet Coke.

3. Get some masks and plastic gloves so we won’t catch Ebola.

4. Learn how to churn butter–seriously. I will die without butter.

5. Learn to like fish so we can eat the trout in our pond (also get rid of the otters who are currently cleaning us out of trout).

6.Build a barn, get draft horses to pull the Excursion around, and find ponies to make me happy. Learn how to drive horses.

7. Hide everything of value in unexpected places then make a map so we can remember where we put stuff.

8. Go solar (although in WA where the sun doesn’t shine this might be a little difficult).

9. Get a book of card games so we won’t kill each other over boredom.

10. Buy some flashlights and batteries and don’t let the kids know.

11. Stockpile paper, toilet paper, markers, glue, pipe cleaners, duct tape, crayons, diapers (to barter with), lipstick, mascara and fingernail polish. Um…I can’t think of anything else.

12. Also, buy a real pair of shoes…

I have every intention of the world staying up and running for at least ten more years because this list is going to take us some serious time and effort. Just stay dead, zombies. I’m not ready yet.

 

Hell-oween at my house

I hate this night. I hate what just happened. I hate being the mom and I hate following through.

I’m not a slave driver with my kids but I do expect them to do a basic job or two after school each day. They keep their rooms clean and wipe down their bathrooms regularly plus the odd load of laundry or dishes or basic trash pickup.

We have company coming tomorrow, however, so tonight was a little more intense than usual–meaning I pulled out my cattle prod and whistle and put my minions to work.

Most of my minions at least. Everyone but June.

I don’t know why that child feels so entitled sometimes. Yes, your highness, you have to put your own trash in the garbage. No, your highness, we will not carry you up the stairs on a family litter.

June spent a nice chunk of time up in her room before dance class “cleaning.” When it was time to go to bed I went up to tuck and pray and walked into a bomb shell. She hadn’t done a darn thing (except gorge her little self on yesterday’s Halloween candy).

I didn’t yell, I didn’t stomp, I didn’t curse or kick clothes or grind my teeth. Instead I firmly told her that if she wanted to wear her Halloween costume to her school party tomorrow she had to get down and clean her room.

The room is tiny. With the bunk bed and dressers the open floor space is a whopping 6’X6′ patch. We’re talking a five minute cleaning job at the very most.

She sat on her bunk bed and looked at me. I looked at her. She lowered her chin and I lowered my chin. “June, ” I said, “You need to come down and clean your room right now or you will not be able to wear your Lady Bug costume”–that I spent four precious hours designing and sewing and hot gluing and slaving over–“to school tomorrow for the party. Do you understand?” She cocked her head and stared at me.

SHE COCKED HER HEAD AND STARED AT ME.

And still I didn’t blow.

“That’s one June.”

Nothing.

“That’s two June.”

Blank eye contact.

Really? She was really going to choose this? “Do you really want to choose this? You won’t get to wear your costume to the class party tomorrow…”

I know I was dragging this out but we haven’t gone head to head over something serious in a while because I follow through and she knows it. I really didn’t expect her to test me on this one.

And she stared at me…then casually looked at the ceiling.

“Three.”

How could she do this to us? It’s so easy to obey, and the job would have taken five minutes. I would have helped her! I wanted to help her succeed! Why, of all the days, did she test my parenting glue today?

“June, I’m really sad you chose this. Now none of your friends are going to see your amazing ballerina Lady Bug costume.” This was the moment when her eyes started to falter with that, ‘wait, what just happened?’ look. “Now,” I continued, “If you don’t get off that bed this instant and get your room clean you will never wear your Lady Bug costume again. I will be very happy to let you stay home and pass out candy with me while the other kids trick or treat. Do I need to count? One…”

You can bet she was off her bed in an instant.

And then the tears began. These weren’t fake fit tears, these were sinking consequences tears. “But Mom,” she sobbed with snot running off her chin and eyes puffy, “I told all my friends about my costume! I told them how you made it, they’re all waiting to see! I’m June Bug, it’s my June Bug costume!”

I sat on the bed and gently helped fold clothes. I’m not lying when I tell you that I felt like sobbing myself and as I write this my eyes keep brimming up. How can I follow through with this? Isn’t there some way I can rewind this and take back my stern consequence or give her an out? Can’t she use a get out of jail free card or maybe I can yell, “STING!” and send my beautiful little girl to school with her fabulous costume tomorrow??

But no. If it were any of my other children then perhaps. With June, there is no way in Helloween that I can take back my word and let her off the hook. She has a will of steel and if I can’t match her in strength when she’s six just imagine what my life is going to look like when she’s 15. Helloween every day of the stinking year.

photo 4

 

Here she is last Friday at our first Halloween party where we tried costumes out for good measure. She has worn last year’s costume to this week’s events and has been saving this for the weekend.

Letting them fail

In case you missed it, I posted on the Scary Mommy blog this week. You can check out my post, How to Raise a Kid on 6 Hours of TV a Day but I warn you, it’s not a pretty method.

Despite Georgia’s long hours of daily television (she’s bored and I’m lazy and busy and her dolls nap a lot) when 2:15 hits the TV goes off for the rest of the day and I switch into full-time piano teaching, chore wrangling, taxi driving, mommy mode. Swing shift–every mother’s most crucial time of day.

Last week the kids finished their work early and we had no after school obligations to attend so the girls decided to set up shop in front of our house selling “free pictures.”

June. She’s insanely creative and artistic and has been planning this picture selling business for days. Is it bad that I tried to dissuade her? I can’t stand the thought of watching her hard work go unappreciated and I don’t know enough people here to call my neighbors and ask them to help her out. But she was determined and I’m not about to keep her from anything.

I parked myself on the couch with a tall cold drink and a book, watching from the window as cars drove by and no one stopped by buy a free picture from June. I could hear them from inside the house touting their wares, it brought back so many memories. We made the seasonal attempt to sell lemonade on our old country road growing up but since there were only four houses left after the farm business was pretty bad.

As soon as they were in business Rex scoured my kitchen and stole the last of our apples so he could start his own mini shop. I say mini because he sold his apples from a little foot stool. He cut them himself, then found some popsicle sticks from the art bin and cracked them into smaller pieces so he could spear his apples with crude caveman handles.

photo 1

photo 3  photo 2photo 5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, we know pictures aren’t my strong suit and the unfocussed apple is mostly tacky but I had to show you.

They stayed outside until the sun was almost set and no one bought any of June’s pictures. Rex, however, did have one lucky customer who asked how much his apples cost and he said, “Oh! Well, they cost whatever you want to pay for them!” He then sold the world’s most expensive brown apple slice for 75 cents. Go that neighbor.

But watching June’s shoulders droop with the setting sun was painful. How can you explain to a six-year-old that there’s nothing harder to sell than art? I sat observing this process from my couch for over an hour. It was riveting.

What is it about watching your child try something new without your help and protection that is so freaking terrifying? Because that’s how I felt. My heart was beating and my stomach was upset and I couldn’t take my eyes off the entrepreneurs in the front yard. Every time a car drove past her without stopping I died a little inside. It made me panicky.

She was failing and I couldn’t save her.

June draws me pictures every single day, I’m not a valid customer. I couldn’t even tempt her with money because she wanted to sell them for free to make the world more beautiful. I’m serious. She wanted to give pictures away to make people happy.

And no one stopped. No one looked. Even the apple lady ignored the pictures.

So I did the only thing a mommy can do when her kids are trying to grow up and she can’t keep them from learning tough lessons.

I told her that cookies sell better than art and next time, she can bake cookies.

Funny how once again the very thought of a cookie saved the day.

 

 

 

 

The best Christmas idea ever

My gout is flaring up tonight. I was at the gym (oh shut your mouth already) doing my hour on the elliptical (yes she did) when a number of things started happening down in my right shoe that had nothing to do with getting skinnier. First, my toes went numb. Second, piggies #3 and #4 started to get that “I think we’re broken” feeling that only comes when those idiot little uric acid crystals settle in my joints.

On one hand maybe this is a good sign. My gout only flares when I’m eating healthy and losing weight, although I wouldn’t know about the weight part because I’m too afraid of my scale to even use the toilet in my master bathroom. I might bump it or trip and stumble upon it and who knows what kind of an accidental number might flash at me.

I was on Pinterest tonight pinning Things I’ll Never Actually Incorporate Into My Real Life when I thought of a brilliant idea. Wouldn’t it be amazing during December to make a different Christmas cookie 25 days in a row? I see so many fantastical recipes that don’t get enough attention, just think of the good I could do the universe if I baked Christmas cookies for a month straight.

Then again I’d probably have to add elastic waistband extensions into my already elastic waist-banded wardrobe. Maybe I’ll do a weekend cookie baking marathon followed by a tall glass of contaminated water early on in the season…Either way I’m planning to bake up some of these babies from isthisreallymylife sometime in the next 24 hours just for practice.

Soft-and-chewy-pumpkin-chocolate-chip-cookies

Today I discovered the best thing ever that more people should do starting in October: Christmas Layaway. I remember my mom putting our winter coats on Layaway at Penny’s when I was a kid. At Walmart today I saw two of my big ticket items on sale, and I know those prices are only going to roll right back up in the next few months. I snatched my stuff and trotted back to layaway so I can pay for them without having to store them at my house or use my credit card (we have Christmas budgeted into the next three month’s of pay periods).

Why doesn’t everyone offer layaway?? I’m going to google a list so I can give them my business.

(I just checked, Kmart, Sears, ToysR’ Us, Burlington Coat Factory, Marshalls, TJ Maxx plus a few elayaway suggestions.)

I’m sorely missing my husband this week and thinking about Christmas makes me think of him. We’re only a month away from the end of this extended summer of miserable separation and every day I sew more furiously and write for longer hours and try to fill my time to make the days fly by.

Then I stay up until 2 am because I’m afraid of the dark and can’t sleep in this scary town without him.

My life would be so much easier if I would just go to bed at 8 o’clock with the children. Think of the hours apart that we would cut back on if I could get four more hours sleep every single night, we’re looking at like 500 hours saved on loneliness in general.

My best advice? If your husband ever goes away and leaves you with your little children alone in Sin City, get yourself a dog with a really big bark. I think the entire neighborhood hears Sheriff when someone comes to my door. And now and then I’ll wake up at night only to look toward my bedroom door and see him standing at attention at the top of the stairs, ready to make his midnight rounds.

He’s probably better to have for safety than Jason, but Jason’s more fun to sleep with.

 

 

 

Daughter warfare

Sometimes I’m a really horrible mother.

I get a lot of the Big List things checked off these days. Piano gets practiced, homework is always on time, the kids take healthy home lunches and everyone changes their underwear almost every day. With Jason gone I’ve been so determined to keep things running smoothly that I’ve ignored the number one rule in mommy warfare:

Soothe first.

My Junie girl. She’s 6-years-old going on 23 and is so blasted strong-willed sometimes. She’ll push me and push me and I’ll push back and stand firm and cross my arms and she’ll toss shoes around and knock chairs over and storm from the room and I’ll glare and put her to bed 30 minutes early and take away her dessert and she’ll on and on and on.

We’re in this horrible merry-go-round of discord.

But in the morning when we sit and do piano together things are amazing. At night when she does her homework with me and reads it’s all good. But the moment the word Bedtime comes into play up go the fists and the dance begins.

And the worst part is that after an exhausting day of highs and lows she wants me to climb up on her bunk bed and snuggle her.

I’d rather snuggle a cactus.

But tonight after she finally fell asleep I remembered a story I’d read about a mom who laid down with her daughter each night and listened to her girl’s meandering monologue about the day and her friends and her teacher and I realized…I haven’t done that with June at all lately. She needs me. Girls need their mothers to listen, and while  I’m being a fair caretaker, I’m sure a lousy listener.

For the next week I’m going to put her to be after Georgia falls asleep and invite her into my room to talk about her day. I promise that under no circumstances will I threaten to take this away from her if she misbehaves, no way. I have got to throw this baby girl a lifeline and I’m only sorry it took me this many weeks of frustration to see how much she needs it.

 

He came, he hugged, he went

I’m amazed at how many couples make it through 50 years of marriage with nary a long-distance separation. My own parents have rarely spent more than 10 days apart and by the 8th day all my mother can do is wax poetic about my 80-year-old father’s hair.

I’ve been in the military community for six years now and during that time I have spent my own fair share of lonely nights away from my warrior. Shall I mention again that he missed an added total of five out of the nine months I was pregnant with Georgia, including the last two of bed rest? By the time he came home I had the Whaambulance on speed dial.

I know so many women with husbands in the Air Force and the Army and especially the Navy who have sent their men off for 6, 9, 12 and even 18 month deployments. Some of them are alone, some have six or seven children. And sure, most of us go through our crazy at one point or another but there comes a time where you just have to dig a stupid trench and settle in for the long fight.

Jason came home for the weekend on Friday to a shouting, barking chorus from our family and more than one happy tear from yours truly. I realized that while he’s technically only been gone since August we haven’t been together on a regular basis since April. It’s been a week gone here, a month there, a move overseas without him, trying to catch up for a few days in one state or another.

We haven’t had normal for six months and this weekend I remembered what normal was like. We were finally settled into our house with all of our things unpacked and a schedule to follow. And for the first time since we got to this barren desert it finally felt right. 72 hours of absolutely wonderful. Only a month and a half to go, we got this

Daddy’s home.

 

 

 

The last time I saw Heaven

This is my favorite day. Christmas, Valentine’s, my anniversary, none of them beat today. I think my birthday is the one I love the most.

Not because of the gifts, I rarely remember them from one year to the next. Not because of the cake, we had chocolate chip cookies last night instead and I’m planning to pass on the calories. Not because of the wonderful FB wishes or the phone calls from my sisters or the loving words from our parents.

No. Today is my favorite day because this year especially, I can feel Heaven.

I woke with the primary song, “Where is Heaven?” on my lips. I’m pretty sure Heaven is kind of amazing. Before I came to Earth I probably ate a lot of calorie free cake and coordinated all the bon voyage parties for family members making the jump. I’m sure I planned out my life and hoped and dreamed about things like kissing and ice cream. You gotta get a body to really appreciate that stuff.

When I look back at my 29+ years on Earth it blows my mind to consider the things I’ve learned and experienced, and not just the kissing. I’m a mother, I have a mate, I can cook and sew and write and sing and play the piano kind of, I can still play a scale on the trumpet and shuffle off to Buffalo with a pair of tap shoes. I have tasted and seen and loved and–

I need to interrupt this program for an important Birthday Update. Jason just called me.

Let’s be honest, there is really only one thing I want for my birthday: Five minutes to make out with my sweetheart (who is, unfortunately, very very far away until Thanksgiving).

Honestly, as soon as he called I felt my birthday happiness start to flicker out a little. The phone is so one dimensional, I’d rather not even–

“Anne,” he said, “I have something to give you today for your birthday.” I couldn’t help it, hearing his voice today made me all weepy around the lashes.

“Honey,” I said, “Don’t. I can’t think of a single thing you can give me that will make me happy so just save your money–”

“I’m coming home.”

How can I…there’s no way to express…some emotions are too fantastic to put down in words.

This very morning one of the guys Jason works with casually mentioned that he’s using his sky miles to head home for the long weekend. Sky Miles? Jason thought, I wonder if I have any sky miles left.

48000 to be exact, and it only took 40000 to fly home.

I thought my birthday was perfect this morning when my kids all came in with my gift, a perfectly wrapped container holding one homemade card.  June drew the picture, Georgia decorated the back, and Harrison wrote the letter. Rex…well Rex was upset that there were no balloons.

“Dear Mom,

We all thank you for your hard work and love. And how old are you 29 or 35?? Oh well. But anyway today we all promise to do whatever you need, so just sit back and do whatever! And again, Happy Birthday!

With lots and lots of love,

Harrison, Rex, June and Georgia”

Yes, I probably miss Heaven a little. But like the last line of that song says,

“I’ve a feeling that it’s not so far,

When you’re with the ones you love

it’s right where you are.”