Posts about relationships.

“Why didn’t they want me?”

I forget, more often than not, how much of a big deal being adopted is.
A lot of that probably has to do with the fact that I am not adopted, nor have I ever known anyone who was. And while I try to be aware of how that feels for my daughter, I realize I am not hyper aware of it. In fact, I look at our life and I think, this is a good life. Compared to my childhood, you’ve got it made, kid.
There is something they have been saying on Manic Ramblings that has really stuck with me the last few weeks, they call comparing your life situation to someone else’s The Pain Olympics. I have no idea if they coined this phrase or if it’s been around forever and I’ve just never heard of it before, but I frequently think about it when it comes to comparing life situations.
My daughter only knows her own life. She doesn’t know my childhood, she doesn’t know any of the struggles I have endured, she doesn’t know the lives of the kids in foster care wishing they were adopted. She only knows her own life. And her life, recently, has been difficult for her emotionally.
I’m going to interrupt myself briefly to just say HOLY HELL, the last few months have been such a whirlwind. There have been major changes and major events that I haven’t had even the tiniest bit of time to write about here. Frankly, with the exception of everything I was preparing myself to emotionally go through, I was expecting for my life to slow down, get a little easier, and run more smoothly with the halving of my kiddos… That has not been the case. It was like these small areas were cleaned out and a bunch of drama jumped in to fill them up.
A few weeks ago, my youngest daughter and I had a big fight. I am a Taurus. I am a redhead. I am the oldest child. I was a single mother for more than ten years. So to say that I am a stubborn control freak is an understatement. I live and die by it. I do not like not getting my way, I do not like being told no, I do not like losing. I am The Mom, that’s it. End of story. So when my youngest daughter decided that she was going to 100% defy me, well I was just not even having that. And since I am physically not capable of forcing her to do anything, we spent about two hours fighting. And while I am all of the things mentioned above, my daughter is a fiery Latina with a strong sense of wanting to be in charge of making her own choices, something that was denied to her for most of her life. So, needless to say, this argument didn’t go well.
It began with me telling her she was going to spend the day at day camp and we needed to get ready to go now, she refused. Maybe it was the refusal or the defiance afterwards, but it made me dig my heels in. It wasn’t long afterwards that the tears began as she resolutely held on to her absolute refusal to comply. There was a period of ugliness here where she went down the road of threatening to call CPS on me (something I don’t think your everyday parent hears as much as parents of a child who has spent time in foster care do), she’d lie to them she said, tell them I was abusing her so she didn’t have to live with me any more. Why did I even adopt her, she asked. She wishes I had never adopted her, she hates me, she continued. Any seasoned parent has spent time being told they are hated but it doesn’t lessen the blow any. Why didn’t I adopt some other kid so she could stay with her real family.
This is where we got down into the nuts and bolts of it. This is where she really showed me her pain in all it furious glory. Why didn’t her real family want her? What was wrong with her? Why did all of her sisters get adopted together (two sets of two sisters, adopted by two different families) while none of them took her? Why couldn’t we adopt one of her siblings so she wouldn’t be alone. If her mom is off of drugs now, why can’t she go live with her? Surely, they would all be able to understand her better than we could, because they are her blood.
Now I can usually hold it together pretty well, but this just plain broke my heart. And all I could do was hug her and cry. And while I could answer all of those questions, it won’t fix any of her pain. There is no right answer for that. And so we cried and I hugged her and told her I loved her. And completely and totally exhausted from the entire ordeal, I let her stay home and I left for work. Once I had pulled myself together enough to, I called The GingerBeard Man and relayed the details of what had went down. And can I just tell you right now how much I love this man? This man who joined my family and embraced all four of these daughters that he didn’t know, this man who chose to be their father even though he had never for one day been a father… What does he say to me in response having heard all of this?
We can do better.”
It wasn’t the coddling response I admittedly had thought I would get, one where he would tell me I was the best mother who had ever mothered. It was the honest response of someone who loves that little girl. Who saw past the drama, hurt feelings, and charged emotions of the previous few hours and put any defensive notions to rest immediately, deciding instead to focus on the true issue here. The fact that our little girl is hurt and she needs us to help her with that hurt. And we can do better.

When the stars align and come crashing down around you… (or Dating in the City)

I’ve been back on a couple of sites to try and expand my network of available men (i.e. online-dating sites or as I refer to them: online-introduction sites). I met a guy a week ago – let’s call him B – on a popular site. Smart, fun, great job, seemed happy. We agreed to meet for a coffee and set up a meet up not far from my house. I walked down to meet him, he texted to say he would be a tad late due to traffic, but immediately on arriving he told me he spilled something on his shirt and went to a store to get a new one! Which, I thought, was so incredibly adorable! Aside from being adorable, he  had lovely eyes, with a perfect crinkle when he smiled, he was funny! Omg so funny! And we sparked – I felt it instantly, he told me later he felt it too. We ended up walking down to the beach and walked for 2 hours – walking and talking and trading stories and laughing and questioning… it was just amazing.

We sat down on a bench facing the water and then it came…the boom I was waiting on… he recently lost his wife, the mother of his children, the woman he had been with most of his adult life… I asked him how recently… he told me. Five months. Five months after a long illness.

We didn’t get into the details…

We walked more, he told me that he had recently reached out to a friend and told him he was ready… and then, out with me, he told me he realized he wasn’t ready at all.

My heart cracked just a little. I knew he wasn’t ready – I don’t typically date men who haven’t been separated for at least a year, let alone a man who had lost his wife only 5 months before. The crack came for two reasons:

  1. he was lovely, and amazing, and sweet, and kind, and attractive and we had that !spark! which is so rare! And I lost him before I even had a chance to have him…
  2. and because he has had so much to deal with, and I can imagine how lonely he is, has been, as he gone through all he’s gone through.

And for those two reasons I reached out after our amazing date and told him I had a great time, I like him and I hoped that he would reach out when he is ready.

And I went back to my online-introduction websites…

a random list…

I have lost an entire load of laundry in the last week. Does this happen to other parents? It happens occasionally in my home. I think it is because the girls don’t care who’s laundry they have. They just take it and stick it somewhere to keep me from griping at them for not putting their clothes away. A few weeks later, I will stumble across some items I’m missing and upon further digging, discover the entire missing load. In this case, I am very much looking forward to that happening as I am missing two pairs of jeans and I’ve been wearing this pair for three days straight…

The movers came! The movers came! All four thousand, one hundred and fifty pounds of stuff that we moved into the storage room is now packed into wooden crates and on it’s way to Connecticut!

The second I walked out of my bedroom this morning, I started my little mental zen chant I’m ok with the house being messy. I’m ok with the dishes not being done. I’m ok with the table being covered in random stuff. I’m ok with the house being messy. The GingerBeard Man and I discussed this at our anniversary dinner last night. We are accepting the mess around us right now in this time of chaos because trying to tackle it with all the stuff going on is a nearly impossible task, and one that takes the time we want to spend with the two older girls away from us. So for now I am ok with the house being messy.

I found my everyday bra this morning. I thought it was part of the missing laundry. It wasn’t. But I am glad to have it back.

I googled “stress sweating” after being a sweaty mess the last week or so. I couldn’t figure it out. During the whole drive to IKEA this past weekend, I was just dumping sweat. At work, I’m sweaty… even at home. So I finally stopped and asked myself what had changed lately and the only thing I could think of was that I have been super stressed out. Sure enough, The Internet confirms: We have two types of sweat glands: apocrine and eccrine. When we get stressed, the larger apocrine glands – mainly in the armpits and groin – produce sweat. Stressful situations also cause our heart rate to increase, and encourage hormones and adrenaline to flood the body, causing additional sweat from our eccrine glands.

When I told Youngest Daughter yesterday that it was The GingerBeard Man and my anniversary, she asked what we were going to do to celebrate. As he had not told me yet, I said I didn’t know. She excitedly blurted “you should have a water balloon fight!”

I have like four lists right now on my desk. One for all of the things I need to finish at work before I leave in one week for Connecticut. One for all of the things I want to do before I leave regarding home stuff (ha!). One for all of the stuff my oldest daughter needs to do prior to moving. And one for all of the things I want to remember to pack.

Second Oldest Daughter left for Spain yesterday. She sent me a text at 6:30 this morning to tell me she was drinking moscato in Spain. I couldn’t possibly be more jealous.

Chicken Week 2.0

My oldest daughter loves chicken more than any other protein. So when I was making the grocery list for this week, since she is staying with us, I asked her to tell me a bunch of dinners she’d like to have. She chose things like Chicken Caesar Wraps, Chicken Sliders on Hawaiian rolls, Caprese Chicken and Chicken & Mushrooms… This didn’t surprise me or The GingerBeard Man, as these were frequently what she wanted to eat when she still lived at home.
Next week is her last full week here before we hit the road to Connecticut. This morning, I sent her a text and asked her what her dinner preferences were for next week. Her response was “Chicken Week 2.0”.
So I am scrolling through recipes on pinterest and hellofresh, trying to pick the last few chicken meals I will make for this girl before she heads off and has to make all of her meals herself.
When my kids were little and I was a crazy busy single mom, I rarely cooked anything that didn’t come out of the freezer and get popped into the oven. My life revolved around convenience and frankly, I didn’t really know how to cook. It wasn’t until they were neared to their teenage years that I was afforded the luxury of caring about what we ate and learning to cook things that were mostly good for us. It was even later that I realized that they needed to learn those same things and started having them help me in the kitchen and eventually cook meals for the family on their own.
It’s one of the things that I am the most proud of. I have raised children that can cook. And not just dinners that go from the freezer into the oven, but with the use of real, fresh ingredients. And not only can they cook, but they appreciate so much eating food that is good for them. And not good for them too! lol We aren’t the kind of family that ignores the awesomeness that is Famous Amos cookies 😉

Two weeks to Connecticut

Two weeks.
Like.. I can’t even.
My life is all my oldest daughter right now. Packing, moving, hanging out with… Because, in just 14 days, we are hitting the road. And three days later, we will arrive at her new home in Connecticut.
When you are getting started as a parent, you stare into a chubby little baby face and wonder what your children will look like someday… You watch them playing pretend and you wonder what they will decide to do with their lives. And during that especially terrifying teenager time, you hope that they won’t turn into delinquent hellions… and they mostly don’t.
My oldest daughter has passed all of those milestones and will turn twenty this year. Those small wonders about how she will look or what she will decide to do with her life are miles behind me as I look at a beautiful adult who wants to be a teacher. She is grown. And she is moving far away. And I’m gonna cry my eyeballs out.

Five years ago…

Five years ago today, I picked up my youngest daughter from her foster parents. I put the few small boxes of items that belonged to her in my car and strapped her into her booster seat. I put the Pink Panther dvd she had brought with her on the dvd player and drove away with my new daughter. The new daughter I had only met the weekend before and who I knew virtually nothing about.
I’m told that the adoption process is usually drug out more than a week of get to know you time, but her situation was different and it was necessary for her to be placed quickly. Personally, I think it was better for all of us. There was no gradual peeling off of the bandage. It was ripped off and we moved forward.
The day that I picked her up was a Friday. And on the way home I stopped at our local grocery store to pick up that week’s worth of groceries. I wanted to see what kinds of foods she liked and I thought taking her shopping with me would be a great way to do that. Little did I know, she would eat just about anything.
She was so tiny, a scrawny skinny little five year old. I wrapped her in my big knitted sweater and put her in the seat in front of the cart. She asked me if she could scratch out the items on the list as we shopped. She was proud that she could read. I gave her the list and she wrote “food” on it and proceeded to mark off the items as we got them. She called me “Mommy” that day in the store and every day since. She bought cotton candy for her new sisters. And at the end of shopping, when I took the list back from her, she had written “hug me” on it. So I did.
Back then, I was so shocked by the whole process that it didn’t really occur to me how brave this little girl was. How someone who had only spent five tumultuous years on this planet could hold her head up and take the hand of someone she had only just met and accept that person as her mother. Looking back, I am absolutely humbled by her strength and bravery. And so very proud that she is my daughter.

I am always available to answer question about adopting from fostercare. You can email me at

My last Mother’s Day

You know, sometimes you get super excited about a certain day… like your birthday or Mother’s Day and then when the days happens and it’s just another day, you get all bummed out? That used to happen to me a lot. It’s like the curse of being a single mom. Unless someone else steps in and helps your kids do some secret planning or shopping, then they really can’t do more than just be sweethearts. And that is enough of course, but sometimes they forget to be sweethearts altogether and you spend your Mother’s Day cleaning and doing laundry and trying not to kill them and at the end of it, you’re bummed because it was supposed to be a good day.
I’ve had those Mother’s days.. and I’ve had the ones where someone would step in and help the kids out and I would be surprised (or not, because – you know – kids aren’t all that sly, lol)… I’d come home to some cute little flower bouquet and some cards with handprints that were made in school or have the mornings where the kids brought me a practically inedible breakfast in bed. And of course it wasn’t the breakfast that you’d treasure, it was messy haired and beaming with pride little girls standing there while you ate it. Because those girls love you and they are glad you are their mother.
This year was different. I am so freaking hyper aware of all the time I am spending with my daughters right now. Having all four of my girls home on Sunday was more than enough to make everything right with my soul. Seeing their little sleeping faces and just being able to chat and hang out with them was so great. This is the last year that I know I will for sure have all of my daughters under one roof on Mother’s day. Gah. My heart.
I knew that the two older girls were up to something and when I woke up Sunday morning and crept out of my room for coffee, the sign in the photo was hanging in my kitchen. It is so perfect. I love it more than just about anything they’ve ever given me. For both the thought that went into it as well as what it symbolizes. These two are leaving me in the next few months and while I hope someday all of my girls will be close enough to me that we can spend weekends together like we did this weekend, I know it is unlikely. It is more likely that I will see them on Christmas and through facebook and we will catch up on phone calls and through photos. It brings my tears right to the surface.
I know I keep saying it. This is what is supposed to happen. I am so proud of these girls that they are courageously facing the new chapter in their lives. They are excited and happy and I’ve done my job. They are adults. They are leaving and that is exactly what is supposed to happen. They don’t need me and I am so grateful for that, but it is also kicking my ass a little. The closer we get to the end of June, when my oldest daughter and I make the trek to Connecticut, the more I feel my chest tighten at the thought. I’m going to miss her so much. I’m going to miss them both so much more than I even have words to express.

five years later…


I gave up making much of an effort on dating years ago.  It was a personal choice for numerous personal reasons in which I will probably touch on story by story as this blog progresses, but for the purposes of this story, the most prevalent reason is self-preservation, and we can leave it at that.

Now, let’s rewind my life back five years…

I was still in the part of my life where the only thing that was constant was change.   I had moved for my third time within three years, switched jobs, and then switched jobs again. And again. (I was doing contract work, so it wasn’t so much job hopping as projects were beginning and ending.)  I was finally in the last apartment I would ever live in before I bought my house and I had finally gotten hired at the job I was planning on keeping for the long haul in the position that was my college goal, so life was kind of working out for me for a minute.  I was settled into my new city pretty well, I had a steady job, life was not a drama-filled circus, so I convinced myself I was ready to try dating.  Again. Seriously this time.

I’m going to be honest with you all–because we’re all friends here and that’s how I am with my friends.  Dating is a self-fulfilling prophecy for me.  I’m pessimistic about it most of the time which is why I don’t really do it.  It’s not fun for me.  Maybe I’m just not as thick skinned as other women, or maybe I’m just not as much of a fighter as other women, but whatever it is that gives people the drive to continuously pursue finding love, I don’t have it for myself.  I have it for other people though…when they want love, I want love for them too.  And when they find it, my heart soars through the atmosphere leaving trails of rainbow sparkles behind… and when they are denied of it, my heart deflates for them, sulking in a downtrodden lopsided heap, wiping away tears of unfairness.

That being said, no matter how hardened and walled off I have become about finding love for myself, I see it in everyone else everywhere and that gives me hope.  It does work out sometimes.  When it does, I’m telling you what–it is powerful and amazing and beautiful.

And I miss it.

Which is where I was when I tried dating again five years ago.  I meticulously typed out my profile and searched through my cutest digital pics and made adorable little flirty jokes and absorbed the writings and texts of some pretty quality guys.  At least four out of six of them that I was interested in meeting even turned out to be quality guys.  Here was the quick and dirty run down:

One I stopped speaking to immediately after we had a text fight about something ridiculous–I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember it was really dumb and I knew he was too immature for me before we even met. The other five I met.

One of them I had a lunch date with and I really liked a lot, but he didn’t act like he was very interested in me even though he was super nice and pretty dang cute too.  He was one of those guys who would text you every five days or so and just when you thought he had disappeared, a text would come from out of the blue from him.  I think he had other stuff going on.  So I just abandoned the situation.

One I went out to “dinner” with, although he forbid me to order food, he insisted I drank, he proclaimed he had wolfed down some Chef Boyardee before he met me at the restaurant, and then slammed his fist down and proclaimed that his wife run off on him and the kids with his best friend and that he didn’t have his kids full time because he couldn’t handle them, so his parents did.  Okay sweetie–you don’t need to be dating, you need a therapist.

One I met was at a park where we walked and talked and he was nice, but just not my type at all.   Another I met for Mexican.  He had substance.  He was super nice.  We got along great.  He was cute and kind. His kids were grown and he held two jobs–one was a business he was still growing. If he ever called me again, I would date him, but he left it in my court.   I didn’t get back to him.

One was a teacher, and he was also sweet and cute and kind.  He had a son who was a little younger than my son.  My daughter liked him.  He was attentive, but not overly so.  He made an effort.  He wanted to see me.  I liked him.  So we dated a little more seriously for about a month or two.  Maybe a little less.  I started to lose interest for a few reasons, none of which I will write about, but I ended up breaking things off–indirectly and we just ended up drifting apart on our own. We were not meant to be. I hope he found someone nice.  I don’t have any regrets.  Breaking things off was not a mistake.

Also right around the time that I decided I was going to start dating was when my son’s father started to interject himself into our lives where he had previously been welcome, but had never taken advantage of the opportunity.  Weird.  Random.  What the…?

I soon found out the only reason he decided to re-evaluate his fatherly role was because his current girlfriend wanted a baby and he did not want to “start over and have another baby”.  I don’t remember his words exactly, but he told me he told her something similar to, “I don’t want a baby, but since you want a kid, I have a kid we could raise…”  I remember his words trailing off as if he had just realized the incredibly stupid words he had just uttered to me. Which for some crazy reason he thought in his head that I’d be totally on board with, but then all the sudden, it dawned on him, that I would not be.  He also explained that he wanted to get full custody of my son and take him away to Australia.

I believe my exact words were “Over my dead body.”

With that, all of my energy focused from dating to defending the stable life I had established for myself and my kids.  That was the last time I seriously dated anyone.   My son’s father gave up quickly and went away for awhile. He briefly reappeared after he and his girlfriend had some kind of spat, and then eventually he disappeared forever.  I’m 99% sure he and his girlfriend are married now, which means I am 99% free of every having to talk to him ever again.  Ours was a very passionate, but extremely toxic relationship, and getting over him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  I never want to let myself get that attached to someone so unworthy of me ever again.

Which catches us up to present day.  I own my own house now.  I’ve been at that job I had just started for almost six years.  My kids live in a stable and happy environment and we have a good relationship with each other.  I still don’t actively date, but I think about it.  A few weeks ago I had been thinking about it a lot, so I decided to do something only semi-crazy, and I re-contacted the guy that I had met for Mexican food.

No, I’m not kidding.  I know, it sounds certifiable, but I randomly texted a dude I went out with once five years ago to say hi.  What?  No really, what?

Here’s “what”: I remembered him fondly.  I remembered that I really wanted to get to know him better and I felt I was unfair to him and that he just kind of fell by the wayside when the other guy came along and that I always felt like I had let him drift away.  I always wondered what happened to him and that is not like me.  I couldn’t shake the “What if” and the “Maybes” of the situation.

So maybe it was a little crazy, but I still had his number in my phone.  Sometimes life gives you all the signs you should do something–then it’s up to you–take action or don’t.    I know it’s ridiculous, but I followed my instincts.  I felt compelled.

“Hi B, this is a completely random out of the blue text, but I just wanted to see if you remembered me.  This is The Social Chick and we once went to a little Mexican restaurant…”

He texted me back right away.

“Hi Social Chick.  I do believe I do.  How are you?”

I’m great.


I’m great.

Not that bored

It’s a pretty frequent occurrence that The GingerBeard Man will ask me what I want to do with our evening and I’ll say “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” And he’ll say he doesn’t know and that is how you end up watching Netflix every night, folks. Now keep in mind, by the time we have this conversation, we have maybe an hour or an hour and a half until it’s time to go to sleep. We aren’t talking about wasting an entire Saturday. I mean, unless House of Cards has just come out with a new season.
Anyway, I noticed that we were repeating this trend fairly regularly and I decided to try and be proactive. I had this Great Idea! I’d scour the internet for all the great couple activities that we could do together. And the next time he asked me what I wanted to do, I would reach under the bed and pull out the Magical Amazon Box full of Fun Things and man oh man, would I ever be the impressive wife.
So a few hours of the dating divas website, some amazon browsing and a few buzzfeed lists later and I had five things in my cart – all with super great reviews and I was ready to show my husband exactly how cool I was. In fact, despite that we both had plans on Friday and Saturday, I was almost too excited to wait for him to ask me what we should do. But that happened on its own Sunday afternoon.
I reach under the bed and pull out The Big Box of Fun, ready for The GingerBeard Man to be all in awe of my awesomeness.
Spoiler: it didn’t really go down that way.
The look on his face was a little more of a look of fear. Like oh my god – what is going on? But I was fueled by my research. The reviews, they were so good. Surely so many amazon people couldn’t be wrong. Surely! So I just ignored his skepticism and pushed on. I think it was right about that time that he realized I had put a lot of work into this and decided to give it a solid shot. I told him to just pick something, anything, out of the box. I was that confident that everything was great.
And so he dove straight in and chose, what I considered to be the scariest of the items in the box: The Couple’s Kindle Cards. Suddenly I wondered how those even got into my basket. Surely I didn’t choose something so cheesy. But no, I read all the reviews ever. So if I bought them, they had to have been awesome. I wasn’t about to doubt myself. I had this. I tore that plastic wrapping off and opened the box. Nestled inside were 52 large cards and an instruction manual. I flipped to the instruction page and began reading aloud.
The gist of it was to choose one card a week, find the coordinating card description in the instruction booklet and then carry out that card. Bonus points if you journal about it together afterwards. Oh shit. Now listen, oh makers of the Couple’s Kindle Cards, it’s not that I don’t think journaling with my husband might be cool. In fact, one of the five items in the Big Box of Fun is this cool two person journal. It’s just that telling us to keep a shared journal about the experiences we were about to start sharing together… it just oooged me out. But! We had come this far. So I set aside my reservations about journaling and had The GingerBeard Man draw a card. He drew Volunteering.
Hmmm ok. Not exactly what I was hoping for. So I skip to the end of the Instruction booklet, under V, to read about the mission for the week. Basically, go out and volunteer together. Come back afterwards and journal about the experience. My kneejerk reaction is when the hell are we going to have time to do that? We are both only home for a few hours a night and we spend those hours feeding the kids, cleaning up, discussing school or activities or whatever with them and then eventually heading to our room to spend a very short amount of time with one another before going the heck to sleep because we are super tired. And I am totally not knocking volunteering! Please don’t think I am. I think people should volunteer and help other people out, I just don’t think it is something we can do with less than a week’s notice to set it up and accomplish. And what I was really looking for was like a 30 minute activity that I could do with my husband.
So now we are sitting there looking at each other. He is trying super hard to be on board and I’m trying super hard to gauge how invested he is in this because I’m itching to bail. After a few minutes of discussion we decide maybe we don’t need the cards and instead we would choose something else. I choose the Love letter Game: Hobbit Edition. Now, to preface this: this game has FIVE STARS. FIVE. Which, if you aren’t familiar with amazon, that’s ALL OF THEM. All the stars. I cannot, for the life of my fathom how this game has five stars because it was so truly awful. Like it made me believe that in about thirty minutes, I too could design a game and sell it on the internet and make all the money because it must be SO easy to do. We gave the game the benefit of the doubt, but truly it was so horrible that three rounds in I caved. It was so bad.
Thankfully we decided that we actually are not bored. Would it kill us to maybe grab a few new board games to try out? Nah… in fact, it turns out that The GingerBeard Man has a whole list that he wants to order. So I think we will start there and return all of the other stuff.

Talk to you later.

April 11, 2016

“You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too, dearest.”

“I don’t enjoy everything that comes with the job.
I want more time with you.
I just can’t stand to say goodbye anymore.”

“Then don’t. Don’t say goodbye
Tell me I’ll talk to you later. Not goodbye.
I will always be here, we will always see each other again.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you too, dearest.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Yes. We will.

The countdown begins.
April 2016 – June 2016
First Underway