Hot Boots, Fat Calves, and Christeve

Fat Calves and Hot Boots. They only time they work together is in that sentence I just wrote.

Not on a body. Just in words.

I just had some Hot Boots delivered from Mod Cloth. I am a Mod Clothaholic. Here are said Hot Boots of which are longer in stock because I got one of the last pair:

*sizzle* and there will be NO pictures of my calves thankyouverymuch!

They are NOT leather, but they are affordable. And you don’t say ‘man-made’ anymore. That is sooo 2010. You say ‘Vegan’ because yes they are delicious and no animals were injured in the making of these boots.

But men’s hearts will break when they see me in these boots, thus sustaining injury.

If only I could get them on.

The laces that I were counting on for some ‘give’ are merely decor. When I realized this I panicked a little A LOT! I put them on and

PULLED

UP!

Dang. Stoppage. Right about mid calf. They were on but they had a slouch look to them. And that is so 2000whatever. I wanted to wear them over jeans and that just ain’t happening. I can’t wear them over tights, or skin no less.

So I went online to see if I could chat with someone at Mod Cloth about my predicament. Now, I am no stranger to online customer service encounters, but what I got this time threw me for a loop.

The name of the person with whom I would be chatting with was Christine, but the image of this person screamed STEVE. How was I supposed to tell Christeve about my fat calves? So this is how I handled it. (click the picture to read it if you are over 40, makes it bigger)

Now I’m pretty sure that I’m chatting with a woman, if only she would complain about her fat calves…………

I probably will keep the Hot Boots. I will try to make them stretch a bit. If not.. they are an 8 1/2, so if one of you skinny calved little @#*! want them let me know.

These boots DO fit! And you know I’ve needed some red boots for a very long time. Christeve thought they were awesome too.

*SIZZLE*

So I may have Fred Flinstone legs, but I’ve got Wilma’s style!

Old Time Religion

My church at Christmastime in 2009

I have a confession.

It has been a very, very, long time since I’ve been to church. About five months. Which means my children haven’t been in five months either.

*Hangs head in shame* but not for too long, because I’m Lutheran, not Catholic.

Our pastor had even called twice to check on us. <insert more head hanging here> What?!  Summertime was busy, and there were things…that always seemed…..to be happening….on Sundays around 10:30 in the morning. Busy things.

Like sleeping.

I know. More shame. But I went to church today and my pastor forgave me for that and a few other things I mentioned only in my own head during confessional time.

Non of your bidness. It’s between me and Him.

While sitting in the second row wooden pew of our almost 100 year old sanctuary, my husband looks at me and points to the hymnal. Not to get me to follow along, because obviously I know the service by heart. He wanted me to notice that it was not the red hymnal we’ve had for the last couple of years but the GREEN one was back!

When we switched to the red hymnal a couple of years ago, it was very hard for me. Lutherans to not handle change well. It’s pretty much what we are known for according to Garrison Keillor. That, and our singing.

I love the GREEN one. It’s so much better. Everyone knows. I quickly snatched it up and flipped too ……..oh there it was…..hymn #221.

How I’ve missed you! Sent Forth by God’s Blessing. The sweetest, most cheerful a hymn that ever was sung. I used to sing it to my babies and dance around with them. Sang it to them on the changing table. I’m not making this up. The song brings me total joy.  I tried to find a version online to share with you, but none can compare to the organ in my church and the heartfelt singing of my smallish congregation. I checked the YouTube, and the iTunes. Nada.  Port Madison Lutheran Church sounds the best.

I was happy. The sun was shining through the beautiful windows, my family was with me, the green hymnal in my hands again. But God decided to throw one more little cookie my way.

Wait for it…..

Hymn #221 turned out to be the closing hymn! I hadn’t looked to the end of the service program to see what we would be singing, what with my standing there in bliss.

The organ started. I gasped! My husband looked at me and smiled, so did my kids. And I cried. But I sang.

Just for a little insight for you non-Lutherans, here’s how Garrison Keillor sums up my religious peeps:

SINGING WITH THE LUTHERANS

by Garrison Keillor

I have made fun of Lutherans for years – who wouldn’t, if you lived in Minnesota? But I have also sung with Lutherans and that is one of the main joys of life, along with hot baths and fresh sweet corn.

We make fun of Lutherans for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese. But nobody sings like them. If you ask an audience in New York City, a relatively Lutheranless place, to sing along on the chorus of Michael Row the Boat Ashore, they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Lutherans they’ll smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road! Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It’s a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person’s rib cage. It’s natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We’re too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you’re singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it’s an emotionally fulfilling moment. I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other. I do believe this: People, these Lutherans, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you’re in deep distress. If you’re dying, they’ll comfort you. If you’re lonely, they’ll talk to you. And if you’re hungry, they’ll give you tuna salad!

The following list was compiled by a 20th century Lutheran who, observing other Lutherans, wrote down exactly what he saw or heard:

1. Lutherans believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.

2. Lutherans like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.

3. Lutherans believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don’t notify them that they are there.

4. Lutherans usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.

5. Lutherans believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.

6. Lutherans feel that applauding for their children’s choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.

7. Lutherans think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.

8. Lutherans drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.

9. Some Lutherans still believe that an ELCA bride and an LCMS groom make for a mixed marriage.

10. Lutherans feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.

11. Lutherans are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.

12. Lutherans think that Garrison Keeler stories are totally factual.

13. Lutherans still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.

14. Lutherans believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take themselves too seriously.

And finally, you know when you’re a Lutheran when:

It’s 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.

You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can!

Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.

The communion cabinet is open to all, but the coffee cabinet is locked up tight.

All your relatives graduated from a school named Concordia.

When you watch a “Star Wars” movie and they say, May the Force be with you, you respond, “and also with you”.

You actually understand those folks from Lake Wobegon, MN.

And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye

Peace be with you! And also with you!

9/11

Today I woke up, did my usual FB check on my phone… making my plans to skype later with Bojana, and I saw the news stream. Everyone remembering the 9/11 attacks. I was instantly depressed. It’s not like it took me by surprise. I was not… “oh yeah, today is the 11th,” but more like the darkness I knew was coming a few days ago had arrived.

My chest hurt. Lump in my throat, but I had my 3 kids and 3 more that slept over to make pancakes for so I pushed through it and remained normalish.

It’s my PMS week though. I don’t care if that is too much information for you. It’s what it is. So I knew I would not have a chance to make it through the day without crying.

But I’m not a masochist, so I did not seek out 9/11 stuff on TV, or the web. I would limit to scanning status updates on the FB. I did catch the news tonight. I figured I should, out of respect. Dammit. They showed THAT footage.

It’s so hard to watch isn’t it? Seeing the second plane hit… being all confused still….and then the tower crumbles. Then the next one. I was squirming in my chair, covering my eyes, holding my throat and reliving it.

I had been 30 years old with a 1 year old daughter and pregnant with #2. The phone rang just before 7 am, but I didn’t get to it in time. I thought it was my husband on his morning commute and called him but he said it wasn’t him. We didn’t have caller ID. I have no idea who called and woke me up that morning. Then my husband asked if I was ok, and if I was watching the news. So I turned it on with him still on the phone piecing together what I was seeing. Before it made sense I watched the South tower collapse. By the time the second one came down I was on my knees sobbing. I could not believe this was happening.

Some people are more emotional then others. I’m definitely of the MORE emotional types and the sadness I felt in those days was the deepest I have ever felt. I was scared, hopeless, helpless, in a pit of absolute despair. And pregnant. I started to worry that my sadness would affect my pregnancy. I bet a lot of pregnant women felt that way. What kind of a world would he be born into? Everything was different now.

And River IS a different kind of kid. I do think my sadness affected him. I truly do. He is very sensitive and very empathetic. His poor little heart. He asked me what 9/11 was tonight as the news was on. He knew some of what happened because I would always lose it at Fire Station field trips when they would demonstrate their locator beeper. Tonight I got out our magazines that we had saved from September 2001. We talked about the pictures, the bad men, and all the heroes. Tears running down that boys face.

I really don’t know what else to say.

Vlog Response to Jenny. I don’t have an accent, y’all.

So.. it is very late at night on a very fun but long day and I got to hang out with Jenny for a good chunk of it.  I figured I would go check out her most recent Vlog because I just can get enough of the funny girl. You totally know what I’m talking about, you feel the same way don’t you?

So here’s the link to Jenny’s Vlog about the whether or not one might have an accent as determined by saying aloud certain words.  Some catchy ones:

Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

And then there’s the list of questions you must answer:

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

Now.. remember I said I was tired. And my hair is a bit fuzzed out.  But I’m too tired to give a rip about vanity, so here’s how it went for me:

Again.. was very late and very fuzzy!

Lessons from Louisa May Alcott

My daughter and I selected Little Women by Louisa May Alcott as her ‘Summer Read’ for school. The idea was that we could get through the lengthy book together and have nice mother-daughter bonding time.

Time. Time is the issue here. I do not have 777 pages worth of time to read. I have about 250 to read, 300 for laundry, 150 for dishes and 77 for picking up after everyone else. Or something like that.

Tonight we took turns reading. Rhianna (sweet teen staying with us for the summer) read one chapter, Ruby the next, and then it was my turn. I didn’t listen to their reading because I was doing dishes, prepping dinner for tomorrow and shuffling loads of laundry. Serves me right. I got chapter eight. Jo Meets Apollyon.

Apollyon? Who is that? I don’t remember any characters by that name in this book! Oy, people. Apollyon is: the destroyer; the angel of the bottomless pit. Revelation 9:11. Yes. 9:11, that alone makes my bones cold.

If I had a clue that I was reading THAT chapter where Jo faces her inner demon I might have just yawned and said.. oh tomorrow.. everyone off to bed now. But I read. It was my turn.

I can really relate to Jo. She has a hot temper, a wicked tongue, can stay angry for an eternity, and knows she’s an ass. Me and Jo. So much. Especially lately. I’ve been fuming all summer about a certain situation in my community AND I’ve been pissed as hell at all the idiots around here acting like it is nothing. This is one angry story I will post at another time when I can link to a news article about the eventual arrest. I am hopeful. And without any compassion. Can you tell?

The point being…. I have anger issues. And a hate that wells up in me something fierce. A demon. Apollyon. Just like Jo.

In chapter 8, Jo blows off her little sister Amy for an outing. Amy gets her revenge by burning Jo’s manuscript of fairy tales she’s been working on for years. Un-freaking-forgivable. I could feel my face get red hot as I sympathized with the 18th century me. Jo loses her shit on Amy, naturally, and swears never to forgive. Few days later, Amy tags along on an ice skating date. Jo knows the danger, but out of spite says nada. Crack, splash, little sister goes through the ice and Jo and Laurie manage to save her.

If you are married, have children, have siblings, shoot people, unless you are a full on hermit you have heard this quote:

“My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow.”

So says Jo’s mom. And Jo and I both know that we can be an ass. So we ask for help. Jo’s mom tells her that she too has had to struggle to control her temper for 40 years. Jo is begging to know the secret… and as her mom tells it, I am floored. I can’t swallow. Ruby can see my face change, my voice break as I am completely humbled.

“…..I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own; a startled or surprised look from one of you, when I spoke sharply, rebuked me more than any words could have done; and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could ever receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.”

BAM! I flash through all the ugly, hateful words, dirty looks and angry energy I have been carrying around lately, in front of my sweet children. What a horrible example I have been. Horrible. So every time I feel that anger start to take over because of this community issue, or ANY issue.. I will squelch it if I’m around my kids. It is going to take a lot of work. Tons.

But don’t think for one minute that I will show an ounce of compassion for the dirty creeps around. My kids will NOT see that from their mother. I want them to have good virtues, but not be fools.

Your Mama Wears Phat Pants!

Ok….. if you are new to my site here’s the disclaimer:

I host international students.

For amusement.

And of course there’s the whole enriching our lives thing, and global experience for my kids, and the fact that I just generally love kids and that is why I work at a school. So there.

But they crack me up, as I suppose any teenagers do.

Fred and I are chatting on FB, miss him so much. He’s coming back to live with us another year and we are counting the days until we pick him up at the airport. Back to the chatting…..He’s been searching for Melbourne Shuffle Pants. OMG. All day.

*I flash back to my Hammer Pants days*

I know. Those were the days. I totally saw him in concert. Covet my life.

Now Fred….. he is madeofawesome because not only has he learned how to do the Melbourne Shuffle, he opened a club in China in a hotel WHERE THEY TEACH IT! And he’s 17. Opened. A. Club. He is so cool it is a wonder that he is not from my gene pool. But alas, he is Chinese, full on.

So I’m thinking I’m gonna help the boy out and see if we can get these pants stateside right? I do a little research on them and discover that they are also called…..wait for it……

PHAT PANTS.

So I said, in our nice little FB chat….

The chat is still open and he hasn’t responded.

I’m going to go laugh myself to sleep and dream of these Phat Pants with Phlames. *snort*

Dude! Your Phat Pants are on Phire!

Pretending to be my dog….

It has been quite crazy these last two weeks. I needed it to be so much less crazy. My coping skills are nearly broken… and my patience left mid week.  It has been a roller coaster ride, that spat me out finally in my front yard, on my back, staring into the sky next to my dog.  But to just review this recent ride:

Week before last was the end of the school year for  West Sound Academy. Students taking final exams, international students saying good bye, and then graduation for the class of 2011.  I’m so proud of those wonderful young people.

And then I start to plummet down. My own kids had their last week of school. When I wanted to celebrate with them I couldn’t. I wanted to just relax, and couldn’t. I was racing to get report cards edited, complete the final transcripts, so much work to do! My two international students were packing to go back to their families. I wanted to hang out with them, and couldn’t. Philipp’s mom even came to stay with us for a few days. What little time I could squeeze in to be with her left us both wishing we had MORE TIME. And then yesterday they were gone. Fred left for China this morning. I’ve been cheated out of the moments that were supposed to be filled with joy and reflection of the last year.

I’ve hit the bottom and I’m exhausted.

I noticed my old dog lying in the front yard.  There are tufts of her fur everywhere because she is constantly shedding. I start to walk around her, and pick up the fur.

She’s awake, but has her eyes closed, just chilling out. I want THAT. So I lie on the ground next to her. She checks me out and gives me a few kisses. I try to imagine what she might be thinking, and it occurs to me that she is probably not thinking at all. She’s just blinking.

I think, “I’m gonna try this.”  On my back staring up through the branches of a tree and into the sky beyond.  It’s cloudy. Quiet. All I can hear is bird chatter and my son sweeping his hand through his bin of Legos in his room. I can hear an airplane. That’s all. Birds, Legos, and an airplane. I blink.. like my dog,  totally wishing I was really a dog and this was the extent of my existence.

My old girl Leica… she will be 15 in August. that is 105! I look over at her, blinking, shedding, chilling.  Shedding. That’s what I was doing…. picking up fur in the front yard.  So.. I give up the sweet fantasy and decide to finish the task, and resume peopleish type things.

But I can’t get off the ground. Seriously. My back seizes up as I try to just roll over. It’s awkward.. I’m wincing in pain, trying to get on all fours so I can somehow pull myself to my feet.  She’s blinking… still, at 105.  I’m 40, slowly trying to stand up and hoping none of my neighbors chose this moment for an evening stroll.

So… I totally enjoyed pretending to be her. But my body is not used to being still, and not on the ground.. so it looks like I’m stuck in peoplehood for now.  Here is a darling video my husband put together of our old girl last summer.. doing her doggy chill out thing.  What  a life.

dog dayz from gman on Vimeo.

Once upon a time, in 1981….

I was not really a girlie girl when I was little.  Tom boy really. When princesses were all the rage with friends I was all about Peter Pan.  But then along came this ONE princess:

And I was 10 years old.

She was the real deal.. well, once she married that Prince Charles guy, whom I thought was kind of icky. I was 10 remember, and boys were still fairly gross.  But yeah.. Charles? Not so much.  I watched the whole wedding on TV with my sister and it just was amazing.  That dress…merciful 1980′s puffy sleeve lacey wonderment dress! She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. We fell in love, along with the rest of the world.

As I grew up I always kept her in my sights and continued to be amazed by her. She wore jeans. She held HIV babies.  She hung out with Mother Teresa AND Michael Jackson.  Bryan Adams wrote a song about her. She was without a doubt  the coolest woman on the planet.

Then we saw her vulnerable side with the eating disorder, young motherhood, and that bloke she was married to. My gosh I was so glad when she was free of him.  I still liked to keep up on stories of her banning land mines and having a boyfriend or two.  She was still such an amazing woman, with the royals behind her.  She seemed unstoppable!

But then, that damn car crash. Crap, I have a lump in my throat right now.  I remember hearing about it on the way to a party at a friend’s in Seattle and I prayed and prayed that she would be fine. I really thought she WOULD BE FINE. Totally.  So Mark and I carried on with the party and wound up staying the night.

The next morning we left and got in line for the ferry back home. I caught the headline on a newspaper in the car in front of us.  I can’t even write the words. Can’t.  I will tell you I completely lost my shit. I wanted to call my mom and my sister. I can’t write about this part very well. Stuck on this paragraph for 15 minutes now.  It hurt to lose her, I’d loved her since I was 10. There.

My sister and I watched the funeral together, just as the wedding, only via the phone and across the country from each other. We cried and cried. She was gone.

So it makes sense that this year’s Royal Wedding means so much to me.

My daughter Ruby is 10. How about that?  Not a girlie girl either.  I’m looking forward to watching Prince William and Kate’s wedding with her. I will probably cry, and probably have my sister on the phone for part of it.  There is so much of Diana in William, so I’m hoping Ruby and I and my sister can carry whatever this crazy Diana love thing is forward and celebrate William and Kate.

White on Rice

One thing I need to warn tell you about my international family is that we are in NO WAY politically correct. We are a more like a cultural phenomenon:

One Korean born dude with a German last name who grew up in the midwest and speaks no Korean. Read: Twinkie

One white girl from the PNW in complete denial of her ancestral redneckedness who USED to say worsh, not wash, and often ended sentences in prepositions. Gasp. See: Where would you like to meet at?

Two little half and half spawn from Twinkie and Redneckdenialgirl that are incredibly beautiful, and no one believes they are from my womb.

One Chinese son who goes by the name Fred because, he wanted an American name this year.

One German son who goes by Philipp, because that is the name his parents gave him.

One daughter, by international exchange, who is back in Serbia but still in our hearts. Every. Day.

And finally one and a half dogs.  Because my old dog has a goiter the size of a puppy on her neck.  We named the goiter/puppy Lance (the verb). I know, gross huh? So.. one and a half dogs.

The fact that we are all so different and under one roof is a test to our sanity every day.  So we laugh a lot. Have great dinner discussions, and embrace our diversity with racist humor.

One evening over a dinner of steamed veggies, baked chicken, and rice, our beloved Chinese Fred says:

“Mom, I’d like to take some rice and veggies for lunch sometime. Will you teach me how to make rice?”

You could have heard a pin drop. Even the 9 year old was shocked. Then my husband, the twinkie, turns to him, slugs him in the arm and says, “Dammit Fred! You can’t make rice?! You are a disgrace to our people!”

When I finally found my voice, I said, “Really Fred? You don’t know how to make rice? You never did… YOUR ENTIRE LIFE IN CHINA? Ok, I’ll teach you how to use the rice cooker. It’s quite simple.”

Philipp, our German, God love him, perks up, “Fred, I would be happy to show you how to make rice. I know how!”

I wish you could hear the accents.. it adds so much to this story.

I sat back in my chair and said, “Well isn’t that something? I’ll have to shoot video of this and call it White on Rice.”

Twinkie laughed.

Volim te………..B.

The  real reason, the REAL REAL reason I have not written in so long is this one story that is so hard to write. But………………here  goes.

In November of 2009 a 16 year old Serbian girl moved in with my family. Random, right?  Not so much in my world. I work at a school, she was an exchange student, and her original host family situation went SOUTH, so much. So my boss was all.. Lisa, you have a  guest cottage, a huge heart, and you can’t say no ( as he heard from my college days).

I couldn’t say no, even though our cottage was really a workout room/storage room/hubby’s office. I couldn’t say no, even though we were already living paycheck to paycheck.  I couldn’t say no because she was 16, on the other side of the world from her mom, and crying. ”Just until we figure out a new permanent host family,” says my boss.  ”Probably just the weekend.” Well, Bojana was hardly with us 24 hours before we all decided WE were going to be her permanent host family.

I’ll never forget her first night with us and listening to her tearful and passionate skype conversation with her parents back home in Serbia.  We couldn’t understand a word, but it was very intense.  She was pissed, defeated, sad, homesick, and like I said, we couldn’t understand any words.

So, I’ve thought so much for too long about what I would write about our ‘B.’  I could do this as a timeline of her stay. What Christmas was like, the winter, spring, blah blah.  Screw that.  That’s what I had. I want to tell you about what I HAVE now:

A daughter, on the other side of the world from her mom. Yeah. That.

Lots of people host international students, and love it.  Friends for life, cultural experiences shared, and that is pretty much what Mark and I thought we were in for. But B was so fluent in English, people could rarely detect an accent.  Culturally, she was just like any typical American teenage girl.  She danced in her room, loved online fashion sites, had crushes on boys, and hated homework. But there is something more that I find so hard to describe.

See?  This is why I haven’t written in months!  How do I describe this relationship, give  its depth justice, and not come off sounding creepy?

My whole family fell in love with Bojana.  Oh, I could say, who wouldn’t?!  She is fun, loving, adorable, goofy, and so beautiful she makes you gasp sometimes. She loved my children so much, and still does. But, I think it was mostly B and I that fell for each other.  If we were the same age we would with out a doubt be the best of friends, but I had the role of ‘host mom’ which brought some challenges to our friendship.  I had to say:

There is no way you are leaving the house in a skirt that short.

Get your homework done or you can not go out with your friends this weekend.

Come out of your room.

Clean your room.

Be home by 11:00 pm.

Be good.

And sometimes I had to say:

Don’t give up. I’ll help you. Please don’t cry. You can do this. Don’t  sell yourself short.  You ARE smart. I am always here for you. How can I cheer you up?

I love you.

Now, here’s the thing: I said this to her a year ago, and I said this to her last week.  We are still that close, and both agree we will always be.  Always.  We skype a few times a month and FaceBook weekly.  She’s hit a rough patch with schoolwork and things back home. I swear I could feel it thousands of miles away.  And so, we are both really missing each other.  She has a wonderful, loving family,  and that is comforting. But I want to hug her.

So much more than an international connection.  So much more than sharing your home with someone for a year. So much more than a friendship.

Not many moms can say they discovered that they had a teenage daughter on the other side of the world but that’s what I have now.

Love you B.