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Juno the MaMa Cat
It’s a beautiful spring day.  Flowers are blooming in our yard and new life abounds. We have been fostering a semi-feral pregnant cat in our playhouse for the last week. I named her Juno because she is a pregnant teen-ager.  I just went out to check on her and clean the litter box and guess what?  Three kittens!  No kittens at breakfast, three kitchens at lunch!  She even gave birth in the fancy cardboard birthing box with beach towels I made for her.  I never see her when I go in to feed her because she hides but she stays right with them now.  How brave of her.  She is scared to death but stays with her babies.  She has them all cleaned up and everything. I wish people had the same parenting instincts as cats.  It is life affirming to witness this and I am so excited and relieved it all went well. Anyone want a kitten?
Juno the Cat with her new babies.

Just a Post

I need to post today because I have to post at least once a week to be on the BlogHer list of women’s blogs but I can’t think of anything to write about.  I am in the Salt Lake Airport waiting for my Mom.  We are here to visit my Uncle Jack who is fighting a brain tumor. As I sit here in the Delta lounge drinking my free coffee I realize I’m afraid to see him this time.  I don’t know that anything is different it’s just that every time we visit it becomes a little more real.

The other night I did my yearly obituary search to see if my Dad is still alive. He is. I think. It appears that he lives in Northern California somewhere.  Doing an intrnet search on him never tells me anything to make me want to call the phone number I can get for paying $29.99 to a location website. No, an internet search just yields his occasional drunk driving report or trouble with the California Bar Association.  You know, the usual.  I have come to a place where I am not mad at him any more, but I still miss him and I feel really bad for him.  Hmmm…. Are you seeing a connection here between my fear of losing My Uncle, the only father figure I have left, and checking to see if my real Dad is still among the living?  Well you are a step ahead of me.  I just figured it out as I wrote it down.  And where is the justice here?  Who would you chose to get a brain tumor:  a man who abandons his family or a man whose family comes before anything else?  I know life isn’t fair and it may seem harsh that I am offering up my own Father as a trade for Uncle Jack.  But I am.

Well, that was cheery. I think we all just discovered that my stream of consciousness is actually a river of darkness. Next time I’ll tell you about the kittens. There is nothing depressing about kittens.  Unless they are dead kittens.  I’ll stop now.

Stay At Home Mom

The following conversation is proof of bad parenting:

Addie: Where are you going?
Me: I am going to a class to learn how to be a better parent.
Addie: No! I want you to stay the way you are so I can do whatever I want!

I have been parenting for twenty-five years, but apparently I have not mastered it as of yet.  I think I was a good parent to Andrew now twenty-five.  First of all he is a boy-way easier.  He actually cared what I thought, never held a grudge against anyone, and could not lie to save his life.  Also, I worked a million jobs and we had no extra money making it very easy to say no to things. On the other hand my Dear Sweet Boy just moved home from New York to “get back on his feet”. I suppose I should have taught him how to do things instead of doing it for him because that took way less time. Lesson learned, on to child #2- My beautiful, shy little curly blonde haired Sofie. When Sofie flipped out at 14( see the Sofie Saga) out we sent her away to people who actually knew what they were doing with teen agers and she came back a great kid.  So while Don and I didn’t actually guide her through her crisis we did make the painful decision to send her to “boarding school”.  I suppose we could make a check for that in the good parenting column.

But alas, now we are on child #3.  The ever capable and determined Addie. Addie is a species of child I have not yet encountered.  My other two kids are smart but this one is scary smart. She has a brutal scientific brain that doesn’t suffer from being overly sentimental.  When she was three were watching a nature program and when the cute little bunny was captured by the hawk I looked away cringing. She said, “Everyone has to eat Mom.”  And at five:

Me:  Addie, I have bad news, your fish died.

Addie: Can I eat it?

Me: No!  For one thing it is too small!

Addie:  Why can’t you just fry it up in a pan?

 Believe it or not Addie does have empathy and compassion but she very carefully choses when to use it.   She does recognizes your emotional facial cues- she just couldn’t give a damn.   That’s fine because I have ever so much energy to be parenting in my fifties (said sarcastically). She knows I’m tired and she uses it to her advantage. She is the most stubborn person I have ever met (author of this post not included in comparison). Good thing she is super cute.

 I know not how to parent her. Check and mate.

My crazy bosses.

I made a decision to be a stay-at- home  Mom when I had Sofie.  It actually wasn’t so much a decision as I was too old to be hired as a dancer anymore but whatever, the timing was good.  I would like to say I love being a stay- at -home Mom but I would be so lying.  It sucks the big one.  I work for really crazy little bosses who are never satisfied with your work.  They never tell you good job and at the end of the day you are always left feeling like you could have done it better.  Also, the hours are for shit. Mom’s can’t really catch a break.  If you stay home there is always a part of you that misses being a complete person and if you go to work you have guilt you are not with your kids. We are in teams, Working vs. Stay-at- Home, and we are not allowed to admit there is a problem with our choice and this can never can never be discussed with any real honesty.  We stay at home Mom’s are smug and self important because we have given everything up for our kids.  We are also often angry and unsatisfied.  Working Mom’s think stay at home mom’s are vapid cookie making twits that run the PTA like a business and make fun of our Martha Stewart inspired birthday party invitations.  They do not like to admit that their children really would rather have them around more.  Moms are screwed either way and we are our own worst enemy.  Wouldn’t it be great if we could respect each others decisions and know that people do the best they can for their families? I have a friend who shall remain nameless for purposes of this post (Peggy) who is not a Stay at Home Mom.  She isn’t even a Stay in The Same State Mom.  Peggy is a successful choreographer and travels a lot.  Peggy has two great kids who don’t seem to be any worse for wear. Molly is graduating from Berkeley and Gaby is going to be a Senior next year.  They are both smart, beautiful, capable and well mannered. Peg’s husband Tony more than picks up the slack when Peggy is away and Peggy is home big chunks of time.  It works for their family.

Perez’ and Huber/Todd’s -helping each other parent since 1987.

What works for my family is I stay at home with the kids and what works for me is having a Housekeeper and a Nanny to also stay at home a few hours a day with me.  I don’t regret my decision to stay home but there is a part of me that wonders, “What if?”

I have to go now because all three of my kids need me to do something for them and the dog is chewing up my rug.  I have to reboot Andrew, get Sofie through high school, and keep Addie from eating our pets.  Someones got to do it.

I Will Not Say That

I was silenced on Facebook.  The election, the tragedy in Newtown and the Facebook bullying I encountered for some of my posts regarding those events sent me away for awhile. When I posted a link to a petition to ban assault rifles on the day of the Newtown shooting I was told, “Shame on you!” I was told to, “quit being so hateful”, when I posted my concern about future Supreme Court nominations in regard to gay marriage. I do not understand going on someone’s Facebook page and telling them they are wrong.  I understand disagreeing but I would never judge someones position on their page.  It would be like going into someones house and criticizing theire decorating.  Who cares if you don’t like Mid Century Modern?  You don’t have to live there so shut up.

For instance, I will never go on to one of my Republican friends Facebook page and post my assertion that the majority of visionaries, poets, film makers, and artists are not Republican.  I will never say that the average Republican brain is not capable of the critical thinking and creativity required for such professions.  Because there are one ot two exceptions (the great Ted Nugent comes to mind)  I will  not say that.
I also will not laugh and mock a person when they claim that Republicans are the party of Lincoln.  I will not point out the Southern Democrats of the Civil War era bear a striking resemblance to todays Republicans and if a vote were held now they would never vote to end slavery.  If someone takes offense and says, “That is horrible!  Slavery is an abomination and of course we would vote no!”  I will not say, “Sure, you have had 150 years to get used to it.  If it were a new thought you would freak out.”  Gay rights anyone?  Anyway, saying that would be inflamatory and I will not say it.
Why in the world would I post that I find the ” we are victims” attitude of Republicans in regard to the media laughable. I will not say that it reminds me of the person who says, “Everyone is against me.”  We all know someone like that, right? Now think about it, is everyone really out to get that person or is he a pain in the ass?  Just saying.  Oops, not saying.
I do check in on Facebook once in awhile but I have shied away from posting anything controversial. From now on I’m only posting pictures of my kids, baby animals, and myself on vacation.  I do enjoy the occasional debate  but I find that lately they seem to rapidly deteriorate into name calling- usually by me.  When my friend from high school posted, “Shame on you.” I got really offended and called him a pompous religious asshole.  Not my finest moment.  I apologized for posting he was a pompous religious asshole, and even though I believe he is a pompous religious asshole it is never o.k. to call someone a pompous religious asshole so from now on I will not say it.
non controversial photo of Asian child
                                                     Sofie and her cat.  Can’t argue that!
                                                       
Me n Las Vegas #crazy!

Thank You

I am sitting on the sidewalk near JPL waiting for Endeavor to fly over.  Tomorrow I will be in Santa Barbara and I will “endeavor” (get it??) to walk the full 39 miles of the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Training for this has changed my life. I remembered that I love to be physically challenged. I found Bikrim Yoga.   Side note, Bikrim is the absolute worst thing ever invented.  It is hot and it is cruel.  My first class I laid there on the ground thinking that I would rather be going through natural childbirth in air conditioning than doing this.  Yet, somehow I keep going back.  Maybe it is because I feel so great after it’s over and I am still alive. However, no matter how hot (and it’s been really hot) and tired I got on my training walks I could always say to myself, “It’s not as hard as Bikrim.”. No kidding it really sucks.
 I feel better than I have felt in years.  My family is pretty happy because I have been happy.  You know, someone really ought to do a study on the connection of exercise to depression.  I think there might be something to it.  Best of all I have received so much support, both in donations and kind words from good friends and even friends I haven’t seen in years.  It means so much to me. I am really blessed to know so many generous caring people.
Peggy, Jodi, Shawna, Cath,  Linda N., Linda J, Jo Ann, Lee, Christina, Joani, Nancy, Jaime’s Mom, Patrice’s Mom  These names are written down on a piece of paper that I will carry with me when I walk. If I feel I can’t walk any further I will take out this list and remind myself of the strength and determination of these women who fought and survived.  The least I can do is take a few more steps.
I challenge all of you to endeavor to try something new.  I highly recommend it.
I’ll be Facebook updating from the road with a few fabulous photos of moi and I will let you know how it goes.  Again, thank you to everyone.  You are the best.  And, special thanks to my husband Don for picking up the slack for me when I needed to train, taking care of the kids this week end and the never ending love and belief in me.  You have all met me so you know what patience and strength  it must take to live with me.  He is the best man I know.

Loving Las Vegas
Registering voters at 7-11.

Greetings from Las Vegas, where I, DeAnne Spicer Todd, spent the last two days registering voters.  It was hot.  As I have often said, “I hate sun and I don’t like people.” Yet, here I am with a lot of both. Saturday my partner and I were sent to a “Swap Meet” somewhere on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I kid you not, but one out of five of the people we asked if they were registered to vote said they couldn’t because they were felons.  Seriously! Eventually, I at least quit asking the guys with the tear drop tattoos on their faces.  My partner was getting really anxious because he noticed that cars with blacked out windows kept pulling up and then a guy from the “Swap Meet” would come out and lean in the car window to chat for awhile.  I’m pretty self absorbed so I didn’t notice.  In fact I kept trying to register them to vote. He wanted to leave, but the “Swap Meet” had really good shade so I wanted to stay.  Eventually he convinced me to go by telling me he had seen this sort of thing on Breaking Bad and I had to agree it was feeling as if we were not welcome to stand in front of the “Swap Meet” anymore so we left.

Now I don’t like to racially profile but I’m going to anyway. All of the people at the “Swap Meet” were black or latino and a lot of them looked like gang members.  After learning that a lot of them were felons I am assuming I was not totally off base.  However, the people I talked to there (and I must admit I talked to scary looking people I would not normal approach) supported Obama and were very nice.

Cut to- Smith’s Market In A More Upscale Neighborhood.  Now the felons are white (same ratio of felon to non felon) supporting Romney and quite a few of the older ones are mean.  Not all of them responded rudely to my question, “Do you support our President?” But, I did get a reply from a really fat white guy (again with the profiling), “I support him being taken out and shot.”  From another fat white guy, “Can’t wait until he’s gone.  Someone otta take him out now.” And from, a white woman who waited for me to ask her and then got right in my face and said, “I would rather vote for a goat than him.”  This is just an observation,  but, that the fatter, whiter, and fewer teeth people had the more they hated Obama.  The very people who could actually benefit from Obamacare and have some dental work done are the ones spewing hate and violence.  I don’t understand.

My profiling fell completely apart however with one group.  White women.  The majority of white women I spoke to, surprisingly to me, are supporting Obama.  They are afraid Romney does not care about Women’s Issues and in fact will take away, “Everything we have worked to achieve.” said an older Republican woman.  Lest you think I believe all white men are toothless, violent, and mean I  want to mention a really nice man who answered my question about supporting Obama, “No ma’am, I do not.”  I thanked him for answering so kindly and he said, “I’m really sorry you’ve been spoken to that way.  Most of us have been taught better manners.”  He restored my faith.

The best part of the whole week end was registering a woman who just became a citizen and will be voting for the first time.  Her two daughters were with her and kept saying, “Yea, Mom!” and “Vote for Obama!” It reminded me of the time I stood in the voting booth with my mother and yelled at the top of my lungs, “No, Mom, no! Vote for Nixon!”  I know,  that not my finest moment but registering a new citizen was definitely the moment I have felt the most patriotic.  She was so excited and proud to vote and it was an honor to be part of the process.

As a prize for being so great and coming to Vegas I decided to stay an extra day and get a deluxe anti-aging facial and go see Love tonight at the Mirage.  It is my favorite show ever and this will be the fifth time I’ve seen it.  No matter how the election turns out I hope we can all do as The Beatles say and put our differences aside once in awhile and be kind to each other.  Remember, “All you need is love!”  Love, and a really good facial.

Tripping with Children

Here is the best way to have a successful vacation with children:

  • Do not expect to enjoy it.
  • Be prepared to return to the hotel by 6:00 pm, but do not expect them to fall asleep no matter how tired they are- ever.
  • Do not expect them to wake up and embrace the day.
  • Do not expect a lot of fine dining.  Instead, prepare for room service and Aquarium or Museum Cafe Faire. (Or in Addie’s case the occasional Oyster Bar.)
  • Expect some crankiness and a lot of tears- from the adults.
  • Bring a book because your kids will never want to leave the Aquarium and/or Science Museum.  A good suggestion would be a guide book to the city you are visiting so you can learn about all the places you are not going to see.
  • Remember if you travel with kids it is not a vacation it’s a trip
If you follow these few simple rules I promise you will end up having a good time.  Remember DeAnne’s motto for a successful family vacation:
                                                  No expectations=No disappointments
Addie and I are practicing these rules in Seattle and today we went to The Pacific Science Center where Addie explained the law of physics and the functions of the endocrine system to me.  My contribution to the education of the day was to point and say, “Addie lookie pretty butterfly!” and “Can we please stop for a diet coke?” I also really embarrassed her when I tried out the How Flexible Are You! exhibit in the human body room and squealed loudly, “Addie I am more flexible that a thirteen-year-old!” ( I believe you have to acknowledge your successes when they occur.)
Lookie!

I really like Seattle, but after visiting Portland last fall my opinion in the on going and contentious Seattle vs. Portland debate is I prefer Portland.  Of course I was alone in Portland and not pushing a BOB jogging stroller uphill.  No one told me Seattle was on a hill.  The difference between the two cities seems to be the people in Seattle have somewhere to go and the people in Portland are already where they want to be.  Also, Portland has more tattoos.
I have to go now and find some ice because I pulled a muscle while showing off for the dads on the How Flexible Are You! exhibit.  Fortunately it is 6:00 pm and we are already back in our room waiting for room service. That means only six more hours until I am allowed to go to sleep- if I’m lucky.

Perspective

Well that last post was cheery.  This blog has become therapy for me and like my therapist I expect you all to keep this completely confidential.  It would be really embarrassing if this got out.   I received so many nice comments and a great deal of concern about my “mood”.  While all I post here is how I feel, please know that after I post I feel really good.  It’s kind of like when you take your kid to preschool and they cry hysterically when you leave.  You feel horrible all day but five minutes later your toddler is laughing and eating glue.  Just think of me as a toddler. 

I have decided that while being fit is important, focusing entirely on looking better is not a very lofty goal.  Especially because as one friend pointed out, “this right now is as good as you get.”  Hmm, I think that may be true and I should probably  enjoy it.  This has been a tough year for me, but I doubt the women in Syria would consider it so.  I don’t think people who have lost their homes this year would feel particularly bad for me and parents who have children in Afghanistan would love for them to be safe in Utah with the Mormon’s at therapeutic boarding school. I am not denying my feelings I have just put them in perspective.  As an old friend said,  “it’s okay to have doubts, it’s okay to feel lost, and it’s okay to feel failure.  It’s even okay to be a democrat! We get back up and we do it again, we fall and fall and we keep on walking.  My battle with cancer has let me see things differently and some good things are still the same.”  This friend lived in New York when he found out he had cancer.  His cancer diagnosis brought him back to California and ultimately saved his life.  He worked for Canter Fitzgerald in the World Trade Center and had he not been diagnosed with cancer and moved back to California for treatment he would have been in the tower on September 11.  Instead, he is thirteen years out from cancer and he, his wife, and son are doing well.  We can never know what is coming and how perceived bad things or even good things will actually affect our lives so I think I’ll just try to be grateful for what I have now.


My life is really good.  I have good friends.  I have a great husband who only irritates me occasionally and my kids are not always a pain in the ass.  Today I am not going to ask for anything more.  Not bad for an old fat lady.

The Sofie Saga Part II Coping

There are good ways and bad ways to cope with emotional pain and some times it is hard to tell them apart.  What on the surface can look like a piss poor idea can actually turn out to be a blessing.   On the other hand, some of my brilliant ideas to feel better failed pretty miserably.  Still, I always say failure is a catalyst to learn and grow.  Speaking of learning and growing:
I learned that if you sit on the couch with a cat and watch TV you will grow.  You will grow exactly seven pounds.
I learned for the millionth time that alcohol will not make me feel better.  A week after Sofie left I drank for the first time in seven and a half years.  I learned you should go to more AA meetings not zero AA meetings when you are in crisis. If I had taken care of myself and gone to meetings I might not have found myself at the grocery store getting “stuff” for “dinner” and thinking wine is an entree.  One is supposed to call another member of AA when one feels like drinking but this one thought that was a really stupid idea because one will tell this one not to do it.  So I kept my phone in my purse and put a bottle of moderately priced wine in the grocery cart.  When I got home I put the groceries away and fixed Addie a non alcoholic dinner really fast so I wouldn’t smarten up and change my mind.  Next I had to find the corkscrew and I was panicking because I didn’t know where Don kept it.  I was worried I would not be able to open it, but it was just like riding a bike and I have spent way more time opening wine bottles than I have riding bikes.  As I poured the glass this little voice in my head kept saying, “Just drink it, just drink it.  Remember how cool and fabulous you used to be and how alcohol is the answer to all problems?”  So, I drank it.   Hmmmm.  Nothing.  I did not feel better. I did not feel the glamour I feel I am so sorely lacking because I no longer hold a wine glass.  They (the AA old timers) say that no matter how long it has been since you had a drink if you pick up again you will be right back drinking as much as you were when you stopped.  This seems to be true in my case because after two glasses I wasn’t even tipsy.  In my lost weekend days two glasses of wine were what I drank while I was shaking my martini.  Afterward, I was surprised to find I wasn’t feeling guilty, but I did need to tell on myself so I texted Don (conveniently out of town) and Peggy.  The next morning bright and early Peggy called:
Peg:  Are you going to a meeting today?
Me:  I don’t know Peg.  I haven’t decided how I feel about it.
Peg:  Well, can you do me a favor and if you won’t go for yourself can you go for me and for Sofie?  We just cannot handle another crisis right now.
Me:  God Damn it Peg!
Peg:  I promise when my cancer treatment is over and Sofie is home it can be all about you but not now.
Great.
So, I went to a meeting and a very dangerous bad idea gave me a lot of information to keep me sober in the future.  Any AA’s reading this please do not try this at home!  I was very lucky stop right away.  Most people who go out do not get back.  So pick up the phone not the glass and call someone who loves you.  They won’t tell you not to drink they will just listen to why you want to do it.  Actually, you should probably call Peggy.
Finally, what I thought was a really bad idea turned out to be the thing that saved me.  I learned that kittens don’t care if you are sad.  Life is great to a kitten- all life all the time.  It’s a party. Two weeks before Sofie left I thought if we got her a kitten it would fix everything and we got her a cute little kitten that naturally didn’t fix anything.  In fact, it made it worse because now I was yelling at her for not changing the litter box.  One week before she left, fate (named Addie Todd) brought home an abandoned 2 ½ week old baby cat.  I told Addie we could not keep her because we already had a kitten, but we could foster her.  I went to Pet Co bought  around $7,000 worth of cat formula, bottles and crates and then found myself sleeping on the couch with the kitten waking up every two hours to feed her and make her go to the bathroom.  I did not know about the bathroom part when I agreed to take care of her. The next thing I know I am carrying the “baby” around in a baby sling and putting her down for naps.  El gato es mio ahora.  That little tiny fuzz ball saved my life.  As things were sliding out of control with Sofie, I could fix the kitten and the kitten not only lived but thrived.  I grew a cat!
To Be Continued:
Part III Hoping
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The Sofie Saga, Part 1- Moping

I have been an Aunt for twenty five years and during that time I have been referred to as a Fabulous Aunt, Sainted Aunt, Tattle Tale Aunt and even Bitch of an Aunt when my nieces got in trouble because I tattled.  But yesterday, when my niece Mallory gave birth to baby Jack,  I became the best adjective of all, a Great Aunt.  Malllory lived with us for a while when she was fifteen and at the time I didn’t think she would make it to sixteen.   Now she has become a 24- year- old nursing student married to a man defending our country and has a beautiful newborn.  Good job Mal.
You may have noticed this blog has been rather quiet as of late.  That is because I was too busy with my depression to write and I had to sit on the couch everyday eating junk food and watching Bravo reality television with my new kitten.
Last October, after a whirlwind two months having a delinquent teenage girl, we sent said teenage girl to “boarding school in Utah”.  “Boarding school in Utah, Arizona, Idaho or Montana” is almost always and in this case is code for “residential treatment program”.  These schools are located exclusively in Red States because the law in those states says you can admit a minor over fourteen into a facility against their will.  Sometimes those Republicans know what they are doing.  We sent Sofie to a school with thirty- six girls dealing with such issues as self harm, suicidal ideation, adoption attachment, anxiety, depression, addiction, substance abuse and trauma.  It’s a fun place.  Pick a couple of those issues at random and you will have Sofie’s diagnosis.  The school is great and the staff is incredible.  I am so happy we found a place for her to get better, but it feels like I cut off my arm and sent it to Utah for a while.  Even as I write this the grief and sadness of the past few months covers me like a wet blanket and I can only cry. I have cried more in the last few months than in my entire life.  The computer screen looks blurry right now and it was already blurry because I am getting really old and my eyes are bad.  Things can really suck.  Sofie has never been an easy kid, but if she can learn to use her power for good and not evil she will be amazing.  My job was supposed to be to teach her how to do that and I failed.  It may not have been my fault, but I couldn’t do it.  She is only fourteen and she is not supposed to be away from me.  I am relieved she is in a safe place where she can’t hurt herself, but I hurt everyday she’s gone.  I know it’s the right thing, but as I so eloquently just said, things can really suck.
Not surprisingly my depression wasn’t going over very well with the rest of the family and I finally had to get off the couch because Don pointed out that I did have another child and she needed a bath and to go to school.  Oh yeah.  I thought it might be time when my couch buddy kitten decided there was a world beyond the blankets and left to go see it.  However, the main reason I rose like Lazarus from the couch is that the season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills ended. That show is not even a guilty pleasure.  It’s horrible and any one who watches it should feel genuinely guilty.  I watched it because those housewives were the only people in the world acting worse than I felt.  Finally, I was able to decided I must stop all this nonsense and get up because if I was still on the couch when the Real Housewives of Orange County started I would have to shoot myself in the head.
That is not such a funny joke if you know that my Grandfather and my Great Grandfather both shot themselves in the head. It appears that depression and alcoholism run in the family.  Sorry Sofie, that’s why we sent you to live with the Mormons so quickly into your rebellion. 
Speaking of Mormons, and who isn’t these days, one silver lining has been the school is fifteen minutes away from my Mormon Aunt and Uncle.  They have been quite literally a Godsend and have been amazingly supportive. My Uncle Jack (named after Mallory’s baby) decided to join the Marine Corps and the Mormon Church when he was sixteen.  This is a man who likes structure. It has been so wonderful to connect with my Aunt and Uncle and their many children and their even many more grandchildren.  Mormon’s have some wacky ideas and some Mormon’s even have some pretty hateful ideas (prop 8), but I have never met better people than My Mormon’s and there is not a better man alive than my Uncle Jack.  I wish he was running for president instead of Mitt Romney.
To be continued : Part II Coping
Told with Sofie’s permission.