Time to build a shed for my eleven year old daughter. Safe, far, but close enough.

At my age, my cycle has ended. And hers has started. My poor husband. The eldest, my no-drama son cleverly predicted he'd be away living harmoniously on a college campus by now. Lucky him. He has no idea...

How, when, where, why, what can I say without being misunderstood or judged. I adore all my kids, my husband. I dreamed of a house full of kids, but my reality played out differently.

I love my living daughter dearly. Especially having lost a child ~ a beautiful, seemingly perfect and healthy girl. Along with a few devastating  miscarriages, and eventually being told by fertility doctors I'd never conceive again naturally - I consider daughter's fruitful life a treasured gift. Her mere existence, an honor to love, guide & support. Stephen Tyler song, written by Dianne Warren comes to mind, "I don't wanna miss a thing". Corny, but I still miss my kids when they are sleeping.

Til this day, I smell them. Touch them. See them. Hear them and taste them, by nibbling.

Don't get me wrong, my daughter is the sweetest, yummiest, ... growing/developing(ed) bundle of joy. But honestly, when that bloody time of month draws near (and we all have arriving date marked in "red" on our calendars to warn us to brace ourselves for the upcoming storm), I fear I'd end up in the news if I'm not wisely centered.

Yet I realize this is all a perfectly natural phenomenon. Through it all, I'm learning patience, compassion, understanding. And to count to ten before I  do or say something that'll have her end up on a therapist chair because of me and my inadequacies. Despite it all, my husband is a perfect balance in the monthly equation, in the midst of those thunderous mother/daughter storms. Eleven or so years ago, no one could have paid me to believe my own child would reveal to me that I can loose my character quickly over something she did/said. Sigh!