Hitched...

A Walk Down Memory Lane

23 years ago

Foxy introduces us at the Old Fashioned Butcher Shop and Deli.   I am 23, a college graduate with a teaching credential, but yet to find work. You are 36, have 2 kids, and are going through a divorce. My Mom doesn't know any of these details.  She also doesn't know that you have been praying for someone to love you "just as you are." I have been single for three years, holding out for a "good" guy. A guy who is solid. A guy who is worthy. You ask me out. I say, “Sure.” If nothing else, I figure it will be a free meal. My friends think I am crazy to be going out with such an old guy! Upon meeting you, they gush, "He's just perfect for you, Michelle." The wheels are set in motion.

22 years ago

You make the cut. We move in together.  I bumble my way into being a stepmom to Tommy and Katie, not sure if I'm doing anything right. I cry everyday my first year teaching 6th grade in the East Side.  It is far more challenging than I had imagined. Many days, you drive me to school, assuring me that it will be a better day than before.  You propose. You are more than a "good" guy. I say yes.

21 years ago

We get hitched at Holy Cross in Santa Cruz, vowing to make this thing work for the long haul. When Father Mike asks us if we will lovingly accept children from God, I practically shout from the altar, “ABSOLUTELY!”  You had a vasectomy 11 years prior, and we know full well that you will need to have a reversal if we are to be blessed with children. We know the odds may be stacked against us, but lean into our faith.

20 years ago

You go under the knife, and have the surgery.  We become pregnant...with TWINS!  We are stunned, shocked, and completely blown out of the water. It is a conversion moment for me.  Twins do not run in our family, nor did I hit any of the criteria for having twins. God heard that answer from the altar, and wasted no time!  

19 years ago

Abigail and Isabella join our family. Apparently, we think testing our marriage is a good idea, so we decide to do a remodel while raising teenagers and newborns. I am tandem nursing twins through all of this transition. Life is full of blessings and hardship simultaneously. My folks graciously invite all 6 of us to stay with them for a few months until the remodel is complete. When Abby and Bella have been fed, changed, and are put down for rest side by side in their crib, sometimes they wail. I think to myself, "What is all this fuss about? Play a game of cards with eachother." My dad, on the other hand, yells out from down the hall, "Papa loves you baby. Papa loves you. I'm coming to save you." I stop him, mid-save, many times.

18 years ago

I become pregnant again. And for some unknown reason, my dad develops circulatory issues. He becomes a below the knee amputee. The recovery is long and difficult. Often, I sneak the twins into the hospital to see him. Dad's goal is to learn how to walk with his "new leg" before Abby and Bella do. He succeeds. The girls are right behind.

17 years ago

Emma comes to join our family, born healthy and the biggest baby of all...8 lbs 2 oz.  I worry Abby and Bella will suffocate her with their hugs. When she's not nursing, I carry her in the sling on my body, to keep her safe from the love of her twin sisters.

16 years ago

There countless trips to the park.  I join Weight Watchers, and lose 100 pounds by Emma’s first birthday.  Although I shed the weight, I still have many years ahead of head and heart work.  I start therapy for my body image issues. You support me the entire time, unsure as to what "body image" really means.

15 years ago

I start to question how long my life will resemble the monotonous ground hog days of filling sippy cups, doling out goldfish, and changing poopy diapers. I am trying to potty train twins...I am failing miserably.  You are working a lot. I feel alone. We are committed to each other but our marriage is in a tough spot. We decide to go on a Marriage Encounter Weekend. We decide to do the hard work.

14 years ago

The Marriage Encounter Weekend is such a smashing success, we are delirious and decide to try for another baby! Cosette Francois Walsh joins our tribe.  With 4 kids under 5, I don’t really remember much more of this year.

13 years ago

The twins start Kindergarten, and it quickly becomes evident, that school is more than difficult for them.  We don’t know it yet, but discover later, that they each have Learning Disabilities. We will need to fight the school district to test them, in order to get the accommodations they need to succeed.  It feels like we have been sucker punched. Like someone told us we have damaged goods. There is a grieving of what I thought school would look like for them, and what the reality of the situation is. I put on my boxing gloves, and get ready to fight for the girls. This is the first time you realize, that you too, have undiagnosed Learning Disabilities. The years ahead will be filled with struggle and triumph. This is where my teaching background and kick ass and take names later attitude, gets put to the test. The District doesn't want to test the girls. Testing them costs money. I am not going anywhere. The girls get tested, and each receive a 504 Plan.

12 years ago

My parents leave Campbell and retire to Santa Rosa. It is weird for me to think of someone else living in my childhood home.  Swimming in the pool where I learned to swim. I miss my folks.

11 years ago

Tommy, who is now a Corpsman in the Navy, marries Molly Marie, whom we love.  WOW. Shit just got real. Our kid is grown and married. More importantly, we are so proud of the young man he has become, and the woman whom he now calls his wife.

10 years ago

I am late for my period and randomly decide to pee on a stick. Here comes unplanned baby number 5! I tell you while I'm folding your underwear. Shortly thereafter, the recession hits the country.  We file for bankruptcy. We don’t know if we will lose our home. So many things are uncertain. This is what we know:  as long as we will stick together, we will be okay.  This surprise baby could not have come at a more stressful time.

9 years ago

Our first grandbaby, Joseph, is born.  He's a little red headed Ginger. Charlotte is born later that same year, also a ginger.  Our grandbaby is older than our baby. We are just classy, like that. Although Charlotte is born healthy, she refuses to latch to my breast. She is deemed "failure to thrive", and I must make the trek to Santa Clara Kaiser daily, to ensure she is not losing too much weight. I start implementing formula in addition to pumping. During one of the many hospital trips, Cosette calls 911 explaining to the operator, yea, she has an emergency: she isn't the baby in our family anymore. You have another vasectomy.

8 years ago

We travel to South Carolina and witness Katie marry Joe! WOW.  Shit is getting super real. Now, two kids are married. We feel blessed that both of the kids have found partners who love and support them.  Our hearts are overflowing. Foxy holds down the fort while we're gone. We return home to an immaculate house, a fridge stocked with food, and 5 girls wondering why are Mom and Dad back already? I know first hand how hard it is to accomplish all of that.

7 years ago

Foxy is diagnosed with Cancer.  You ask me if I want to be with her.  I answer without hesitation: yes. I started making cannibis brownies on the regular...some for her, some for me.

6 years ago

You work and take care of all 5 girls so that I could be with Foxy in Santa Rosa, 3-4 days of the week at a time.  With the help of dear friends, you work to make this the new normal. The girls step up and do more chores without complaint. When I return home, I shop at Costco, go the basketball games, and do laundry. I am working hard to be present in two places at once. It is beyond difficult. Meanwhile, you are my rock.

5 years ago

After a two year battle with Cancer, Foxy goes Home.  There is an odd sense of relief that comes with the grief of losing her.  This is when I begin to truly understand what it feels like when a daughter no longer has a Mama.  You stand by my side. You allow me to weep. You give me permission to walk through my grief.

4 years ago

For the first time in our lives, all 5 girls are in school full time.  It feels wonderful and weird. I start to work more at Weight Watchers.  I feel as though God is molding me for the next step, but am unsure as to what that “thing” is.

3 years ago

Trump wins the election, and for the first time in our marriage, we discuss my own past history with sexual molestation and assault.  You voted for Trump, so it presents an especially delicate scenario. With this newly elected President, I feel as though I have been assaulted all over again.  You listen, patiently. It is difficult, but you listen. You hear and see and understand me, fully. There are many tears. We both are trying to wrap our heads around what to do next.  How do we follow our faith and stand in our values? What does that look like now, raising 5 daughters, with this new Commander in Chief? Something has been opened up in me. A thirst to gather with other women in community.  I start having small circle groups with about 6 friends once a month. We gather for support, unconditional love, and connection. I have no idea that God is prepping my heart for Village Well.

2 years ago

We pull the girls out of school and drive to Sonoma.  Your Mom is not doing well, with the dialysis no longer working.  We hold her head and her hands, and thank her for all that she had taught us.  With blurry vision and red-rimmed eyes, we say good-bye, just for now. There are many tears. She goes Home the next day.

1 year ago

The twins prepare to separate for the first time in their lives by attending different colleges.  Although both decide to play basketball, it is a new chapter in our family, minus one chick.  Village Well is born. I start hosting Workshops and Retreats. Finally, I realize what Spirit has been guiding me towards...

Later that same year, my dad loses his home in the Santa Rosa fires.  We are in shock and disbelief. Every momento that was left of my Mama, is now gone.  When people complain about the smoke here, I want to punch them in the face. But I don’t.  I understand that they just don’t realize, that they are smelling someone’s beloved baby blanket, and another person’s cherished photo album, and my mom’s wedding dress. They just don’t know. 

But you do.  

You listen to me, as I writhe back and forth, shaking with anger and confusion asking why?  Why my Dad, when he has already been through so much?  You don’t have any answers, and so you hold me.  You wipe my tears. You stay next to me, no words.  My rock.

Today

Your patience and presence with the girls (and me), your unwavering faith, and your openness and support of me in each and everything I do, astounds me.  

Our lives may be loud, unpredictable, and a wee bit messy, but there is one thing I know for sure: you are the one for me. My rock.

May God continue to bless us with many more years together.  Happy 21st Anniversary, babe. Thanks for putting up with my crazy.

I sure do love you.

I Lost 100 Pounds

And have kept it off for 16 years.  In.  A.  Row.

It has been a journey of learning the same lessons over and over, often through failure.  A journey of trying to be a role model for my daughters through actions, while biting my tongue.  A journey of overindulging, only to be followed by self forgiveness.  A journey of self acceptance, self love, and trusting myself.  And how that greedy lie of perfection tries to steamroll the divine grace of imperfection.  

The day before I gave birth to Emma, I weighed a little over 260 pounds.  I knew that after I had this baby, I needed to get control over my eating and my body.  

Three weeks later,  I stepped into a Weight Watchers and made a commitment.  My goal was to lose 100 lbs by Emma's first birthday.  In fact,  my actual real live thought bubble sounded like this:  "I will go to the meetings.  I will follow the rules.  I will walk regularly.  I will track my food.  I will lose the 100 pounds clinging to my body.  And then I will be happy."  

Reality of that first year: I went to the meetings.  I followed the rules.  I walked with a triple jogging stroller regularly.  I tracked my food.  I lost the 100 pounds that clung to my body.  And I was not happy.  

That, my friends, is when my therapy started. My unfolding of worthiness began.

  

My current body image thought bubble sounds like this:  You weigh 153 pounds and some change.   Your weight does not define you, and will never measure the fact that you are a child of God.  You are here to do some important shit.  You are here to shine.  There will be days when you eat peanut M and M's while wearing your pajama's in your closet, hiding from your family and life.  You have an opportunity to choose forgiveness of self when this happens.  Because it will happen.  

You know for a fact, you feel better about life when you move your ass on the daily.  You also know there will be days when you don't feel like moving said ass.  Do it anyways.  You will thank yourself later.  Keep practicing gratitude and self love.  There will days it flows through you like water in a crystal clear stream.  And days when that same stream is murky, and you are filled with negative self talk.  You are an emotional filled ambrosia and there will be some shit you would rather stuff with food, than feel.  Try to recognize your triggers of overwhelm, resentment, and frustration and honor those feelings.  Forgiveness will be a regular practice. Know your worth.  Don't settle and don't hustle. You know from experience, these behaviors don't deliver long term.

Keep trusting yourself...through meditation, by eating enough protein, by surrounding yourself with positive people.  

By channeling the Divine and Universal love that holds all, knows all, is all.

Keep choosing YOU.  Keep doing the work.  Keep showing up. 

Because you know what?    It is your birthright to be joyful and thriving.  

In fact, it is your God Damn superpower.  

Mama Tired.

You know how you have these chapters of motherhood that are just relentless?  Like one kid takes a turn, and then just as you come up for air, a different kid takes a dive. 

And you're like, "I was just catching up on Game of Thrones.  WTF is happening?"

Yeah, I'm having one of those spells right now.

 A loving friend just recently told me, "Wasn't it just a little easier when a juice box and a stroller ride could fix everything?" 

Yup, what she said.

When the girls were just wee littles, Mama was physically exhausted.  As they have grown, and matured, and morphed into the amazing women they are becoming, I am overcome with mental exhaustion.

I know and understand full well, that I do NOT have control over an outcome for my children, only my reaction to the situation.  Being a WW Coach, I also know and understand that I must take care of myself.  Easier said sometimes than actually done.

Shit I do for Self Care

*Pray

*Meditate

*Journal

*Exercise in nature on the daily

*Surround myself with positive folks who have my back

*Call a friend, rant

*Try to fuel my body with nutritious food

*Drink alcohol at the end of the day with my husband (sorry, not sorry)

*Pray

*Try really hard to stay in gratitude

And yet, still this motherhood feels heavy.  Like I'm wearing a cloak of lead, running a marathon.  I'm only on mile 3 man, and an unexpected storm has rolled in, and started to pelt me with rain.  I'm drenched and full of fatigue, while my lead cloak keeps sliding off, and I'm not sure how I will finish.  I've got a rugged 23.1 more miles to go. 

And then, I take a breath, and know I am not the first mother to experience anxiety, worry, frustration,  and/or wringing of the hands regarding my offspring.

My dad describes this part of parenting so on point by saying, "You are only as happy as your most unhappy child."  Yup, what he said.

Truth be told, these girls do not belong to Tom or myself.  They were given to us by God.  And well, I'm thinking perhaps there is a plan that I know nothing about.

I must trust that.  Fall back into that.  But oh my God, it's so hard sometimes.

Without going into any details, (for what little privacy they have left), I would like to humbly ask you for a little favor: please hold our family up in prayer, please hold us up in  unconditional love and grace, without judgement or speculation.

With gratitude, and thanks.

Amen.

Broken Glass

Have you ever just completely lost your shit with your kid, and then immediately regretted it?

Yeah, me either.  I was asking for a friend.

I was just trying to leave for the weekend.  Exit my homestead.  With my husband, who I am married to, but rarely get to hang out with without a million bajillion people around us that we created together alone.  I was just trying to put my luggage (a paper bag with a toothbrush in it because simplicity is best and fastest these days), when I noticed that Charlotte's toys, books, and what not, were spilling out of the vehicle and onto the pavement.  I hollered at her to clear out her belongings because I had to make room for my paper bag.

 As Charlie juggled all of her things, refusing to make two trips like I had suggested, her little freckled 8 year old hands lost the grip of a glass plate.  Just the day before, said glass plate had held a quesadilla.  And now it was all over my driveway.

I mean, I'm allowed to peel oranges which I consume while I steering with my knees.  But WTF?  Why are my people eating carbs and melted cheese in the backseat of my Prius?

As the plate hit the pavement, it smashed into a thousand pieces, many of the shards landing strategically under the tires.  Like they planned it that way.  Like they glass fragments had a huddle before disbursement and said, "Hey guys, you wanna see Michelle lose her MIND?  Make sure you spread far and wide, and land squarely under those big round rubber things.  She's trying to leave to hang out with her husband for a Married Couples Retreat.  C'mon, I guarantee this will be money."

My reaction sort of went as follows right after the plate dropped to the ground...

Me (clutching my paper bag): "OH MY GOD!!!!  I cannot even LEAVE without a DRAMA.  Look at this Charlie!  If you would have just made TWO trips, this could have been AVOIDED."

Charlie, stood deflated, stung by my words, hot tears starting to well the rims of her eyeballs: "Sorry Mama."

I brushed past her, flung open the front door, and stormed inside the house to grab the broom and dustpan, mumbling under my breath.

Emma, completely unaware of what had just gone down, was cheerily perched in the kitchen, baking a cake. "Hey Mama, I thought you had left with Daddy," she said, without even looking up.

Suddenly, she paused from her mixing and looked at me, sensing a predator was in close proximity.  She looked away quickly, averting eye contact, with an intuitive knowing that something horrible had happened out front.  She was too full of fear to ask what that horrible thing was, worried this T-Rex who had taken over her mother's body may consume her unbaked cake.  She decided for her own benefit, and that of her sisters, to say nothing more.  And so she continued to mix.

When Tom and I finally did leave, I confessed, "I hate leaving like that.  I mean, in the big picture, it was an accident.  And it's like I can hear the words fueled by anger coming out of my mouth, and I just can't stop them.  I hate it."  Tom just nodded, and simply said, "Yeah, babe."

That man...he's a god damn keeper.

Yesterday, I went to work, got a hike in, and then ran to Costco.  I make it home just in time to unload the groceries before grabbing Charlie from school. As I hurriedly opened the hatchback to the Prius, a jar of marinara sauce smashed into a million pieces onto the pavement.  I watched it fall, orange sauce spreading over my driveway, and had this thought, "Yep, that's what you get sister.  See?  Even a grown woman can have accidents.  It wasn't Charlie's fault when she dropped the plate."  My next thought was, "That jar of marinara was 7 bucks.  Shit."

Just then, Tom pulled up, realizing the irony of the situation and said, "I know you've got to get Charlie honey.  I'll clean that up for you."

God damn keeper.

Humbled yet once again by my children, and the ever present patience of my husband.   I will work on delivering grace with grace.  I will work on forgiving more easily.  It just feels better that way.  I can't say how long it's gonna take though.  Based on my record thus far, it may be awhile.  Sigh.

The Stockings

Last week, I stood brushing my teeth in my bathroom, half asleep, when I had this epiphany.  Still groggy, and not yet ready to face the day, this epiphany came.

Have you ever thought of something that is so completely obvious, and it has been obvious for quite some time, but for some reason it doesn't really "hit home".  Until it does.

And then it really does.

I remembered that I don't have a Christmas stocking.  I'm a 46 year old grown woman, preoccupied with raising my own family, with far too many children that all have their stockings hung by the chimney with care.  Beautiful hand made stockings, by the way, with intricate detail by my Auntie, as seen above.  In fact, I'm sure she sighed with relief when she realized Charlotte was our last baby :)

But my stocking, the one that my Mom hand made for me, with an iron-on Santa, back in the '70's? Like so many others, it was lost in the Santa Rosa fires.  

My brother Paul's stocking, that had an upside down felt Santa, with his head at the bottom and his feet at the top, with a bell next to his name, and a coffee stain across the middle of it?  No more.

My brother Matt's stocking, which hung in between Paul's and mine, with a bell at the corner of his felt Santa's hat?  Also gone.

My Dad's stocking which was decorated with a felt lion, and my mom's stocking, in the shape of a ladies boot lined with sparkly sequins?  All gone.

I have known this for over a year.  But all of a sudden, it hit me.  All five of the stockings that I grew up with, and knew so well, each for it's intricacies and details, are gone.  

At Christmas, every time I would travel from the kitchen down the hallway, towards my bedroom, there were our stockings, taped to the wall.  Yes, you read that right.  Mom taped them to the wall because, well, we didn't have a fireplace.  So the hallway wall it was!  Yo, Foxy was a problem solver. 

Our family also had two (and sometimes three) trees.  Don't judge :) The kids tree sat perched in the family room, resting on our orange and brown linoleum floor.  We adorned it with school made ornaments, like soldiers with crooked eyeballs, and snowmen with a shit ton of glitter, and threads strung with popcorn and cranberries.  It was a sight, and quite beautiful in my eyes.

The tree in the living room (a room designated solely for company), really belonged to my mom.  Foxy decorated that tree like it was straight up her job. Our nativity set, had a manger with a roof that was caving in.  If Jesus was to be born in a barn, it would definitely have a questionable roof that may or may not make it through Mary's labor, right?  Talk about realism!   The angel lay on top of the caved in roof, and although as a kid,  I would worry the angel might fall through, I was also strangely reassured that she could fly if things went sideways.  The manger was lovingly placed at the base of Foxy's tree. 

I would lay underneath the tree,  next to the manger, looking up through the branches, taking in the fresh pine smell and pastel lights strung up perfectly.  To this day, I prefer pastel lights to any other kind; they are calming and comforting.

And every time I passed the stockings taped to the hallway wall,  I would tap the bells.  Until eventually, the tape would wear loose, and the stockings would need to be secured with yet more tape.  Funny thing is, my mom never got frustrated about this.  I think she just knew that as kids: we had to tap those bells.

Paul, Matt and I tapped the bells as we made our way to our bedrooms down the hall.  We tapped those bells on our way to the kitchen because dinner was ready.  I tapped the bells on my way to the garage to put on my soccer cleats for practice.  Or on my way out the door, gussied up to go to the Christmas dance with a boy from another school (because teenage girls,  you NEVER date someone who goes to your school).   Too.  Much.  Drama.  

Those stockings were always there.  And now they are not.  I have the memories of what each one looked like, and tapping the bells.  The fire can't take those memories. 

At this point, whether in Santa Rosa, like my dad, down south, or beloved Paradise...we all know someone or someone who knows someone, who has lost everything.  So many sentimental trinkets (too many to count), hand made baby blankets, childhood pictures tucked away in a suitcase, and wedding dresses that were being saved for daughters or grand daughters or great grand daughters, all lost in the fires.  

And so, this is what I have learned:  cherish the small things.  remember the good things, and tender memories will replace the lost things, that can no longer be salvaged.

Take care of yourself and your tribe because, in the end, that is all that really matters.  That is a sacred, sacred bond.

And, take the time to tap the bells.  

Help a Sister Out

There has been something weighing on my heart.  Something I would like to share with you.  It is about a time, like many families, when we fell on financial hardship.  

It was the perfect  shit storm:  I had just discovered I was pregnant with (the best) surprise #5 baby ever. I told Tom while I was folding laundry.  He seemed genuinely excited.  But then, that's Tom Walsh Super Genius.  

But I  have this other distinct memory of sharing the "good news" with my Mom.  I braced myself by holding onto the kitchen counter, saying something like, "Mom, you'll never guess what..." and then I burst into tears.  She assured me, "Honey, it will be okay."  She was right.  Foxy was always right :)

At the same time, the recession was raging, leaving Tom's little carpet cleaning business suffering, like in a very bad way.  Some weeks, we didn't have grocery money, but somehow we always managed.  

We decided to file for bankruptcy.  But we told no one because there was so much shame.  We felt defeated and like we had failed our family.  And we were filled with so many overwhelming unanswered questions.  Would we be able to keep our home?  Would I need to go back to teaching full time, and if so, who would care for Charlotte?  

This is certainly not where I thought I would be in my late 30's...twin 10 year olds, an 8 year old, a 5 year old (who called 911 when we brought Charlie home from the hospital because she wasn't the baby anymore - true story), and a "failure to thrive" infant on my hip, who failed to nurse.  Looking back, I can almost attest to the fact that Charlotte was picking up on my nervous and stressed out energy, which is why she wouldn't latch to my breast.  We couldn't afford formula...this kid needed to breast feed!  She did learn eventually, but it left this Mama extremely depleted and wondering how I continued to fail my daughters.  

At one time or another, we have all asked ourselves a symphony of the following questions: How did I get here?  What am I supposed to learn from this? And when the fuck will it be over?

Tom and I hunkered down in our faith, and began to trust with really open hearts.  Because when you're broken, that's all you  have left.  We cut out all unnecessary expenses, and I mean everything.   I began trimming the girls hair on our front porch, and no one said anything mean about how crooked their bangs hung in front of their eyes. I was thankful for that. We frequented Happy Hollow because we had a Family Pass, and would walk the 3 blocks to park for free.  I began buying clothes for the girls for NEXT year from the clearance rack with the little money I did have, because those were the best deals.  We went to the library religiously, and I believe this is where the girls love of reading really began.  And we ate dinner at home nightly, with many meals made from ground turkey...spaghetti, chili, taco's.  My goal was to feed my family of 7 for under $10, and more times than not, I was successful.  

As women do, I got real resourceful, real quick.  

It was around this time, that I asked for a scholarship for the twins to participate in Girls on the Run:  a non-profit, girl power after school program.  It encompassed all of values and traits we were instilling in our daughters at home: being strong in mind and body, being a good friend, sticking up for people, using your voice.  The program ends with a million bajillion third through fifth graders running a 5K...and it is the cutest gosh darned thing you will ever witness.  Daddies and daughters running hand in hand, decked out with feather boa's.  Mama's jogging side by side their little mini me's...if you ever need a pick me up, I highly recommend checking it out.  

And it was there, after Abby, Bella and I completed our first 5K together, that I saw a booth for Athena Camps:  a girl power summer camp in its very first season.  Aby Ryan, the owner and founder, sat behind the table, and as we approached, I could just tell there was something special about her.  I inquired about camp and the cost.  I asked if there were scholarships available.  And this is what Aby did:  she allowed my girls go to camp for a week for FREE. 

I will never forget, holding Charlotte on my lap, Emma and Cozy at my feet, at the closing ceremony of Athena Camps that Friday, bawling with gratitude that my daughters had been given this opportunity.  Aby's kindness and generosity were life changing.

Fast forward 7 years, and guess where Abby and Bella were employed this last summer?  Athena Camps!  It was at this pivotal moment  and I realized the impact and importance of the full circle.  We had been helped, and now I want to give back. 

 My chapter of financial scarcity helped teach me this: simplicity is best, goodness in others is abundant, and love always wins.  Currently, Village Well is donation based, and I never ever want finances to prevent someone from attending. 

I would like to create a scholarship fund. I feel very called to have all women who want to come, be part of a Workshop or Retreat, regardless of finances. 

If this tugs at your heart like it does mine, please consider donating any amount of money to help a woman make a retreat or workshop.  I will take your donations and match them with my cost of time and materials.  And when I say any amount, I really mean it: whether its $5 or $100!  

I promise you will be making an immeasurable difference for another woman.  

If you would like to donate, please reach out to me at myvillagewell@gmail.com. You can also call or text me at (408) 832-0089.  

With Eternal Gratitude,

Michelle 

I Wore This Shirt

I wore this shirt as I picked up my happy go lucky, crazy red headed, snaggle toothed cutie from school yesterday.  I wore this shirt, as she held Bo on the leash as we crossed the street near the high school baseball field, making our way back towards our home.  

I wore this shirt, as we approached a man who was writing something on the dusty window of his truck.  "Oh," I thought, "He's leaving a message for someone."  I was right:  the message was for me.  TRUMP 2020, it said.  

I wore this shirt as I made direct eye contact and smiled at him.  In the very next parked vehicle, in a maroon minivan, a woman called out to me, "Excuse me, may I ask you a question?"  I wore this shirt, as I answered, "Of course."  

She asked me her question, but she wasn't really asking me, because she already knew the answer to her very own question, "So about your shirt...what does it mean?  Are you Pro Trump?" 

I paused and saw where she was trying to lead me.  The truck writing guy stood on the sidewalk behind us, arms folded across his chest, like a bully on the school yard.  

I wore this shirt as I calmly inhaled, and gently, but unwavering, answered, "I'm all about love."  

She looked at me befuddled, head cocked sideways.  I wasn't adding any fuel to her fire.  I was actively choosing not to engage in the shit storm that could possibly ensue, as my 7 year old and Black Lab waited on stand by. She wanted more, and obviously, was not prepared for my reply.  She continued to look at me, quizzically. 

So I added, "You see, Michelle Obama said this."  There wasn't but a moment before she unloaded, "Oh God, I can't stand those guys.  I hate all of them.  They make me crazy!"   I wore this shirt as I thought, she is full of angst and spite just from my very presence...enough to stop an at-home mom walking her seven year old home from school. 

I wore this shirt, as I gently leaned back away from her car, and said, "Well, have a wonderful day."  I walked away from the scene of the crime feeling like someone had deflated my balloon.  Like she hated me too, because essentially, that was what this perfect stranger was telling me even though we were just that: perfect strangers.  

I wore this shirt, as I drifted home, trying to have a "teachable moment" with Charlotte. I explained that "trump" is not just the last name of our President, but it has another meaning: to win over.  When folks have anger or are disrespectful towards us, we stand in our power, and own our truth by being honest, but kind and respectful.  I asked Charlie, "And how did Mama react?"  I wore this shirt, as my daughter answered, "You showed her kindness Mama.  You showed her love."  

I wore this shirt as I stood in my kitchen and thought, we cannot use blanket statements like "them" and "they", and "hate" and expect to truly see and hear one another. I bet truck writing guy and maroon minivan woman and I are far more alike than we are different.  And suddenly, I was overcome with sadness.  When will be able to come together?

 I wore this shirt as I wiped my eyes, and decided I will not be demeaned.  Or belittled.  Or bullied.  Or made to feel inferior.  

I wore this shirt as my daughter witnessed: love wins every God Damn time.  And I will continue to teach my daughters this, through my words, but most importantly, through my actions.

And I wore this shirt, as I gave myself permission to purchase more shirts :)

A Letter to My Daughters

My Daughters...

Abigail, Isabella, Emma, Cosette and sweet Charlotte,

I am not sure exactly why, but I have been gently nudged to write you a letter.  As I type it, I, myself, am not even really sure what I am supposed to tell you.  But my heart wisdom will exit my fingers, and find it's way out onto the keyboard hopefully, in a somewhat sensible manner.

First and above all else,  REMEMBER TO BE YOU, especially when those you know and love are standing with you.  But even more importantly, when others, stuck in their own insecurities, are forcibly pushing against you.  They may try to break you by saying you are too bright, too much, too big, or too outspoken.  When you feel scared or confused, remember where you come from:   a home full of love and light, where it is safe but messy, comfortable but cluttered, where all are welcomed.  A home that often smells of chili in the crock pot, and the scent of wet dog after Bo comes in from the rain.  Remember, that no matter what you do, positive or negative, struggle or triumph, big or small, my love for you will never, ever, ever change.  I am here to celebrate all of your successes, but more so,  to love you when you have failed, and are not sure if you have the strength to continue.

LISTEN TO YOUR INTUITION.  If something in your life is happening, and it doesn't feel quite right, and you can't seem to put your finger on it, that is God gently poking you, asking you to reassess the situation.  Don't be fearful to ask for guidance and courage to do the right thing.  And this right thing may be for you, but often, I have found in my own path,  it is for someone else.  This will be one of many  opportunities to be brave, and self-less.  Even if you feel unsure, remember that every step you have taken before this scary one, has prepared you for this exact moment.  Trust this truth.

TRY NEW THINGS! I am quite the simpleton...in how I pray, in what I eat, and how I move my body each day. But I want MORE for you! 

If your heart desires, jump off a bridge...SAFELY, and with a bungee cord, or course :) Learn to play a new instrument, and practice it, not caring if the music sounds horrendous as you master the strings or keys. If it fills up your spirit, play away. Sing...in the shower, up on stage, at a concert, off key, or while you're driving.  Use your voice to unleash the part of your soul that remains silent at times, for fear of being found out.  God gave you that voice before you even came here, and it is to be used!  Travel...on a sister pilgrimage to Nicaragua, to Europe to discover where our families came from, paying attention to the people who come into your path, and how there are no coincidences.   Remember that just by being you, amazing things will start to happen.  People are drawn to the light, and you are that!  For daddy and I, but for so many others. And you're not even aware of this gift.  You don't even understand that yet, but it's okay.  You are here to shine so that others may feel hope and joy and grace.  Don't worry, you're going to do just fine!

Remember, no matter what happens, YOU ARE DIVINELY AND UNIQUELY MADE.
I don't have any sisters myself, to show "how to do it".  In my own life, I have stumbled with arrogance, tripped with inflexibility, and made poor decisions due to lack of empathy and compassion.  I have questioned my Catholic faith, my Priest (sorry Father John), and my church.  I have fought against doing the right thing, because it was easier in the moment to be lazy and complacent.  I have made mistakes, but in time, have come to realize they were each my greatest teachers.

In due time, I will share these experiences with you, when I feel it is appropriate.   I firmly believe that by sharing the choices from my past that left me feeling shameful, unworthy, and unlovable, it will provide you the opportunity to choose differently in your own path. And to remind you that you are never alone, because Mama, too, is a work in progress.

 Above all,

May you drink in...

Joy and Grace in your thoughts.

Faith and Trust in your actions.

Love and Hope in your heart.

Courage and Truth in your abilities.

Strength and Humility from within.

You are worthy of all of this.  I love you.

Love,
Mama

Mama, Do You See...

Hey Mama,

It's been a little over 3 years now that you have gone Home, but I still think of you often, especially as our girls hit milestones, and drop truth nuggets for me to fetch, and learn from.

Mom, did you know that Abby continues to astonish and humble me with her old soul wisdom?  We were walking on the beach a few weeks ago, when she and I noticed a group of folks fully dressed, playing in the sand and surf.  The men donned dark denim jeans and long sleeved shirts, while the women made sand castles in long skirts and bonnets covering their hair.  This group of folks were having an absolute blast, squeals of joy could be heard from far away, and the only difference between them and us was this:  we had on bathing suits, and they were wearing clothes and bonnets.

 Abby inquired, "Mom, do you think it would be okay if I asked about their faith and culture?"  I said, "Yes, honey.  They would probably love talking with you." (they might try to convert you, but it's all good :)

Abby has this beautiful transparency about her, curious to know what these folks were about, without judgment.  And then she dropped this truth bomb:  "You know what I think, Mom?  That the true key to loving others, is seeking to understand them."

Mom, do you see how Bella is stepping into her own path, knowing intuitively she wants to attend a Jesuit college because she is seeking a faith community that will support her?  (Tom and I will have to rob a bank, or live in a trailer down by the river, or both).  Did you see her sing with the choir at Mass on Sunday for the first time?  Do you see how she throws her head back, and smiles from cheek to cheek, while giggles escape her mouth when she's laughing?

Mom, do you see Emma full of FIRE and a burning desire to DO THE RIGHT THING?  Do you see her standing her space, with her 100 lb self, but emanating the size of an elephant?  Do you see her Mom?  Strong, and steady, honest and full of spark?  Do you see her wanting to play Lacrosse, and do Speech and Debate, but also try Journalism?  Do you see her organizing and rallying the twins to take a sister "Pilgrimage" to Nicaragua next summer with the church?  She's already saving money for the trip.

Do you see Cosette, with her quick wit and funny expressions, always trying to make us laugh?  Do you see how she's starting to fill out and become a young lady?  The rolling fog of childhood has begun to burn off, and just whispers remain now.  But do you see how she's still quick to hug anyone who's breathing and break out into spontaneous fits of laughter?  And how she volunteers to walk the neighbor's dog, not for money, but just because?

And do you see Charlotte with her red hair, streaked with blond, from all the swimming this summer?  It hasn't turned green like mine use to, Mom.  Thank goodness.  She reminds me of you sometimes, Mama.  I wish she would sit still long enough for me to count her freckles that sprinkle across her nose, and splash onto her cheeks.  But alas, she's onto the next thing... Barbies, Lego's, snuggling with Bo, driving Cosette bonkers.

And do you see how when she's feeling a bit tired, she hunkers down, finds a quiet spot on the couch, or out back in the shade, and she reads her chapter book?

I wish I could speak to you  about all of this.

More times than I care to admit, I am overcome with emotion, and tears of immense gratitude well up from inside of me, and find the pathway down my face, because I feel so incredibly blessed.  I stand back, and cannot believe how lucky I am to help mold these daughters.

And I wait with excited anticipation to watch how they will leave their mark in the world.  I just wish I could talk to you, Mama.

 And you could tell me what you think about all of this crazy, loud, lovely, and beautiful chaos.

Are You the Temple?

So if you don't legitimately think I'm crazy already, this blog entry will most likely solidify that belief.  Please read with caution, and if at any point, you feel as though I was a witch in a former life, rest assured: I do, too.

A week ago, I received a phone call while standing in my kitchen making vegetable soup.  It was an unknown number from back east, (you know, a cold call,  a telemarketer, a call I would never pick up).   Quite surprising, even to myself, I answered, and a woman with a thick Indian accent, asked, "Is this the temple?"  I answered, "Um, no.  I'm sorry, this is not the temple."  I hung up, and reverted back to chopping onions, and sauteing garlic.

My mind flashed to earlier in the morning, when I had received yet a different call from back east, that I had not picked up.  Out of curiosity more than anything else, I decided to call it back.

When it was picked up, I said, "I received a phone call from you earlier?"

 Although a woman had initially answered, (a woman who sounded eerily similar to the woman I had just spoken with a few moments prior-temple woman), the phone was quickly handed to a man, with a thick Indian accent who inquired, "Who are you?"

"NO-who are YOU?" I fired back,  feeling protective, and unsure.  Sensing my alarm, he calmly explained that he and his wife were coming from Chicago to the San Francisco Bay Area next week, and had been searching for Hindu Temples.  That is when they found my phone number.

"MY number was listed for a temple?" Hmm, I thought, confused.  "Yes," he said with a deep laugh, "But after hearing your voicemail, we understood that we probably had dialed incorrectly."  (code for when I heard a white woman's voice, I pretty much figured wrong number).

I wished he and his wife safe travels, and we hung up.

Then I did what any paranoid, crazy middle aged woman in my situation would do:  I googled "San Francisco Bay Area Temples" - and lo and behold, that's when I saw it!  A Sunnyvale temple with a very similar phone number to mine...he and his wife had just switched 2 digits, and got a hold of me.

 Instead of like... a Holy person :)

I called my new friend back in Illinois, and explained what happened, and he thanked me very much. Before we hung up this time, I let him know, if he needed anything while out in California, just give me a ring.

Truth be told, for most of the Inauguration week, overwhelming feelings of anxiety and worry had starting creeping into my thought bubble.  But as I stood in my kitchen, chopping celery, I received a message.

 It was simply this:  you ARE the temple.  The light shines in you, and in ALL.

Wow God, I totally did NOT see that coming.  Nice work.  I became calm and more centered.

Later that evening, I posted on the FB Women's March in San Jose, that I felt very proud my daughters and I would be walking with many others that Saturday.  The same artist who is famous for Obama's HOPE poster, had just completed some new artwork.  And in the post, I included 3 pictures of his inspiring, patriotic and symbolic expressions of all races.

And then it happened: in the first few minutes, there were 10 likes, then 100, then over 1,500.  It was exciting, but scary.  The post started getting shared,  I became fearful because I clearly stated that my daughters and I would be marching, and now my name was out.

 I felt like a Mama Bear protecting her cubs.  I certainly hadn't expected this response, but at this point, I couldn't take it off.  All of the reactions were kind, and full of excitement, except one.  A hateful troll said, "This is what you're promoting", and it was a video of a very violent protest.

 Immediately, I removed it, and blocked the troll.

But the paralyzing fear came back, and enveloped me in full force.  I felt like I had no way of protecting my tribe.  Paranoid questions bombarded my mind like teenage girls flocking at a Justin Bieber concert...relentlessly.

What if the March turned violent?  What would my reaction be?  How could I teach the girls to remain peaceful, even if they felt threatened?

I would just like to clarify: I didn't see violence erupting from a Trump supporter or Hilary supporter.  I was caught up in Mama Bear mode.

Then it happened...as my stomach twisted up in knots, and my brow furrowed with worry, my phone rang.

I gazed at an unknown number from the Bay Area, and picked up.

That is when I heard, yet a different Indian woman's voice ask, "Is this the Temple?"

Meekly, I answered, "Um, no.  This is not the Temple, but (sigh), let me give you the correct number."

It was like God was playing Whack a Mole with me.  Michelle didn't quite get the memo the first time with the nice Indian couple from Chicago.  I've got to pull out the big guns and drive it home.

The message was clear this time:  fear not.  I would never put you or the girls in harm's way intentionally.  Seek to understand others.  You are the Temple.  And so are your daughters.  And so is each person you come in contact with.  Spread light and love.

Message received.

And then God did a mic drop :)

The Phoenix

I woke up on Tuesday morning full of excitement, hope, and enthusiasm.  As I embraced each of my daughters that morning, I looked them straight in the eyes, and said with conviction and clarity, "Today is the day!  Today is the day we've been waiting for!  Today, in your lifetime, you will see the first woman be elected President of the United States."  

I believed it to my core.  How could this election go any other way?

And then it did.

 I came to a shocking realization that I live in a bubble: it is a bubble called California.  And I have felt a physical grieving inside of me that I haven't felt since Foxy died.  This pit in my stomach.  A feeling of unease, and utter sadness.  A deep and dark despair, that I live in a country that believes it's okay for the next Commander in Chief to grab a woman by her "pussy".

Memories that lay asleep in me for countless years, out of shame, and guilt, began to bubble to the surface of my being.  A flame, which for decades burned as a flicker, became a raging fire.

Overnight.

Please allow me to be completely transparent.  The time to share this is now.  I trust you with my vulnerability, but it takes some courage.  But I would place a bet that very similar things have happened to you, too, if you're a woman.

And if they haven't happened to you, they have happened to your mother, your daughter, your sister, your cousin, your daughter-in-law, your sister-in-law, your grandmother, your Nana, your Nonnie, your Oma, or your best friend.

Irregardless of race.  Irregardless of  spiritual beliefs.  Irregardless of stature.

Irregardless of who you chose to cast a vote for in the election.

You see, the first time I was "grabbed by the pussy", I was six years old.  This act of molestation only happened once, thank God, but I remember it vividly.  I can picture where I was sitting on the couch, the flowered nightgown that I was wearing, and the fact that I was alone with this person.  And I knew one thing: I did NOT like it one bit!  After he was done, I said, with utter disgust,   "I'm telling on you."  

I felt no shame OR guilt.  I was reeling, and kept asking 'Why did he do that to me?'  Looking back now, it felt like I was a little under aged lawyer who demanded justice.

But things get tricky.  And this was before Mc Gruff, the crime dog.  And well, I'm not sure if justice was ever really served.

The next time I was "grabbed by the pussy",  I was with my college basketball team in Mexico for a tournament.  While I was dancing with a man, he stuck his fingers up inside of me.  INSIDE OF ME!  In public.  With people surrounding us.  He just acted like it was business as usual.

I was shocked and disgusted!  I didn't know how to react except to get the hell away from him as fast as I could.  I was ashamed, and felt dirty.  Even though I had done nothing wrong!  

I never told anyone.  You're the first to hear this.

Another time a guy tried to get handsy with me, I was in college at Chico State.  When I politely refused his advances, he slapped me across the face.  I stood there stunned.

And then I went fucking nuts.  I came at him, fists flying.  He was huge.  A big guy.  My friends had to pull me off, because had he gotten the opportunity, I am fairly certain I would have ended up in the hospital.

But why is it that I have kept these secrets hidden for so long?  Out of shame, guilt?  Why?!  I have done nothing wrong, and yet, as women, we plow ahead like it doesn't affect us.  Well, this person we have elected as our next Leader, IT AFFECTS ME.

What frightens me is what we are becoming.  Saying we hate women is okay.  Grabbing a woman by her pussy is acceptable.

And believe me, I'm just getting started.  I don't have time, nor do you, to hear what I have to say about other issues regarding equality, bigotry, and absolutely no tolerance for racism.

I will just say this: if you are any shade other than white, I love you.  If you are a Muslum/Hindu/Christian/Jew/Atheist, or are just not sure, I love you.  If you have two moms, or two dads, or a mom and a dad, I love you.  If you were born a man, but feel like you may want to be a woman, I love you.

This is what I teach my daughters, and that will never change.

And we will rise like the Phoenix, out of the ashes.  Flash forward four years, and believe me when I say we will RISE.  Three of my five daughters standing by me side by side, as we walk into the voting booth.

Until then, we will promote love.  Because love is always the answer.

Always.

The Boy

There is a boy in the mix now.  Bella met him at Jesus Camp.  He is also a twin,  No I'm not making this up.  Yes, we should have our own TV show.

And so, I got to meet this boy, who shall remain nameless, (because quite honestly, if my OWN kid finds out I'm telling you all of this, she'll KILL me, so I can't throw the boy under the bus too...just my own offspring).

Here is one thing you should know about our family: if you date one Walsh girl, you are basically committing to dating the entire clan, our tribe, yep...all 7 of us.

Case in point: when the boy arrived, and rang the door bell, Cosette dropped her Calico Critter hedgehog family, and came hauling out of her room like a freight train, to unbolt the locked door, while screaming at the top of her lungs, "HE'S HEEEERRRRRE BELLA!!!"

Yeah, we're super low key like that.

As Charlotte and Cosette wrestled each other to be the first to welcome him in, Abby strolled into the living room slowly, protectively, like a predator, to claim her spot on the couch, and simply watch all of this chaos unfold.

Meanwhile, Tom, who had parked himself at the kitchen table pretending to fix something, says to me, "What are we going to do about this kid?" , like it's a Math problem that we need to solve.   And I say, "Um, let him in?  Like, we're not burying bodies, or anything.  At least, not yet.  But if we ever need to do that, I have some excellent hiding places."

 I almost wish I would have had a Go Pro camera attached to my head to record exactly how visibly nervous the boy was, as he politely, but firmly shook my hand.  From the smirk on Abby's face, I observed that his trembling fear, satisfied her completely.

In fact, not long ago, Abby, Bella and the boy went to a movie.  And where do you think Abby sat?  Right smack dab in between the love birds.  Because she's awesome like that.

There have been lots of "firsts" lately.  Like Ms. Emma, who has earned nothing but straight A's her entire life, (yes, she's mine, but I'm not sure how), failing her first Geometry test in High School.  Poor Em.  She was absolutely beside herself.  Bawling, sobbing, shaking from side to side.  I walked into her room, knowing I needed remain calm, and inquired hopefully, "Have you emailed the teacher?"

"Yesss," snort, sniff, long whine, snot, "But" (GASP), "I haven't" (ANOTHER GASP), "heard" (COMING UP FOR AIR),  "back yet." More wailing.  Followed by yet more crying.  Tears and snot combined to make a slimy river, running down her face.

See, here's the thing, when my daughter is losing her shit over a test she just bombed, I am thinking, "Welcome to my world of not straight A's, sister!  Build a bridge, friend.  Put on your big girl panties.  Learn from this."

 I know, I'm a horrible person.  But I'm being honest.  I truly suck in this department.

So I offered, "Great job advocating for yourself," and then slowly, but deliberately removed myself from the Black Hole of Sorrow, and proceeded to pour myself a drink.  Peace out, Girl Scout.

Don't judge.  But instead, join me in my excellent decision making.

Which is exactly what Tom did: joined me on the couch with his drink.  Because this is what couples do at the end of a long day with kids.  We hobble to the couch, talk about our day, while having a drink.  It's like a ritual: similar to working out, eating a balanced diet, getting enough sleep, or making time for prayer and meditation.  Except with alcohol.

But because of Emma's impending whining, we couldn't hear each other.  And this was making us both want another drink.  As if on cue, Abby came wafting into the living room, to inquire why her sister was on another planet.

It was then Tom made a request, "Abby, can you please go handle that?" pointing in the direction of Raging River.  See, what I did just there?  Just like the Native Americans, I named my kid to match her behavior.  Like, I wonder what my Native American name would be...Lady With Big Mouth Too Many Kids.

And so like a first born, who is also a Boss Lady, Abby vanished to go deal with her blotchy faced, red eyed sister, who was convinced her life had taken a turn for the worst.

Tom and I heard Abby's voice rise and fall, like the wind during a storm, but also noticed Emma's crying ceased.  And after about 15 minutes, Abigail confidently rolled into the living room, faced us on the couch triumphantly , hands on her hips, and asked, "Did you even hear what I said in there?!  I KILLED it. And by the way, you're welcome."  She then disappeared into her room to retire for the evening.

Another "first" is that Cosette is now walking home from school with friends.  She even got hit by a car near our house, while crossing Lincoln at the light her first day.  Yep, that ADD is a real thing.

Maybe "hit" is too strong of a verb.  Tapped by a car?  But here's the deal: THE KID NEEDS TO LOOK BOTH WAYS, MAKE EYE CONTACT, AND THEN PROCEED,   I'm relieved she wasn't actually hurt, and glad that it happened the first day.  Lesson learned.   I'm like, SEE?! You can get HIT/TAPPED by a CAR, when you don't LOOK, and aren't paying ATTENTION.  I was RIGHT (about one thing).

I bet by the time Charlotte is old enough to walk home, she'll just hitch hike.  I will be so elderly, and exhausted by that point in my life, I'll just be glad she made it, and ask her to fetch me a Protein replacement shake from the kitchen.

But for now, there is a tribe of 3 Littles that stroll home with me: Charlotte, and two neighborhood sisters, Leslie and Sammy.  I leash the beast, and Bo greets the girls outside the school gate with his kidney bean dance.  As they run, their happiness is clearly tangible. All three Little's snuggle their faces in his mane, and give hugs and kisses. Tell him he's a good boy.

The girls devour their half eaten lunches, while we amble the mile and a half  back towards home.  Leslie, who's backpack is bigger than she is, walks Bo, while keeping him on a short leash, letting him know who's boss.  Along our path, we must stop to look at the chickens through the chain link fence near WGHS.  Sometimes, we talk to them.  We then make yet another stop to pet Kody, my friend's dog.  And while the girls are giving Kody loving pets through the gate, Bo is on the prowl for the cat who resides here, so he can essentially, eat her.  But Leslie's got it under control.

Right next door to Kody's house, we check out a neighbor's rather elaborate fairy garden she has set up in her front yard.  It has multiple bridges, that cross a river, as dragons and fairies look on from where they are perched.

 This is on the daily.

 I feel like parenting this beautiful combination of "being in the moment" with my children, and grieving that the moment has passed by.  It's fleeting.

Like being enchanted with fairies.  Or walking home for the first time from school. Or having your first boyfriend.  Gone.

And I came to this realization: the time that I spend with my daughters creating memories, reminds me of how I felt with my Mom when she and I were blessed enough to spend time together the last two years of her life.

And I don't want it to ever stop. 

I miss my Foxy Mom.  I miss my friend who would listen to me without fear of judgement or shame.  I miss doing her hair and painting her nails.  Most of all, I miss laughing with her.

There are so many times, I just want to call her up, and say, "Oh my gosh Mom, guess what happened today?!  Cozy got hit by a car!  But she's okay Mom!  And Bella is interested in a boy.  But Abby is on Security Patrol with that situation.  Oh and Mom, Charlotte still believes in fairies."

 And it's then I sense her presence...I see you, Michelle.  I'm right here.  Believe me, I wouldn't miss any of this.  And in case I forgot to tell you, I am so proud of you.