Ending in a whisper

It’s New Year’s Eve.

Outside my door there are bursts of laughter and merriment. As it should be. My big girl and her guy and another couple are ringing out the new year together. 

One is the guests is the son of a man I used to hang out with while our parents rang in the new year. Funny to think about his dad and I using plastic flutes full of sparkling cider more years ago than I care to count. 

My big fella is itching to go out with a friend. To a party. I hate the idea. So he’s playing x-box and pouting while I try and figure out if I feel guilty or not. 

Little girl is cuddled up next to me in her “puter” her little purple computer while I spend a little quality time with Netflix. 

The house is clean and smelling nice. A big pot of baked speaghetti is cooked with a spare all ready to go. These boys are eaters! Chocolate pie ready to be cut and 4 bottles of faux champagne (sparking cider) ready to pop.  I am proud of myself for letting her have her friends. I don’t do company well but this is making her happy which makes me happy. Laughter and good smells wafting out of the kitchen make this a home–not a house. I like that. 

“So long, farewell…” the sound is music ditty plays in my mind. 

This year will not go out with a bang. It’s going to quietly. And as it does I am going to whisper let’s try again next year. 

For next year I hope to have some of what I had this year:

  • Clarity 
  • Family 
  • Healing
  • Some change (though less change wouldn’t hurt my feelings)
  • More time with my tribe
  • Balance–work/life, mom/me, old/new
  • Glimpses of peace
  • My dads bloody Mary’s 
  • Girl trips
  • Adventure with my niece and daughters 
  • Fresh outlook
  • Courage in all its forms
  • Faith
  • Belief that I can be enough
  • Strength
  • Laughter
  • Eyes that see the glass half full or rembrence that even a 1/2 full glass can be refilled
  • Creativity
  • Friends
  • Words. Writing. 

Resolutions aren’t all they are cracked up to be so I don’t always even attempt to make them. I do want to change some things….no I need to change some things in the days ahead. 

  • I want to aim a little higher
  • I want to be a little lighter
  • All week long I’ve yelled at my daughter “why do you spend so much time focused on the problem instead of finding a solution.” Maybe I should take some of my own advice
  • Maybe I should also quit yelling. 
  • Lazy. Lethargic. Lonley. I’d like to change some adjectives I use to describe myself. 
  • Be present. Not fretting about the past or worried about the future. Just be in the moment and take it as it comes. 
  • Dentist. General practitioner. Mammogram. Eye exam. If I am going to be healthier I’d better get the tires kicked and the oil changed. 
  • I want to figure out who I am when I am not at work or with my babies.  
  • I’ve got to let go. My fella is going to going to start a new chapter. I’ve got to let him. 

There won’t be any hoopla or grand shouts of happy new year; no midnight kisses or party horns. At midnight I’ll kiss the freckled nose of my little girl. I’ll wiggle my toes under the blanket my big daughter made for me. I’ll say a little prayer a) of thanks that my son is home safe or b) that my son stays safe (depending on the whole guilt thing). I’ll turn off the light and burrow under my lavender scented covers and I’ll drift off to sleep. Quietly. 

And 2018 will start when I wake up. And what it will be is what I make of it. And anything I chose to change: will change. Anything I don’t fix or try will remain the same. Sometimes I’ll be bold and brave. Loud and strong. Someomes I’ll be quiet and steadfast. I’ll make mistakes. I’ll have some successes. I’ll stumble. I’ll fall. But I’ll soar some too. Maybe. Hopefully. 

So, I whisper, farewell, 2017. 



I almost made it. 

I was this close. 

A mere 24 hours away. 

I’ve fought a valiant fight against the Christmas blues. The house is decorated. Cookies were baked. Under the tree are brown paper packages tied up in string. I surprised work friends. I helped with boyfriends parents presents. I helped make it possible for a few homemade gifts this year. I got to see my grandmothers handmade table cloth and I went to a party. I took a day off. I bought a gingerbread house to be assembled. We’ve had nighttime hot chocolate. I’ve even, without having to be begged, listened to Christmas music. I may or may not have even sung along on occasion. I’ve even worn and won and ugly sweater contest! Almost every item on the things required to do for a merry Christmas have been marked off. 

I’ve also done a few things on the lesser known realistic Christmas list

  • I’ve had a bit more wine and whatnot to get thru the season. 
  • I’ve tripped and cursed-loudly-over my stumped toe because my den isn’t large enough to accommodate a tree and presents. 
  • I’ve allowed laundry and chores to pile up because-lets face it-shopping is way more fun.
  • I’ve been delusional and thought who needs a list? Turns out I do. Because without one I’ve made a mess of Christmas. Random and weird. That’s the theme this year. 
  • Yep. Today I had the oh crap it’s not enough freakout. Followed immediately by I can’t afford anything else meltdown. Chased it down with a they aren’t getting anything they want panic attack. 
  • I have had a chest tightening moment when I realized that for the first time in years I didn’t make photo books. 
  • I forgot someone. Totally and completely. They’ll never know. I fixed it. Proof again that the list isn’t a suggestion. It’s a necessity. 
  • Didn’t do Christmas cards. Don’t really want photo proof of how I look this year. 
  • I’ve indulged in a chick-fil-a peppermint-chocolate shake. 

During all this I’ve managed to  paste a smile on my face, hike up my very large big girl panties and proceed to act the part. I haven’t wallowed. Haven’t hosted a pity party. Haven’t been morose in front of anyone. 

Until today. 

Sitting at a red light I had a complete and utter holiday inspired nervous breakdown.  Complete with ugly crying and hiccups. I strongly resembled Rudolph afterwards. 

I won’t have my baby girl Christmas Eve so Santa won’t be coming ’round this year for the first time on 18 years. 

My bigs and little won’t be in the same house until Christmas evening. 

The last Christmas I was normal was a total pharce but at the time o thought it was perfection-a love song written for me, Christmas in my house with my family, Christmas Eve snuggles. I have a little PTSD from that year. Today in the car I had a flashback. 

No ones expectations will be met this year. I don’t even know that the expectations are but I know I didn’t met them. 

I’d tried to find something festive to wear to Christmas service. The size of my chest and hips prevents festive attire. I’ve become circus tent material. So I cried about that too. 

My big girl was with her boyfriend and his parents all day. 

My son was lamenting over his lack of girlfriend and escaped to be with friends all day. 

My baby was partying with her daddy–probably still in her princess dress and makeup from Disney the week prior. A trip o didn’t make with her. 

I was downright alone and lonely. At every store someone was in their cell phone talking to what sounded like a significant other about what to get so-and-so or what was needed for the big meal or celebration. Yes I got a little melancholy when I realized I had no one to ask those questions too. 

So-despite my best attempts-I didn’t escape the seasonal meltdown. Didn’t manage to avoid being defeated by the holiday. I am not whining…well I take that back, I am wining. Here’s to you….all those seeing the lights, wrapping the presents and hoping against hope to make it through the days. 

Rise Up

I raised 2 fighters. 

One gave literally all she had, literally, to make sure her coaches and her team were proud of her. 35 teams-700 swimmers (I was told-I don’t know that for sure). A meet so large that not all the swimmers on our team got to swim. She was selected to swim the 200 IM. Her time put her at the bottom of a faster heat. 

She was nervous and afraid. She’s her own biggest competitor. She didn’t like being at the bottom. So she came out fighting. Fighting so hard that at the end of her race I watched her barely get out of the pool. She stumbled around other swimmers, leaning on the chairs to try and steady herself. I could see he pale face from across the pool deck. I watched, alarmed, as she teetered while talking to them about her race. 

A few minutes later I got a text. I got her. She left in all the the pool. My fighter. She’s dropped 1/2 second, had her personal fastest fly and breast and didn’t come in last in her heat. 

My girl. My fighter. By the time she made it back to me she was crying in exhaustion and hyperventilating. But she’d done what she set out to do. 

She wasn’t happy that I took her picture when she was back to normal. But I had to. I am as proud of her 31st place finish as I am of anything she’s done because she’s fought for it. 

My son carried embarrassment, hurt, a broken heart, fear and betrayal. He had a choice. Fight through it or let those emotions be what defined him. I knew what I wanted him to do. But I wasn’t sure his slim shoulders could carry the burdens with enough strength leftover to excel. 

This meet had 7-a teams. As good as they were they weren’t the fastest this meet. Many of them weren’t even in the last heats…an unusual occurrence. Would that break his spirit? Undermine his already shaky confidence? 

I waited with bated breath as he took the block did his first race-a relay. He wasn’t swimming in his usual spot as the lead swimmer in the backstroke. Would that rattle him? I didn’t know. 

It didn’t. He helped them nail a state cut. 

2nd race. 100 fly. Brutal for narrow shoulders. Especially shoulders already carrying so much weight. 

He’s in the purple suit and green cap. Even off the block you can see he’s not the longest or leanest. State time 58 seconds. He moved like a butterfly with titanium wings. 55 second finish secured a state spot. Booyah. 7th place finish in a field of 52 swimmers. 

Next race. B relay. Not A. 3rd swimmer-not first or fourth which are the power spots. Another choice. Another show of character. If he went first his time would count toward a state cut. It wouldn’t in 3rd. Would he still give it his all? I hoped so. 

And he did. Under 23 seconds. 22 and some change to be exact. Another personal best. He’d helped qualify the b team for state.  

Purple suit at the bottom. One race  left. The back. 1:00:00 to qualify. His last personal qualification chance of the meet. One that mattered to him. He trying a new version of armwork. No matter the success he’d had tonight I knew that this race was the one that would define the success of the meet. 

57 seconds. He didn’t win the heat but he’s met his goal. He’d come out swinging and he’d given the night a TKO. 

For tonight it wasn’t the mistakes that defined him. It was his fighting spirit that overcame the horrible hurts, the embarrassment, the disappointments of the previous weeks. 

I have fighters. As a mom I take great comfort in that. They aren’t perfect. They aren’t the smartest, the fastest, the strongest or the most decorated of their peers. I don’t care about that. They both rise up when they have to. They overcome and push through. And those traits will serve them well their entire lives. I am one proud mom.


La-de-freaking da

‘Tis the season, right? 

Laughing thru the snow and merrily-merrily-merrily—PUHLEEZE. La-de-freaking-da and Don’t get your tinsel in a tangle is waaayyyy more like it. 

Today at the coffee pot I had this very conversation. A co-worker burst out,”I know this is supposed to be the happiest time of year but I am just so tired!”

The tree, presents, 3 weekends of guests and decorations…in a moment of brutal honesty she lamented that she knew she should be happy but she was too stressed to be happy. And that made it all worse-knowing that she was supposed to be happy yet she wasn’t. 

And there it was. Exactly what a lot of us were feeling but just couldn’t say aloud. Out of guilt? Out of denial? Out of shame? 

The happiest time of the year is just not reality for most of us. Either we, as mothers, have too little time, money and energy to live up to the Pinterest version of the holidays or the reality of the season never lived up to the expectations so we lived in a perpetual state of disappointment.  Or  the Ghost of Christmas past, present and future haunt us so badly that all we want to do was wake from the nightmare. 

That is way more realistic then the tv commercial and hallmark freaking Christmas movies that bombard every moment of the airways from November to January. Not everyone falls in love while holding hands in the snow. Not everyone gets kissed under the mistletoe (it’s a fungus for goodness sake!) or has a brand new Lexus clad with a bright red bow in the driveway. 

But we fight the good fight. We paste stepford wife smiles on our faces and go about the task of looking joyous and put together and gleeful. We decorate. We bake. We buy. We wrap. We tie bows and put up lights. We take part in ugly sweater contest. We put Christmas carols on the radio and plan events to celebrate the season. And we do all this without telling anyone that doing so takes all we have. We do so without even admitting to ourselves that the effort takes more then we have. Until a weak moment at a coffee pot one cold December morning.

Another woman joined us and admitted that for years she held onto traditions and visions of what Christmas was supposed to be. Then one year she realized she was the only one that cared about the homemade ornaments or all the trappings of the commercialized holiday. 

And that brought me some peace. I think I struggle with that the most. The version of the holiday versus the reality of the time of year. By letting go of some of the “rules” I can be free to find moments that bring joy. 

Complete, smiling families in matching attire with interlocked arms and love oozing from their pores in shiny, heavy cardstock aren’t my reality. So I quit sending cards.  And that’s okay. I am not a failure for NOT sending cards. I dare say no one even notices. Sunday night I had the privilege of taking a family photo. My family photo. And there is love and joy written all on the casual snapshot. It’s not of me and a spouse with all my children perfectly poised and attired. But it’s my family…my family with happy smiles and grateful hearts. 

Brown paper packages tied up with string make me happy. I hear the limericks from the sound of music as I wrap. Sometimes I even sing aloud. So I use brown paper wrappings because it makes me happy. And it makes my girl happy. It’s 12/11 and my packages aren’t wrapped. But they will be. As soon as I have a moment and some energy they will be. Even if it’s 12/24. And I won’t beat myself up because it’s not done 2 or 3 weeks before the holiday. 

Party frocks, festive decorations and chatter of endless holiday parties make me sad. Last few years I didn’t attend a single holiday event. Lonely and sad. I had no ocassion for gold lame or velvet or bright red and green taffeta. It embarrassed me. 

The truth is that I am an awkward introvert who doesn’t do well at parties. Why let the season make me feel like a loser? 

Instead I took my girls and suprised my parents as they hosted a Christmas party. I got to help. I got to make my parents happy. I got to show off my girls. And-to my delight-I got to see the handmade table cloth my grandmother made. The festive table decor has been part of my Christmas memory for years. This year I realized that I didn’t need to attend the parties. I needed to help my mom throw hers. I needed to see her festive decor, drink her spiked egg nog, see my dapper dad in his red vest and to watch them delight their guest while I sit inconspicuously in the cornwe. What I need is to see that table cloth….that special table cloth. That’s what I need to feel festive. Seeing the handsewn sequins and jaunty felt Santa made by my grandmothers hands is all I need to feel the spirit of the holiday. 

Now it’s a party!

I remember sneaking bites is the horse devours before the guest arrived. Food never tasted better or looked more magical than at my moms parties. Last night I saw my sassy little own sneak a bite. I knew that she would remember these parties like I do. I don’t have to be Martha Stewart to create memories for my daughters. 

Same with cookies. I love the idea of baking. I am not good at it. I don’t have a patience for it nor do I have the energy. But I can buy the stuff! I can help my big girl find recipes. I can give her ideas and find delight in her creations. She finds joy in baking and I find joy in her joy. It doesn’t matter if I actually make the cookies. 

Seeing my daughter make her own gifts. Seeing her find joy in giving. That far outweighs the worry I feel over not having much to give or not knowing of the perfect gift. I just need to look more at her heart and worry less about what I think the world expects of me. 

Crafty little priss!

Being present. That’s what I need to do. That’s all I need to do. I may not buy into all the trappings of the season. And that’s okay. It is. It’s okay as long as I let My little ones find joy. One traditions  make me ache? Make new ones! Rather then focus on want I don’t have or can’t give I wanted to change my own point of view this year. So I volunteered at a food bank. I have enough to eat. I can feed my children. I am blessed. That 4 hours showed me that. I want to do more of that type of giving this year. 

This year we have a church we like. I find joy in the music. Traditional holiday carols bring up loneliness but the words to the carols are lovely and peaceful. This year I am hearing the same hymns with new rhythms and melodies so I hear the words clearer. And it’s comforting. 

It was sad but nice to hear that I am not the only one suffering a bit of holiday angst this season. It was good to be reminded that the holiday I have don’t need to be compared to anyone else’s. And it was a reminder that we shouldn’t be afraid to reach out and hang onto one another this time of year. The first Christmas without a parent. The first Christmas alone. A Christmas that you can’t afford gifts. A Christmas without your child. Someone struggling with poor health, depression or a slow recovery. Everyone isn’t feeling joy this season. I’d like to make sure that those people feel loved…even if the happiest time of year doesn’t feel so happy. 


Holding onto a shadow

Will he give in and give up?

Will he fight back?

Will he fight through?

These are the things I am asking myself tonight. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have even asked the question. Once upon a time I would have known.

Now I don’t. 

I don’t recognize this defeated fella. 

And I don’t know what to do. 

I am floundering trying to find the right approach. The right words. The right argument. The right punishment. The right reward. The right speech. The right action. 

But I am lost. He’s lost. But we aren’t lost together. And I don’t know how to find my way to where he is. And I don’t know how to talk him back on the path. 

I want to grab him in my arms and hug him. I want him to still be little enough to believe his Momma can make it all better with a kiss and a hug. I also want to smack him in the back of his head and yell get it together! I want to spank him and ground him and wait it out. But none of those things will work anymore.

He’s got to find the fight on his own this time. He’s got to face his fears and break through them. I can’t do it for him. He’s got to stop being afraid and start being fearless again. I can’t do that for him. He’s got to step up, step out and make his own way. I can’t do it for him. 

And that is breaking my heart. 

He wants to be an adult. Well here it is dude. Life. Adulthood. Staring at you. What are you going to do?

Will you give in and give up?

Will you fight back?
Will you fight through?
Who are you when the chips are down? 

Today he heard I am disappointed. He heard …let us down. Let your team down….he heard …expected more, thought you would lead….he heard it from me. He heard it from his coaches. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy to hear those things said to him. It wasn’t easy to say those things to him. It’s not easy to step aside and to wait, to watch and to wonder how he’s going to respond.

Come out fighting! Show the world the character I’ve seen and still see. Overcome. Be better. Believe. Don’t be so afraid of the future that you give up on the right now!!!! Go out swinging and fighting. Leave all you have in the pool so you never, ever ask “what if” or “if only”. Regrets are, by far, the heaviest burden you will ever carry. Don’t weigh yourself down with them now. Shine. All that you are got you here. It was enough then and it will be enough now. Please baby boy. Please. Show the world the person I see every single time I look at you. Those are the things I want to say…but you don’t want to listen. So I’ll wait until you are ready to hear. 

The first time my little guy fell down and skinned a knee I thought this has to be the hardest part of parenting. The first time his heart got broken I thought this is the hardest part of parenting. The first time he was disappointed, the first time he failed, the first time he drove away…each time I thought that was as bad as it was going to be. 

I was wrong.  

I could kiss away his boo-boo. I hugged away a broken heart. I rallied him out of defeat. I encouraged him through disappointments. He was my little guy and he still believed I could fix everything back then.

Not know. Now he feels like he’s got to fight the battles alone. He has to be grown and conquer this on his own. He’s got to find his spark. He doesn’t look to me to provide it anymore. 

And that…that is the hardest part of parenting. It’s holding onto the shadow where your son used to be. It’s offering your hand but knowing your son, no matter how hard, won’t take it because at some point he has to made his way on his own. 


The good-bad and ugly. 

It’s been a helluva weekend. 

Friday I spent 4 hours volunteering at the food bank. We made over 150 bread bags that will go to public school children’s weekend food offerings. There are so many children that wouldn’t be able to eat without the food bank offering take home food on Fridays. It was humbling and rewarding. I left feeling fabulous. To fight the blues I tend to battle against this time of year I have to make a conscious effort to do things to remind myself of all the good that can happen at the holidays. This was a good start!

Most people hear Jingle Bells ringing in their heads this time of year. I literally hear the words to “hello darkness my old friend.” I struggle with the merry and bright. I fight, and lose, a battle to not feel sad with all the fairy tale pictures of families. I desperately want to be joyful but I am not. But I try. The volunteer work was the first part of my efforts this year. 

Friday night didn’t end as well as the day started. Life lessons, poor decisions and consequences made up the bulk of my Friday late night. My son ended the night with his head in my shoulder crying. Getting to that moment wasn’t pretty. My throat was raw from screaming. At one point all 3 of us were crying and no one made it to bed Friday night. 

It hasn’t been an easy year for my fella. He’s at the end of something that defines him and he’s terrified-although he can’t verbalize it-at what comes next. Seems to me like he’s throwing it all away trying to make is easier if it’s the end. My fella has lost his spark and I had been expecting the swim meet on Saturday to ignite it again. But he wouldn’t be swimming we learned late Friday night. I literally watched him deflate–to disintegrate right before my eyes. I didn’t handle it well. He didn’t handle it well. The whole situation wasn’t handled well but from rough lessons you become tough. 

Hearing your 18 year old son cry out “I just want to be enough for someone!” Hurts in a way I can’t put into words. His mistake turned away his coaches and isolated him from his team. A person close to him wanted a break from him. His friends have all gotten acceptance letters and he hasn’t. He wasn’t enough. That’s all he saw. That’s all he felt. 

Saturday, for the first time ever, my boy sat with me as a spectator at a swimming event. His sister represented our family in his swim team. She’s had to defend and explain why he wasn’t there all while battling her own nerves at the daunting day ahead. My girl handled it with poise and grace and fight…just like she does in all things. Her joy was as high as his despair was low. And I sat in the bleacher feeling both of their emotions. It wasn’t easy. 

My guy tossing away his dream made me realize that it wasn’t just his dream. I’d dreamt of his success as a swimmer as well. I was counting on his escorting me at senior night. I’d dreamt his dream and felt betrayed that he would so easily give up. 

The best part about a really bad situation was that I got to see my fella (who edges on the side of self absorption sometimes) cheer on his team. It couldn’t have been easy. It wasn’t easy for me. I cried more than once when the race started at his lane was empty. But disappointments build character and he rallied through his disappointment to be coach his sister. He was supportive and complimentary and damn impressed with my girl. She swam a 200 free followed by a 200 IM one race afterward, managed at 100 fly a 100 free and was part of a 400 relay. And she races them all! Daunting as it was, she took to the block and, true to form, excelled. For once she was the one being cheered on. I got to see a different side of their relationship…and it was nice. She was the star and he her supporter. 

The upside of a very downsided situation was that my boys punishment involved being with me all day. After the meet we made our way to Christmas shop. He managed to be a good sport and spent the afternoon thinking of others. I watched him pull out his own money to buy some things. He listened as I offered advice on some personal situations he was fighting though. We talked about a plan b if college swimming didn’t happen. It was a bad situation but we turned it into a good day. 

That night we found a bar and wached the UGA VS AUBURN SEC championship game (go dawgs). That was a new experience. Having a beer while my son had a Roy Rogers, eating wings and watching football. 

He escorted me to watch my friend perform incredible feats in an an acrobatic show. I watched her daring to do something incredible and I felt disappointed in myself that I had nothing. I’d quit dreaming a long tome ago. Now I live in my son and daughter’s dreams .

Sunday my big girl announced she wanted to make some Christmas presents. My heart felt happy. Is always taught her that a homemade, thoughtful gift was if more value then anything you’d find on a shelf. Seeing her, in her own, understand that made me feel good. 

Friday I wasn’t sure that my parenting was something to be proud of. His supporting her, her rallying to accomplish something HUGE and seeing her and her sweet, sweet heart so anxious to GIVE made me hope that maybe, maybe I was crafting good and kind people. 

This weekend every emotion that a mom can feel slapped me right upside the head. I was as low as my fella. I was as high and my fighting-spirited daughter. I was proud while being disappointed. I was supportive but I also failed to support. This weekend was a jumbled mess of a lot of things. The good-the bad and the ugly. That phrase makes a lot of sense to me after the last 48 hours. 


Tooth fairy 

With my first little one the tooth fairy delivered gold dollar coins. Fancy money. Magical gold left under the pillow by a fanciful fairy. 

That quickly became a pain in the a$$. 

The second one came along. No more gold coins. But the tooth fairy did sprinkle glitter on her pillow proving she was there. And, I will admit, once-just once I had a very mad/sad little girl crying out,”SHE DIDN’T COME!” I rushed in to save the day (and to drop a $5 bill on the floor) to help find it. 

And then there were 3. 

My phobia of teeth has intensified. I can’t even look at the nasty, wiggly things. Thanks god for big brothers!

Little hot mess lost a tooth Friday. Literally.

She’s a one track thinker. Once she realized it was loose (Wednesday) she didn’t rest until the poor thing was out. This included trying to wait up in her bubba Thursday night so he could wiggle and pull it for her. He was working so he didn’t make it home before she fell asleep. 

Her eyes weren’t even good and open Friday morning before she was hollering for her bubba to check her tooth. He answered her beck and bellow and promptly checked. “Another day,”he announced to her disappointment. 

She’s determined. When I picked her up from after school Friday afternoon there was the tooth in a wadded up paper towel. Lord she was excited. 

Thanks to modern technology she was able to face time her father. As she attempted to show him the tooth it fell. In the car. Between the seats. 

She has little itty bitty teeth. The car has great big crumbs. I fear the tooth is forever lost. Did I mention she’s determined? We all but sent in a search party for the little bugger. No luck. Drama and panic but no tooth. 

I promised her that the tooth fairy would take a note. 

We promptly went home and wrote a note. Which was promptly slid under my pillow. Did I mention she’s determined? She was determined the fairy would visit and that she would be sleeping with me when the visit occurred. 

I made my way to bed once the man child got home from work. It wasn’t until I’d settled in for a long winters nap….oops-wrong story…that I remembered a visitor was expected. Thank goodness she was asleep as I muttered a curse. Who has cash anymore????

At the very bottom of my purse, amongst the loose change, old cough drops and cracker crumbs there was a wadded up dollar. YES! A little more foraging and I found 3 more. Worn, wadded and old but money nonetheless. Score. 

I tried to get a bit of the wrinkles out by scraping them along the edge of the table. It didn’t work very well. In the end I gave up and took my wad to bed. Pretending to help her situated on the pillow I slipped the treasure underneath and then curled up to sleep. 

“Hey! She didn’t even take my note!” Are the words I awoke to this morning. Crap. “But I got monies!!!” In her right little first the wadded up dollars stuck out. Hallelujah. “It’s a little messy though,” girl doesn’t miss much. ‘Be glad you didn’t get copper my love’, I thought. It was that or those 9 pennies and a dime. 

This tooth fairy just ain’t what she used to be.