Category Archives: Childbearing

When there are no more babies….

Messy, happy babies

Messy, happy babies

Even from the youngest age, I wanted to be a mother. Or a pediatric nurse. I loved babies. I loved nurturing. I made elaborate, cozy nests for my stuffed animals, played with my baby dolls for hours.

I dreamed of having at least six children–my favorite number was 8: Mommy + Daddy + 6 babies.

I intuitively knew how to tuck in deep to a baby’s heart and imprint that little soul with love. I still do. Which is why, I guess, I burst into tears the other day.

I found a baby sock under some furniture and it was a jarring reminder that I don’t have babies anymore.

There are no more Littles for me to rock to sleep, to breastfeed, to nurture…..They are all growing up–my youngest are five, now. My oldest, fourteen. That stage of my life is over. I can feel the childbearing years ending, the season of my life changing.

I don’t mind growing older, necessarily. I don’t mind surrendering to the natural course of life. After all, it was exhausting raising all those littles. I got PPD and whacked-out menstrual cycles. My immune system went down and I caught every cold and virus that came within 20 feet of my house.

I’m much healthier now. I have my body back. I’m strong and fit. But still, I’ll never be “done” with children. I am a born nurturer. And inspirer. Sometimes it seems like the world doesn’t really want or need a nurturer. I mean, can you make a living being a nurturer? I have all these nurturing skills and these writing skills and somehow, I’m not sure how to bring them together…..

So, I just volunteer wherever there’s room for me. I help in the twins’ kindergarten classroom. I teach a Sunday School class. I lector at Mass (because reading the Word aloud nurturers the soul of the listener). I hold writing workshops for kids at my dining room table.

Maybe I’m just feeling lost because I’m done having babies and I finished writing a book and I need a new project? HEY! Maybe I could be a “lifecoach” and nurture YOU?!

I don’t know.

Do I just rest (I hate resting!)? Do I just wait it out (I hate waiting!)? Do I go back to school and become a nurse (but I’m horrible at math–at least, I think I am!)? I guess I could pray about this. There’s a thought!

Divorce after twins

Sunday breakfast: phone calls, coffee, perusing the newspaper

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead
and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.
–Thornton Wilder 

Looking back, I can see how blindly optimistic I was–as if willpower alone could rescue and restore us to sanity. I never once imagined we’d be taken down by the slow, inexorable crushing: months of sleep deprivation and twins born on the cusp of a devastating economic downturn, the strain of raising five children on one income and the ongoing process of recovering from our cult backgrounds.

I guess I just didn’t think divorce could happen to us. That somehow, we’d be different. We’d overcome. After all, we’d escaped our childhood cults and forged a new life for ourselves. We’d beaten the odds. We were the exception.

There’s a reason, I think, why people refer to life Before Twins and life After Twins. Giving birth to multiples–especially on top of three other children–is the kind of shocking life change around which the whole of a marriage seems hinge. At least, that’s how it’s been for us.

“The twins run the show now,” a neonatologist told us when our babies were still in the NICU. He was amused, chuckling. I remember thinking: yeah, right. I’m already a mom of three. How much more intense can it be, really?

Answer: way more intense.

I had heard the anecdotal horror stories about marriages falling apart within five years of a twin/multiples birth. Four years after our twins were born, I suddenly understood.

Last summer, I asked my husband to move out. I was exhausted. We were both exhausted. Burned out. I didn’t have the will to carry on anymore. The prolonged crucible of raising twins had exacerbated all our other issues. At the time, I could see no way through except quitting.

But the greatest act of courage is to love. I heard that line last night in Smokefall, a play at South Coast Repertory. Something in that line sank deep into my soul. This play was the story of a family–a pregnant mother of twins whose husband who could no longer bear the crushing weight of life. And so he disappeared one day. It was the story of a family over several generations. It was poetic and plebeian, heartbreaking and humorous. It was a story of leaving and staying, of the moments that define us and bind us.

And like all good art, this play reflected life back to me. It inspired me. It helped me remember. The greatest act of courage is to love.

My husband and I, we stayed together. By daily grace we are staying together. Last summer was our rock bottom and it’s been a long, slow, moment-by-moment recovery. But it is a recovery.

We live in these daily moments and by being present in them–by living the pain, by facing our pain instead of seeking escape–we are finding a very present grace and a refined-by-fire love.

There are moments like a Sunday breakfast–the twins flipping through the coupons (look! Mama! orange juice on sale!), husband answering a phone call from one of his employees, my ballerina wandering in all groggy and tired from her week dancing in NYC, our sons playing with the the dogs–these moments we remember.

In the end, these moments are all we have–the moment in the arbor where the rain beat/ The moment in the draughty church at smokefall/Be remembered…. –T.S. Eliot

Every day is the choice to live courageously–to love by word and deed–to cross the bridge between life and death. The bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

Why “disappearing” into motherhood is NOT a betrayal of feminism

My youngest babies are almost 5. I’m coming out of the Little Years. A season of life is changing and I’m looking forward to the next chapter of my life. I can already sense the changing seasons. All my children are in school I have more time to focus on my writing. I just finished my first book and I’m ready to start on my second. But may I just say? THANK GOD I WASN’T TRYING TO WRITE A BOOK WHILE MY BABIES WERE LITTLE.

I’m going to say something “controversial” here but I really think it needs to be addressed, especially in light of this recent article which claimed mothers were “disappearing” because….wait for it..they (gasp!) used pictures of their children instead of themselves on their FB profile picture.

This is precisely where some feminists get it wrong (and I say this as a feminist).

84% of women WANT to stay home with their children. Most women WANT to raise their own children. Most women do NOT see it as a “sacrifice” of female identity to throw themselves wholeheartedly into raising their babies.

Instead of berating mothers for talking about strollers at dinner parties, why not understand that when a woman is raising her babies–THAT IS WHAT SHE TALKS ABOUT. Just because I didn’t feel compelled to Keep Up With the Men while I was raising little ones doesn’t make me a “disappearing mother.” What I talk about at dinner parties doesn’t define my feminism any more than the pictures I post on FB.

I am so incredibly SICK of feminists demanding that women Be All Things To All People At All Times. How is this any different than the oppressive patriarchy we all despise? So, I give birth to a human being and suddenly, I’m supposed to follow the feminist rule book about NOT talk about what I pack in my kids’ lunch? Because that’s NOT what the MEN talk about?! Give me a break!

Come on. This is sexist tripe. This is reverse sexism! Feminism shouldn’t require women to act like men, talk like men or be like men. Feminism should CELEBRATE femininity and let women BE.

Yes, I wrote a book. And yes, I am well-read. And YES, I am educated.

But do you know what the truth is? MY CHILDREN MEAN MORE TO ME THAN ALL OF THAT.

There is not ONE book, there is not ONE thesis, there is not ONE damn dinner party that is more important to me than my kids. Real feminism does NOT force me to choose between my career and my children. My children will win every time.

And if I post pictures of my children on FB it’s because my children are IMPORTANT to me. Hell no, I won’t apologize for that.

Also, womanhood has seasons. During the season of young motherhood, I was so BUSY that I couldn’t even hardly catch a breath of air. Now? My children are getting older and yeah, I can write that second book. I can keep a social calendar. I can attend dinner parties. So, what? I’m more feminist now that I’m a “working” mom? Ridiculous.

I will never, ever, EVER regret the ELEVEN years I spent as a stay-at-home mom. Those years are just as much a part of my feminism as my newly emerging writing career will be. I will NEVER regret all the firsts I witnessed. I will NEVER regret “sacrificing” my “identity” for my children during those years. To be honest, it was a pure gift to be able to stay with them. The most precious gift of my entire LIFE was that I was able to give myself wholly to my children during their early years.

And if it meant that all I could talk about for eleven years were strollers, lunchpails, diaper rashes and preschool–THEN SO BE IT. My feminism encompasses the WHOLE of my female experience.

Yeah, it’s nice that I have a writing career now. I’m super happy about it. But I am so thankful that I was able to embrace those early, little years of my children’s lives without feeling pressured by ridiculous, strident feminists to ALSO keep up with everyone else.

I “disappeared” into motherhood and I’m damn proud of it.

This is how it happens–a near-death experience

This is how it happens. You sit down to write a to-do list and your child falls out of a 2nd story window. In the twinkling of an eye it all changes.

I keep coming back to this half-finished to-do list and staring at the last check box I wrote before I heard the scream. I can’t remember now which important task merited its own check box. I do remember the scream.

That task, whatever it was, just doesn’t matter anymore–the check box only serving to remind me how thin this veil between life and death; how one minute you’re writing a to-do list and the next, you might be mourning a dead child.

Except she didn’t die. She didn’t even break a bone, which is its own kind of astonishing mercy. And this is also how it happens: you come so close to peril and yet you emerge unscathed.

How does that even happen? This is how: sitting on her brothers’ top bunk bed, pressing her head against the window screen and shouting down to our dog in the backyard.

“Why are you barthing, Darby?” she asks. Darby! Why are you barthing?”

And then the screen pops loose, she tumbles out the window. She lands about six feet below on the roof of the porch. A few inches to the right and she would have fallen 15 feet onto concrete.

I heard the scream and don’t even remember flying up the stairs but suddenly I was there and she was in my arms, all bloody nose and scraped elbows.

She sobbed in my arms. “Mama! The screen brote! The screen brote!”

I marshaled the older kids downstairs and they stood at the ready while I examined Jasiel all over. Jewel fetched ice, James comforted the other twin who was crying, too. Jasiel’s nose stopped bleeding. She could move her arms. No swelling. She stopped crying.

“I’m OK, Mama! I’m OK!”

I watched her all night, checking her every five minutes for changed breathing or confused behavior. She was tired but she wasn’t injured. How could she come so close to peril and yet be so unharmed?

And yet, this is how it happens.

But I’m not OK. The tsunami of condemnation and fear that has crashed down on my head has seen me weeping into my pillow before falling asleep, trembling with night terrors, vomiting under the weight of all the terrible what ifs.

This is how you become a crazy person, I think as I find myself awake in the dark morning hours. You almost lose a child and suddenly you’re wandering the house checking and rechecking all the locks at 2am.

It was such a close call. Any other upstairs window and she would have landed on the concrete patio. Even if she’d landed differently, perhaps rolled an inch or two she would have fallen on concrete.

A few inches between life and death oh, merciful God….

Jorai (left) and Jasiel (right), age 4

I felt–I feel like a horrible mother. Those windows–self-locking. I had no idea the twins knew how to open them. I can hardly open them! And how many times have I told them not to climb up on their brother’s top bunk?

I was making a to-do list. I was about to start dinner. I’d been keeping my eye on them all afternoon. And yet. I look away for a few minutes to write a to-do list and a child falls out a window. How does that happen? How can I be an involved, watchful mother and freak accidents still happen?

Still, this is how it happens.

And then, this thought: my children are not baptized.

If, God forbid, she had died, I would never be able to forgive myself. Yes, I trust the unconditional love of God. Yes, I believe she would have been swept up into the arms of God.

But still, have I been remiss in my maternal obligation? Such a long, complicated journey out of our spiritually abusive past and baptizing the children seemed like something we could sort out…later. Infant baptism has always been one of those difficult, sticking points. It wasn’t a battle I wanted to fight. Until now.

In the stark light of this morning, the idea of waiting until “later” seems like such hubris. We can baptize them later? As if we’re somehow guaranteed a “later”? What if there is no…”later”? A few inches to the right and Jasiel’s “later” might not have been.

Yes, I believe in God’s unconditional love but something in me desperately needs to make it official. I need the ritual. She needs the ritual. Because we don’t really know if we have a “later.”

Sometimes, this is how it happens–we have to make things happen.

I am shaking. I’ve been throwing up. I’m jumpy. This morning I ran over a grate in a parking lot and it made a weird bumping noise. I screamed, threw the car into park, jumped out. I thought maybe I’d hit a person.

How does a mother go on without her child? I think of my dear friend Joy who lost her daughter three years ago and suddenly, she seems like a giant in the faith to me. How does she even manage to smile? How does she carry on?

“Focus on the fact that Jasiel’s OK,” Matt said to me. “Focus on the gracious, merciful hand of God sparing our child.”

But what if God hadn’t spared our child? What if she had fallen to the concrete? Would His hand still be gracious then?

This is how faith happens–sometimes you just choose to believe despite the what if. She fell but she didn’t die, thanks be to God.

Matt starts chuckling.

“What?” I say. “What could possibly be funny?”

“Well, in 20 years when someone asks our twins how they got baptized, Jasiel will say: Yeah, when I was four I fell out a 2nd story window and my mom got so scared she hauled us down to the local priest and got us baptized right away.”

Yes, this is how it happens.

If it feels good, it’s sinful

Why do parents believe God wants them to spank their children into submission? There are several underlying beliefs that motivate this approach:

  1. The parents believe human beings are essentially, inherently evil and thus…
  2. God wants parents to “break” their child’s will.
  3. And since “foolishness is bound up in the heart of child,” the only way to properly drive foolishness out of a child is by spanking.
  4. Lastly, parents believe their own human heart is “desperately wicked” and therefore, their own emotions are dangerous and not to be trusted; ie. they will suppress their natural, nurturing instinct in order to administer swift, harsh spankings.

A powerful method of manipulation is the suppression of normal, human emotions. While I was growing up, I was only allowed to feel a very narrow range of acceptable feelings. In fact, when I started going to therapy, one of the first things my therapist did was give me a kid’s book that identified all the various human feelings.

Up until that point, I had methodically repressed all but a very few, select emotions. If I felt happy, I thought for sure I was sinning. God didn’t want us to be happy, He wanted us to be holy!

I once had a friend in college ask me how many happy days I’d experienced in six months. Oh, that was easy. I’d only had 3 happy days. My friend was shocked. But I quickly tried to explain that actually this was good because it meant God was “working in my life.” I was happy to be unhappy.

Hint: you might be in an unhealthy church environment (or following abusive teachings) if you’re “happy to be unhappy.” Or if the only time you feel good is when you’re suffering.

I honestly believe this is how parents justify harming their children. They truly believe God wants them to make their children suffer–for their own eternal good.

When a parent sets out to break their child’s will, other things get broken, too. You can’t just break a person’s will without affecting everything inside that person.

For example, there were several points in my life when I went totally numb. I was simply unable to feel anything anymore. It was sorta like a state of shock. I stopped caring. Thankfully, with the help of therapy, I’ve recovered most of my normal, healthy feelings.

But some parts of me have remained permanently broken.

This is why, when my estranged grandparents die, I won’t attend their funeral. They broke me. Whatever glowing ember of normal human love a grandchild has for her grandparents was utterly quenched. I feel nothing toward them.

I suppose this why I’m so passionate about defending children. Because the truth is: you really CAN permanently harm them. You CAN break important parts of their being.

Sure, you can force your child to obey. You can break their will.

But understand that you can’t choose what you’re breaking. You don’t have control over what happens if you choose to break your child.

If you try to break the human will, you just might end up breaking the human person.

if you’re in Southern California, my appearance on Anderson Cooper’s daytime talk show airs today at 1pm on Fox11.

The Pornification of Marriage

So, what’s the deal with Christian women and stripper poles?

Apparently, Christian women learning to pole dance is no big deal because, you know, it’s “good exercise.”

I mean, seriously. Has pornography so infiltrated every corner of society that now even Christian women think pole dancing is a cute, fun way to “spice-up” their exercise routine?

The other day I saw a young girl proudly sporting a glittery Playboy bunny T-shirt as if it were somehow a symbol of her female empowerment. And my heart just broke. You know pornography is winning when little girls start wearing pornographic merchandise.

And that’s our fault. When adult women refuse to decry the objectification of women and instead normalize it by calling pole-dancing “good exercise,” we send the message to our daughters that pornographic behavior is OK. No wonder our little girls are confused!

As the womanizing character from the movie “Crazy, Stupid Love” said: “Men won the battle of the sexes as soon as women started doing pole dancing as exercise.”

So, where did this come from? How did pornographic ideas about sex manage to infiltrate Christianity? I have an theory about this:

It comes from pastors who preach that sex is primarily recreational.

Here’s what I mean: I’ve heard pastors preach that since the “marriage bed is undefiled” any sexual act is permissible and sanctified within marriage. In other words, as long as it happens within the context of marriage, ANYTHING goes.

By preaching that “anything goes,” a pastor unwittingly promotes pornographic ideas about sex; ie. that it should be available 24/7, that a wife should strive to present herself as a fantasy-mate, that sex is utterly detached from its life-giving, soul-creating power.

Is that what that what “the marriage bed is undefiled” really means? Because I’m not sure that verse is license for installing a stripper pole in your bedroom.

Could the marriage bed being undefiled mean that since it is undefiled, Christians ought not defile it by dragging in a bunch of pornified ideas about sex?

I think Christians should always be on guard when the “spice-up-your-marriage-advice” takes its cue from our porn-ified culture.

My guess is that many Christians have bought into the idea that the purpose of sex is primarily recreational. When sex is primarily recreational, it’s really quite easy to start justifying any lustful urge–as if the fact that it happens within marriage somehow sanctifies it.

Here’s the thing, if my husband wanted me to do a stripper-pole routine for him (which he never would), I’d say no. Why? Because the stripper pole is a symbol of female objectification and I fail to see how that changes just because we haul it into a Christian bedroom.

Sure, I want to remain beautiful and attractive for my husband but I refuse to believe that that somehow means I have to degrade myself by adhering to a standard set by strippers and prostitutes. Just because Jesus dined with prostitutes and tax-collectors doesn’t mean He started acting like them!

When pastors preach that ANYTHING goes in the marriage bed, I feel like this is an interpretation shaped by pornography and not by kingdom values. It’s a sad irony that we Christians bristle at the suggestion of letting God into our sex lives, but we gladly fling open the door to pornographic ideas about sex.

I guess I thought the general consensus among Christians was that purity within marriage was an obvious requirement. Has this changed?

Should there be boundaries for Christians seeking to “spice up”
their marriage? Or is EVERYTHING permissible?

See also: Don’t Call Me a MILF.

Perinatal hospice care: the support you need when your baby dies at birth

One of my readers, Tammy, sent me this video about the care she provides for families who lose a baby shortly after birth. Tammy is the nurse you see in this video gently caring for the baby and the parents. I was inspired and encouraged by the loving perinatal hospice care that Tammy provides.  Tammy also runs a burial service for deceased babies who would otherwise be thrown in the trash. So far she has provided dignified burials for 322 babies. Tammy is my hero. Thank you, Tammy, for the comfort and dignity you give to families during their time of deepest grief.

If you are here in Orange County, this is the local perinatal hospice care program.

[Note: the video contains some images which might be unsettling for some viewers.]

But I don’t WANT children! (is this an acceptable Christian view?)

“Mom, did you want to have five kids?” my oldest son asked me the other day. We were in the car, driving home from an awesome afternoon at the beach. I’m not sure what prompted his question, but I was glad both myself and my husband were in the car to answer it.

“In the beginning, we didn’t know what we wanted,” my husband said. “We just knew we wanted what the Lord wanted to give us.”

“We trusted God and placed our hope in Him,” I added. Because having children is always a radical act of hope.

I’ll never forget several months after I had my first baby and an older, Godly woman asked me when I was having more (by the way, people never stop asking “Are You Having More?” I’ve just gotten better at answering!).

“Only one more!” I announced. “I don’t want a big family!”

She smiled at me and said very quietly, “Don’t hinder God from giving you the blessings He wants to bless you with.”

I was incensed. How dare she? This is my body! This is my life! This is my womb! I have a right to birth control!

And yet, I couldn’t deny the priceless gift of the daughter I held in my arms. She had cracked open my heart in ways I could have never imagined. The love I felt was vaster than anything I had ever experienced. In fact, witnessing my husband’s unconditional love for our children helped me begin to understand God the Father’s unconditional love for me.

When the Lord gave me a second baby, my heart was opened even wider. That’s when I learned the heart has an infinite capacity to love. How could I deny God blessing me with children when what that really meant was His desire to bestow love, love and more love upon me?

Our third child was conceived during a very difficult time in our lives. In fact, it was the darkest time I’ve ever experienced in my life. By all measures, it was a terribly inconvenient time to become pregnant. The day I saw the positive pregnancy test, I wept.

We named that child Jude and it was only later that I discovered St. Jude is the patron saint of desperate, lost causes. I now see the undeniable, loving hand of God intervening in a most difficult, desperate time in my life to give me the precious gift of a child–even though I didn’t understand it at the time. My son Jude brought a Providential beam of sunshine into my life at exactly the right time.

I had always known and believed that one of the primary purposes of Christian marriage is to be fruitful and multiply, to raise a Godly seed. It was after the birth of Jude that I began researching this even further–especially as I began receiving critical comments from other Christians about whether I was “done” having children.

How had so many Christians adopted the secularist view of children; ie. that they are optional or even unnecessary to a Christian marriage? I was dismayed to discover that almost every single Christian denomination had compromised the historical understanding of Christian marriage.

Christianity has never viewed the intentionally barren marriage as an acceptable option for Christian couples. Certainly it’s permissible for parents to space their children or delay childbearing for a variety of serious medical and economic reasons–but that is quite different from choosing NOT to have children simply because a couple doesn’t “want” children.

Even if a couple is infertile, caring for abandoned, orphaned or fatherless children is one of the purest ways a Christian lives out his/her faith.

God did not give us the gift of sex merely for pleasure. Sex is the most powerful creative force given to humans by which we cooperate with God in the creation of eternal souls. To say that sex is simply recreational is to degrade and deny its eternal significance (paragraphs 2366-2373, specifically).

For Christians, then, our guiding principle ought to be shaped by how Scripture views children: as a priceless gift from God. Scripture consistently views children as an heritage from the Lord, as a reward from God, as an unequivocal blessing. This is not to say that the small family or the infertile couple is NOT blessed by God, it is simply to state that a fruitful family has been blessed.

This belief is in direct contrast to our society’s prevalent view of sex: ie., that it is primarily for pleasure. In this view, children (the natural result of sex!) are seen as inconvenient/optional “side-effects.” Abortion, sterilization and intentional childlessness are more readily justifiable when you have the children-as-side-effects mentality.

God gave me the gift of twins right after I accepted, in obedience, the Scriptural view of children.

I call that a double blessing!

*Disclaimers: 1. I am speaking about general guiding principles NOT specific, individual exceptions; 2. You may have a valid exception. Awesome. Rock on. 3. Quivers come in different sizes, yo. 4. Yes, I have seen how these general guiding principles can be misapplied. However, misapplication and/or changing cultural trends, views, mores, etc. etc. do not invalidate Scriptural principles, vis-a-vis “Children are a gift from God,”; 6. I’m just a chick with a blog. I’m not the Pope (I just agree with the Pope). Now, go do your own research because I need an aspirin!!! Phew!!!*

The way these guidelines are going, Mama’s gonna need a carseat!

[NOTE: this post is not serious. I DO advocate car seat use. Please don't endanger your children's lives by taking my smart ass humor seriously. Thank you. Carry on.]

Has the whole car seat thing gotten a little out of control?

I mean, dude, the way these new guidelines are going, Mama’s gonna need a rear facing, five-point harnessed car seat. Latched. Into the back seat.

This gives a whole new meaning to the term: Back Seat Driver.

Look, I’m a little woman. In high heels? I’m like maybe 5’5.” Even my eleven year old is taller than me!

The only way I see myself staying out of a car seat is by getting fat (not an entirely bad idea: I’ve actually been SEARCHING for an excuse to take myself off my diet!).

Maybe I’m just stupid about physics (VERY LIKELY), but I’m just wondering how far these guidelines will keep going before they become entirely impractical.

As my friend Kat noted, “Toddlers are strapped into cars as if they’re blasting into outerspace.”

For reals.

Last week I told my kids that when I was their age? I rode in the open bed of a pickup truck down the freeway to the beach. My kids were shocked. SHOCKED! And scandalized. Like, MOM! OMG! YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN ARRESTED!

I know, I know. Those 80′s, man. They were some wild times.

Look, I’m ALL for safety (I will, begrudgingly, adapt to the guidelines). And yeah, if I saw a mom letting her kids ride in the open bed of a pickup truck, I’d get all upset and think she was being totally neglectful.

But. Still.

My opinion is? Car manufacturers need to GET.WITH.THE.PROGRAM. Like where, for example, are the cars with exterior air-bags? Because I see that solving lots of problems. Instead of car accidents, we could have fun little bumper-cars that go all marshmallow-y on each other. And then our kids would be like: wheeeeeeeeee!

OK, maybe I’m being unrealistic.

Am I being as unrealistic as these crazy-ass guidelines that pretty much require the strength of Hulk Hogan just to wrestle, wrench, tighten and strap these car seats into place?

For a petite woman like me, carrying my twins’ car seats around practically broke my back. They were so heavy! It was like moving heavy, industrial equipment. Without a dolly.

Ouch. Just writing about it makes my shoulder hurt.

Or maybe I’m mistaking that pain for the ache of nostalgia. Ah, for the good old days when my sister and I freely romped around the back seat, slept on the car floor, rolled over into the “way back” and made silly faces at other cars through the rear windows!

My children are so deprived.

[oh, look! comments are open! do say hello! it’s been so long! :)]