It's late, and I should be in bed. It's simply that I don't want to face tomorrow. Today, I had an excuse of being born forty-one years, but tomorrow, I will still need to face the pantry and figure out what's there for everyone to eat. Even at 11 p.m., right now, my daughter fries something in a skillet for her supper; she decries the absence of good food made up for her. I decry her demands. My husband took care of himself, I had popcorn and cake, did anyone take care of Cody? I doubt it; if I don't do it, then he forgets to eat too, just grabs at pretzels. Perhaps I've caused his Asperger Syndrome to flare due to nutrition. I'm sure lots of people would nod at me if they knew that I'm not doing what I should do there. I'm not altogether bad, only half good at this duty. I need to become my mother who just did her service to others without complaint. Sigh. Mundanity is hard. Familyhood isn't woods walking.
Okay. The day hasn't been that bad at all. I received a command to open presents early today, which I did, and now own an item I've wanted for years. We went out to eat lunch at a restaurant, which fills me up and then I don't think of another meal, like the restaurant meal should be enough to hold us all throughout the entire day. It's enough for me, but not for others. Why not?
Church was alright, but I didn't feel any conviction, nothing, except that I was happy for my pretty skirt. I felt like I needed to consult with a minister to make certain I am living faith fully. Yet, pretty new skirt idolatry for now would definitely overrule the appointment. C'mon I'm not Luther at this point in time, just a female in 2005. Surely God understands that at times.
During the service, I was happy to be with my daughter; we laugh and enjoy each other's company so much. What will it be like without her in several years? I shudder to think of that. She's now a sulky teen, yes, but she has always been my light of side joy.
Cody had issues in the children's church and came out with high anxiety about not having friends and looking eight for his age. It's a common perseveration. I worry inwardly for him almost constantly.
And, so the day, the birthday, ends. Tomorrow, I must begin with God holding me still and brushing my hair and hushing these family and self and right-living concerns and letting me know that if there are 41 more years to come, He will be with me. G'd night all.