I grew up as a step-child. My parents divorced when I was four years old. The step-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins- they were nice to me. But there were those awkward moments when I felt like an outsider, or a misfit.
I’m not putting anyone down. My parents were just navigating the rocky waters that happen after a divorce. However, those little moments where I felt like I was on the outside changed the mother I was going to be. Read the rest of this entry
Last night I was digging around on my desk. That’s a pretty scary endeavor, my desk is known to hide all sorts of things. I’ve tried to organize it, to clean it off, but the clutter just finds it’s way back shortly after I find my way to the wood grain. Even my mother tried to clean my desk once. She was really upset about the chaotic mess piled around my monitor, but then I sent her this:
She never really said anything else about my desk…. (Sorry my dear Democrats, I still love you….)
Anyway, I was digging around for a spiral and I picked up a turqoise notebook and I noticed the label on the bottom had my maiden name printed on it! Woah, this must be old! So I opened it, and I had only written on a handful of pages, but what I had written were my prayers.
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