Tuesday, November 19, 2019

I Just Pray That God is Pleased with My Books; If So, Then So Am I

I received an email recently that I've been expecting, but it kind of broke my heart a little bit nonetheless.  The publisher of my two novels, Cheryl Dickow at Bezalel Books, informed me that Erin's Ring had only sold 9 copies this past year (and it has hardly been a bestseller at any time since its publication in 2014), and therefore she could no longer afford to make it available for distribution.  I know it broke her heart a little, too, because she'd had such high hopes for this book.  She pictured it being used in Catholic school classrooms and homeschool programs, as a part of the history, reading, or religion curriculum.  But despite the fact that it received two Book Awards from the Catholic Press Association in 2015, my sweet little historical novel filled with endearing Irish immigrant characters just couldn't find its audience.  What this means for Erin's Ring is that once they run out of the stock they have on hand, Amazon and other booksellers will no longer have new copies of the paperback available on their sites--although they offer used copies for sale from other sellers, in varying conditions at varying prices.



A year or two ago, Cheryl had to drop my first novel, Finding Grace (published in 2012), from distribution for the same reason.  The good thing about this book, however, is that unlike Erin's Ring it is also available in the Kindle format.  But otherwise, henceforth only used paperback copies will be found on the Amazon site.


RIP, my babies!

And RIP, writing career.

Okay, that is just extremely dramatic!  And seriously, how can I be sad about the way things turned out when I had the opportunity to do what I love--to write fictional stories that showcase the beauty and truth of the Catholic Faith, of married love, of strong family bonds, and of openness to life--and not only that, to fulfill a girlhood dream of being a published author?  I always thought that was an unreachable goal for me, and it happened.  How blessed am I?  My husband used to joke--years before I ever got around to starting work on Finding Grace, after decades of being a SAHM--that I would one day write a blockbuster book that made me a millionaire, and he could retire early and be supported by my earnings in old age.  Ha!  He's 61 and 1/2 now, and mandatory retirement in his line of work is 65.  So with this latest email from my publisher, I would say that his dream will not be coming true!

God has a plan for all of us; and even though I question Him sometimes, I know this to be true and I trust that He knows what I need to get to Heaven a lot better than I do.  If my books were meant to sell like hotcakes, they would have.  (I've told this story before here at the blog, and if you are a longtime follower, forgive me for the repetition: my husband, who makes me laugh every day, would always say, "But they're selling like lukewarm cakes.")

Early on, I was somewhat involved in the world of Catholic authorship.  My husband and I attended a Catholic Writers Guild/Catholic Marketing Network conference in NJ in August of 2013, and Finding Grace was a finalist for a Catholic Arts and Letters Award that year.



I even stepped way (way,WAY) outside of my comfort zone at that conference and did a short interview with EWTN when they stopped by the CWG booth!


Wow, looking at these photos for the first time in years, it seems like a whole lifetime ago.  And truly, it was.  Not too long after this conference, we had a whirlwind 11-month stretch during which three of our sons got married.  And in the summer of 2013, I only had three young grandchildren; but before long, our sons' families would start to multiply at breakneck speed, and this Grammy's life would become more and more about traveling afar to see them and less and less about traveling afar to do author-type things.

But I would not trade the full and busy family life I have now, with all five sons happily married and at last count, 16 grandchildren--all of whom live within an hour of their Papa and me!--for all the tea in china (or all the 5-star reviews and massive book sales in the world).

So I am not a bestselling author.  But I am an author.  And what's most important of all to me is that I believe God is pleased that I used whatever talents He gave me to give glory to Him--or at least I hope and pray He is pleased.  The fact that these two books didn't succeed in the eyes of the world is not the measure of their worth.  Even as I sit here, feeling a bit down about the fact that my books will not be as easily available to the young souls who might be inspired and edified by their messages (which are in direct opposition to the messages with which they are being bombarded by our increasingly secular-humanistic world), I realize that they were published for a reason, and if just one reader was meant to find them, he or she will (or has).

Luckily, I will still be able to order author copies of my books for myself, to give as gifts or to sell here at the blog.  These author copies are considerably more expensive than they used to be, so I can't offer the same lower prices that Amazon could, or that I used to.  But if you're interested in either book, there are yellow "Buy Now" buttons on the sidebar at the right on my home page under the images of the book covers.  If you click on one of those buttons, you will get to a PayPal page and can make your purchase there.

I am offering signed copies of my books here at String of Pearls, for the following prices (which include shipping and handling):
Erin's Ring: $12.00
Finding Grace: $17.00

I'm thinking that maybe with the holidays approaching, I'll run a little blog book giveaway.  What do you think?  I could offer one of the novels...or I could offer a copy of My Little ABC Book (a labor of love for my family which was never expected to be a commercially successful project!).


Which of these three books should be the giveaway item?  If you have any preferences, let me know in the comments.

I don't know if I'll ever write another book...but I'm glad I'll always have this little space on the Internet to come to when the writing bug hits.  God bless you for stopping by!

Saturday, November 16, 2019

Hola, Hermosa!

Remember this post that I wrote back in May, in which I told the story about how our third- and fourth-born sons and their wives announced that grandchildren #15 and #16 were on the way?  (They did so in hilarious fashion--it's a fun post, if you haven't read it yet and you'd like to take a minute to do so.)

Anyway, #15, a sweet granddaughter, came in October, and I wrote about that new little one here, in a post titled "Hola, Hermanita!"  She got a Spanish blog handle because her mama is of Spanish descent.  Well #16, another precious granddaughter (bringing the String of Pearls total to 9 granddaughters, 7 grandsons, so far), is part Hispanic as well.  Her mama is half Cuban.  So this new little Pearl gem is going to be known here at the blog as "Hermosa."  She joins brother G-Man (5), sister Princesa (3), and sister Rosita (2).

On Nov. 9, the Saturday before Hermosa arrived, my daughter-in-law Preciosa was 39 weeks along and feeling as if she could go at any time (she'd been five days early with her first three babies).  My hubby was on a trip, so I asked if they'd like me to come and help out for the day, and said if they wanted I could even stay overnight just in case things got going.  We live about 35 minutes away, and I probably would have made it in time if I'd gotten the middle-of-the-night call; but I was alone anyway, so I thought, why don't I just come for a sleepover?  Preciosa's mom was en route, driving all the way up from FL to help out with the three older kids when her daughter was in the hospital having the baby.  But she was not due to arrive until Sunday--so my boy and his better half were all for the idea of me staying the night.

The baby did not come on Saturday.  But I got to have movie night on the couch ("The Grinch," a new animated version), in jammies with popcorn, with my adorable grandchildren.  So it was a win for me.

It had previously been decided that if Preciosa didn't go into labor on her own over the weekend, she would be admitted to the hospital on Monday morning and labor would be induced, so this is what eventually happened.  I had been relieved of childcare duty on Sunday, after Preciosa's mom arrived.  But on Monday afternoon, I took over for her so that she could be there while her daughter was in labor.  As it turned out, she was also there in the room when the baby was delivered and this was a thrill for her, as it was the first time she'd been present.  (She'd been at the hospital when each of her older three grandchildren had been born, and had met them shortly after their births.)  My husband joined me for babysitting duty at about dinnertime, and after we'd gotten the kids to bed we waited together for the news, which came at about 7:30 p.m.

We received some pictures of our precious new baby girl via text.  What a wide-eyed little beauty!



We headed back home Monday night, because my husband had a work trip scheduled the next day.  But I was able to go over to the hospital and meet this newest addition to our ever-growing family the evening following her birth.


I have to say that I thought she was the most beautiful one-day-old baby I'd ever seen.  Well, at least since last month, when I saw one-day-old Hermanita.  And actually, since the times I've seen every single one of our 16 grandchildren at a day old.  (That's not me being biased, that is just objective truth!  We have the most beautiful grandchildren on the planet!)

Yes, son #3 and his wife have certainly got their hands full these days...but their hands are not as full as their HEARTS!




And this Grammy's heart is pretty full as well.

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Reflections on "Theology of Home" (#1)

Not too long ago, I spent the day taking care of my middle son's three little ones (G-Man-5, Princesa-3, and Rosita-almost 2), while my daughter-in-law Preciosa showed some houses to a prospective real estate client.  I don't ever expect any sort of official "thank you" for helping out in this way, because the very reason my husband and I moved down to VA just over two and 1/2 years ago was so that we could see our four oldest married sons and their families--who by some miracle had all migrated to and settled in the same area of the country!--on a regular basis and offer support and help when needed.  But Preciosa gave me the most thoughtful gift after my day with her darling offspring: a copy of Theology of Home, a beautiful book with the subtitle "Finding the Eternal in the Everyday."



To say that I love this book is putting it mildly.  I started to read it a few days ago and decided that I'd like to devote a series of blog posts to it (thus the addition of the "#1" in the title of this post!).  This eye-pleasing hardcover coffee table book deals with a subject that is near and dear to my heart: HOMEMAKING, in the truest sense of the word.  Being a homemaker is a vocation I take very seriously; after marriage and motherhood, I feel it is the most important work I do in my life here on earth.  As the "heart of the home" (a title that I believe belongs to all mothers, everywhere, whether they work inside or outside the home), I long to create a sanctuary for my family.  Because as authors Carrie Gress, Noelle Mering, and Megan Schrieber say in the introduction to Theology of Home, "Home is that place where we are meant to be safe, nurtured, known for who we are, and able to live and love freely."

"Ironically," the authors also say, "despite the innate human desire that there is for home, the notion that someone would actually want to make a home, providing a place of safety, love, order, education, and hospitality, has fallen out of favor.  Could there be, in the minds of millions of women today, anything worse than being a 'homemaker'?  The pendulum, however, seems to be swinging back toward home even if the homemaker title is still unpopular."

Personally, I don't care if the term is unpopular.  I am actually proud to call myself a wife, a mother, and a homemaker.  (Homemaker is a title that much more accurately describes the role of a woman who works primarily inside the home than the term "housewife," which really must be unpopular these days!)


My husband and I will celebrate our 39th wedding anniversary this December.  We are more financially capable of home improvements now than we were in the early years of our marriage. To say that we didn't always have the means to have the newest and the best of everything, when it came to the homes we lived in and the kind of furnishings and finishes found within them, is an understatement.  Back when our boys were little, our priorities were keeping them healthy and well-fed and paying their Catholic school tuitions; home improvements were usually put on the back burner until we could afford them.  So my home might not have always been ready for its HGTV close-up; but even during those times when we were on a shoestring budget, I always tried to make it as warm and cozy and comfortable as it could possibly be. I also wanted it to be pretty--a kind of foretaste of Heaven, a dwelling place that might ultimately help to steer the beloved members of my family to the Father's House, their eternal home.



Luckily, my husband learned over the years to be an outstanding handyman, tackling every sort of building, plumbing, and electrical project imaginable, and I have always been game for wall painting, picture hanging, and furniture refinishing.  We did our best to make every home we lived in feel uniquely "ours," even if it was just a rental.  We started out in a small apartment in Corpus Christi, TX; next, we moved into Navy base housing in Beeville, TX, and at the end of our time there, we became parents when we welcomed our first son; from there, we moved to Jacksonville, FL, where we bought our first home, a ranch-style house, and welcomed three more little boys; after my husband switched careers from Naval to commercial airline pilot, we lived for less than two years in a 1,100 sq ft house in the Chicago suburbs; next we moved to a rental home in Dover, NH; and after just a year there, we bought our "forever" home in that same town, a big Colonial on a quiet, wooded cul-de-sac street, where we lived for 26 years, welcomed a fifth baby boy, and raised our family.  In every one of those settings, I was a SAHM and homemaker, working tirelessly to make my family feel safe, comfortable, and happy within the walls of our home.

Eventually, when our boys grew up, moved out, and moved away, the NH house didn't make as much sense anymore.  We were constantly on the road, traveling to visit them and their growing families.  So we made the somewhat painful decision to sell that house (the one into which we'd poured so much sweat equity over the years, the one we thought we'd never leave), and we moved south to be near all of them.  I wasn't sure if our new, smaller house--located on a postage stamp-sized lot, in a cookie-cutter VA neighborhood--would ever truly feel like home.  But not quite three years in, I can happily say that this new house is indeed our HOME now.  A house is not a home if your people are never in it--and ours sure spend a lot of time in this one!


My husband is busy working on a project that will really make this new house work even better for our ever-growing brood of grandchildren (15 and counting!!), who come to visit here often.  He is currently finishing off the basement, so that we will have a huge, kid-safe play area (as well as another guest bedroom and bath).


I help him any way I can, but let's be honest--he does most of the work!  However, I am always busy myself at the task of homemaking, looking for ways to make this VA house of ours attractive, welcoming, and grandchild-friendly.


I love this G.K. Chesterton quote in Theology of Home: "There are two ways of getting home.  One of them is to stay there.  The other is to walk around the whole world till we come back to the same place."  Which one are you?  The homebody who never wants to leave, like me?  Or the world traveler who loves change and adventure, but breathes a sigh of relief when you finally return and walk through the door of your own house?

Discuss amongst yourselves!  I'll just be in my living room, staring at those canvas images of my grandchildren there on the wall...sighing with contentment because I'm home sweet home.

Monday, November 4, 2019

Sewing, and Thinking of My Mother-in-Law

I meant to write a blog post about my mother-in-law on Nov. 1, her birthday, but family events down here in VA kept me busy and the date got away from me.  We had a tornado watch on Halloween, so trick-or-treating was postponed until the next day.  And after all the excitement was over, I was too tired to blog...but here I am, a day late and a dollar short, as I usually am these days.

Mom would have been 87 this year.  I can't believe she's been gone 10 years already!  I still miss her and I always will.  I don't think it was an accident that she was born on All Saints Day: never was there a woman more devoted to Our Lord and Our Blessed Mother; never was there a woman who said more Rosaries and novenas for her loved ones.  (She was a daily communicant whenever she was in a season of her life where this was possible, and never was there a woman who would be more thrilled by the fact that her birthday is a holy day of obligation, a day on which all of the children she raised in the Faith would be sure to get to Mass!)

I met this amazing woman--daughter of an Irish immigrant father who died when she was 10, sister to one older brother, and mother to eight children (four boys, four girls)--when I was 15 and started to date her oldest son.  From that very first meeting, I just adored her.  She had that gift of making you feel loved and important, without making too much of a fuss doing it.  She was the best mother-in-law a girl could ever ask for--my role model now that my boys are married; she never judged or interfered, just accepted and supported.

Mom had the soprano voice of an angel--she could seriously have been a professional singer, but she shared her gifts in the church choir instead.  She was a breathtaking beauty, but the least vain person I ever knew.  She was a lover of all things beautiful for the home: china, crystal, Hummels and other figurines, Nativity scenes and Christmas decorations in general, and last but certainly not least, FABRIC.  Mom considered all of these things true works of art and could hardly resist them (particularly if she found them in the aisle marked "clearance sale").  Her attic was filled to the rafters with boxes and bins of every kind of fabric you could imagine, along with laces, ribbons, and all sorts of other sewing notions.  It was like JoAnn Fabrics up there, truly.

In 1997, my in-laws' house caught fire (caused by outdated, faulty electrical wiring) while they were away visiting some of their children.  Fortunately, their home was not completely lost.  But due to the smoke and water damage, the interior had to be mostly gutted and rebuilt.  After the fire, the attic had to be cleared out and the fabric collection assessed, and some of it was too damaged so it was thrown out.  But a remarkably large amount of mom's precious materials (which I'm sure she had many plans for using in the future) were saved and put back up in the attic.

So these days, whenever I need some material for a sewing project, I "go shopping" up there first.  That's where I found the piles of exquisite white linen-and-lace pillow shams that I used to make my grandkids' christening gowns.  And at the end of the summer (which we'd spent living in my husband's childhood home in Upstate NY, while taking care of our nearby Oyster Haven VRBO house), I took a trip to the attic and brought home some plaids for myself and my daughter-in-law Regina, who wanted to make a Christmas stocking for her little boy.  She had already made them for her four daughters, using plaid material from Mom's attic; but she'd run out and asked if I could look for more.

My grandson, Topper, recently turned one.  His mom, my daughter-in-law Ginger, is a huge fan of vintage-style clothes for her three little boys, and I knew she'd appreciate a new Jon Jon romper as a birthday gift for him.  Well, it just so happened that I had some perfect pieces of material from Mom's attic to make some garments for the upcoming holidays: a hunter green velveteen that I'd found a few years ago, and those lovely plaids I'd unearthed this past summer.  So I decided to make two rompers!


I like to put "made by" tags in the garments I sew for the grandkids, in case they get handed down to a new generation someday.  Topper's two older brothers call me "Ree Ree" instead of Grammy, so that's what I put on the tags for these two Jon Jons.

I could hardly wait to see how these rompers would look on my adorable grandson, who has the most heart-melting smile and edible chunky thighs.


All I can say is that I think my dear mother-in-law would approve of how her stash of fabric is being put to use.  Yes, I think she would very much approve indeed!  And I hope these pictures of her great-grandson wearing rompers made out of some of the pieces she lovingly chose from the clearance racks at JoAnn's are making her smile.

Miss you, Mom!  And when I grow up, I want to be just like you...because I believe you were born on All Saints Day for a reason.

Thursday, October 31, 2019

Hola, Hermanita!

I just got back home yesterday, after spending five days staying at the house of son #4 and his wife, Braveheart.  I went over there because they were due to welcome baby #4 any minute and needed Grammy on deck, ready to watch their 2-year-old triplets (identical twin boys Pumpkin and Peanut, and their sister, Paquita) when it was time to go to the hospital.

The first time around, Braveheart had had a C-section at 32 weeks.  She was told that therefore, even though this was her second pregnancy, her body might behave as if it was her first labor and  delivery--so it might be tough and take a while.  But of course we were all hoping that this would not be so.

Braveheart started having contractions on Friday, and who knew how quickly things would progress?  (Not as quickly as she and my son would have liked, as it turned out; not by a long shot!)  Just in case she was going to have a quick labor and delivery, I decided to pack an overnight bag and drive over that day to stay with them--even though we only live 35 minutes away and I probably could have made it in time if I'd been called last minute.  I figured that I could give my daughter-in-law a bit of a break and help out with the three munchkins until the baby came. (My husband was out of town but would join me when he could.)
I flew solo most of the time; but Papa came on Sunday in time for dinner,
 and he was able to be there for part of the day Monday, before leaving again
for work on Tuesday morning.

Braveheart labored all through the night Friday and into Saturday, but still wasn't sure if it was time or not.  By late Saturday afternoon, the contractions were getting extremely painful (and although they were not coming regularly, when they did come, they lasted an agonizing three minutes each!).  The kids decided to head to the hospital, hoping that it was go time.  After more than four hours of observation, however, they were sent back home.  Braveheart was only one centimeter dilated and they said she really wasn't in active labor yet.

Then just a few hours later, at about 11:00 at night, my son woke me up to tell me that he was putting the triplets' baby monitor in the guestroom (soon to be nursery) where I was sleeping, and that they were heading back to the hospital.  My poor daughter-in-law was just in so much unrelenting pain.

This time, thankfully, she was admitted, and before long she was progressing nicely.  She had her water broken and received an epidural, and she was finally able to get some relief from the pain.  But her labor was long and difficult.  Her contractions were irregular and lasted much longer than normal.  At one point, it looked like she might have to have another C-section, and our son posted a prayer request on our family text stream.  The prayers worked: shortly afterward, she was fully dilated and ready to push.  Unfortunately,  though, she had to push for an exhausting three and a half hours.  Finally, just before midnight on Sunday October 27, she delivered a beautiful, healthy baby girl with a head of thick black hair.  At 8 lbs. 11.05 oz. and 22.05 in., she weighed more than twice as much as her largest triplet sibling at birth!

On Tuesday, this sweet baby girl (who shall heretofore be known here at the blog as Hermanita--which in Spanish means "little sister") came home.  Her brothers were largely unimpressed and uninterested in her, although they came over to check her out and smiled at her.




Her big sister, on the other hand, had a totally different reaction.

At first, Paquita was confused and jealous and couldn't stop crying.  But those emotions soon evaporated and were replaced by a wave of fierce maternal love and protectiveness.  (Who says girls and boys aren't wired differently?  That little girl, hardly more than a baby herself, had an instinctive desire to nurture that baby!)  She wanted to hold HER baby constantly, to kiss her and hug her.  She kept putting her chubby little finger to her mouth and saying "Shhh" to the rest of us as she held her baby sister.





We were joking that Paquita might love the baby almost too much, if that's possible.  She's rather possessive and it's very hard to get Hermanita out of her arms--she puts up quite a fuss when that happens.  So Mom and Dad are going to have some challenges as their little family transitions from three to four children and everyone gets used to their new routines and their new normal.

I took some selfies with my precious new granddaughter soon after she came home.

When I saw the above photo it reminded me a little bit of a snapshot my husband took of me and our firstborn son shortly after we got home from the hospital, way back in October 1983.   The way I was positioned and holding the newborn infants in these pictures taken 36 years apart looked so similar, not to mention the expression of pure happiness on my face (and tiredness, too: in the old one, caused by childbirth...in the new one, by childcare!).
Did you notice the small, extremely old-fashioned TV photo-bombing us in this picture?

I still wear ginormous glasses (wait long enough and everything comes back in style!).  I still wear my hair long (but it's thinner and grayer these days).   When it comes to my fashion sense, very little has changed.  But oh, in almost every other way my life is so different now!  That inexperienced young mom was on cloud nine after the birth of her first baby boy.  But she could never have imagined how much richer and fuller (how could that be possible?!) her life would be one day: how four more sons would follow this one; how all five of them would get married and bring her daughters; and how, just when she started to mourn the loss of her babies, she would get so many new ones to love.

I'm telling you: one day you're a 25-year-old first-time mother...and before you know it, you're a 61-year-old grandmother of 15.

And this grandmother is still recovering from five days of wrangling three very busy, very chunky toddlers. I've been catching up on my sleep and I believe a nap is on my to-do list today.  After all, grandchild #16 is due any time now, and I'm going to be on call to watch her three older siblings when her parents leave for the hospital, at least until their other grandmother arrives to take over...so I better be rested up!

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Last Dance

I'm finally getting around to blogging about the recent wedding of our youngest son.  (I've gotten two posts up so far, here and here.)  I still need to write a post about the amazing reception they had, which was totally orchestrated by the bride's hard-working and talented mother (who should probably start a wedding planning business, because she's got a real knack for it!).  But before I do, I wanted to talk about a traditional event during the festivities that has always held a special place in my heart: the mother-son dance.

On Sept. 7, I had my last dance as the mother of the groom, a part I first played in 2009 when my oldest son got married.  I got to do it again in 2013, and then TWICE in 2014.  (We had three boys get married in an 11-month span, between Dec. of 2013 and Nov. of 2014!  Can you say "whirlwind"?)

Sometimes I feel a little guilty that I have been able to enjoy this ineffably sweet wedding tradition five times, while my husband has never had the similar experience of dancing with a beloved daughter as father of the bride.  We are the parents of all boys, however, so that just wasn't in the cards for him.

For his mother-son dance, our firstborn picked a sweet country tune by Garth Brooks called "Your Song."  Some of the lines in it are incredibly poignant, and so perfect for the occasion.  Here are a few of the best ones:

And if ever there was somebody
Who made me believe in me
It was you, it was you...

It was your song that made me sing
It was your voice that gave me wings...

And anytime I doubt myself I think of you...

When the next three boys got married, they all chose the same Back Street Boys song that they knew their mom just loved, "The Perfect Fan."  (They could remember me sitting in the living room listening to my favorite CD and putting that song on repeat--over, and over, and OVER...)  If you aren't familiar with the lyrics of this winner, here is a sampling:

You showed me
When I was young just how to grow
You showed me
Everything that I should know
You showed me
Just how to walk without your hand
'Cause mom you always were 
The perfect fan

God has been so good
Blessing me with a family
Who did all they could...

I want to thank you for all you've done
In hopes I can give back to you
Be the perfect son

[Sniff!]

Well, not to be outdone by his older brothers, our baby surprised me with a beautiful song I'd never heard before.  Like our oldest son (his best man), he chose one by country superstar Garth Brooks, and he didn't share it with me beforehand.  To be honest, I was so emotional during our dance that I didn't fully hear and appreciate the words of the song.








Afterward, on our way back home, I texted my boy to ask the name of the song we'd dance to and I found it on You Tube.  I'll tell you, the tears flowed in that car as I listened to the lyrics.  If ever there was an award for best mother-son dance song, this one called "Mom" would be right up there in the running.  If you'd like to listen to it, here it is.




Do you need to get a tissue?  I'll wait...


To be totally honest (and much to my shame), when I first saw these professional pictures of this latest--and last--mother-son dance, all I could do was pick apart my appearance.  "When did I get so old-looking?" "I hate my profile!" "Why didn't I get contacts, do something fancier with my scraggly hair?"  "Yikes, now I know where the phrase 'ugly cry' comes from!" (Why do we women do this?)

But then I stopped obsessing about my own appearance and focused on my boy's face, and in all of the pictures, his love is absolutely shining.  He really is that devoted and sweet; and in his eyes, flawed though I am, I can do no wrong. In his eyes, I am that "loving angel, tender, tough, and strong" that God chose to be his mom. What a wonderful son he has always been, and my heart bursts looking at his expressions in all of these photos.

"God has been so good," as my Backstreet Boys so eloquently put it, "blessing me with a family who did all they could."  And then some.  I do not deserve it; but I'll take it.

And the memory of that last dance will stay with me forever.