If I had known that the last time I saw you WAS the last time . . .

This is what you looked like the last time I saw you.  All blonde, blue-eyed, sweet faces.   I remember, so clearly, the day I met you.  The smiles in your eyes lit my heart.  You loved teaching me cards.  How you sat on the bed and watched me put on makeup and sat on my lap.

So fun, the time I first took you to the store.  Meghan wanted a toy.  It was an elephant but was really for dogs.  It said Milkbone on the side.  Taylor teased . . . I bought it for you anyway.

I remember the hard things too.  I’ll never forget the night Brandon had to stay home with me.  What I told you that night is still true. 

There is nothing you can do . . . ever . . . that will make me love you less.  No matter how much we disagree, no matter who says what to anyone, I promised each of you that I would love you all of my life.  I will.   If I never see you again, makes not the slightest bit of difference, I will always be here . . . loving you.

Thousands of memories.  Birthday cakes of purple, pink and red.  Sunday morning early cocoa and bacon! 

Flying kites, ice cream at Moo's, festivals and all the laughter.  Cookouts with friends, movies and holidays.

There is really no Christmas
for me without you . . .

Shopping for a family . . .

My friend, who was in the Navy, told me that there was time when men who visited the Philippines shopped for women in window storefronts as if they were clothing or electronics.  I remember being appalled.  Now, as I spend time - almost daily - trolling through online profiles, I remember his description of that process.  There are similarities.

I am spending my time . . . shopping for a family.  I’m looking for a man between 38 and 58 who has children.  Preferably, he will be raising children.  Having spent time as a step mother, I am stuck on the idea of nurturing and being nurtured by a family again.

It may be the end of my childbearing years . . . or it may be the beginning of my friend’s grandparental years that is driving this bus.  It's vaguely disturbing to realize that I am as interested in the children as the man.  It makes me question my motivation.

It’s not that I don’t want the man but I would really prefer the family. 

The years I spent planning meals, outings, presents, parenting strategies and logistics for our family seem, in retrospect, like a mix of the sublime and terrifying.  Making bacon with Meghan on Sunday mornings, biking with Brandon down to the railroad tracks and taking Taylor to the Twilight movies are some of the better memories of my life.  Picking blueberries on Saturday and canning jam with them the next day.  The three of them still tell the story of the day I got my foot stuck in the blueberry field and had to get down on my knees and pull my shoe out of mud a foot deep.  Thank goodness you can hose off crocs!

Biking!

Losing the children of your heart is incredibly painful.  As often as they triple timed me, on purpose, to push me to make a parenting mistake (How on earth do women with 3 or more children, all talking at once, not over-promise and under-deliver?) the first Easter that I hid eggs was worth all the tough times that came with the deal.  Christmas . . . just forget about it.  Unbelievable!

So, I am looking for the love of my life . . . but I am shopping for a family.

Snowman Pancakes Christmas Morning