The Card

My friend Randi mentioned mail as her love language, a point to which I can relate. I love the Christmas season when my mailbox is packed with cards. Just like Randi, I rush out daily to gather the goodies, and Gracie and I admire the cards and photos and read aloud the notes. (The boys don't really care.)

Today I got one that jingled my bells. (Dumb Christmas pun, I know, but I'm trying to stay upbeat. 'Tis the season, after all.)

Buried in the stack of mail today was a card from James' friend whose wife was due a week before me. In February, we four went to dinner and a concert together and she and I compared cravings and complaints over jalepenoed nachos with ooey-gooey cheese. In April, they came to Zachary's funeral and she cried in the bathroom while I made a public spectacle of myself. In August, they brought home a daughter and I dusted a baby-sized urn. In December, they sent a card with a picture of a fat, grinning baby and I want to throw up.

School has made it easy to stay busy and avoid all that should be and isn't. Now that I'm on that winter break, I have alot of time on my hands to sit around and feel pitiful. Woe, woe is me...