..then you probably don't live in my house.
(or as Sam told me later this afternoon, I seem to go from ridiculously silly to devastatingly profound in the blink of an eye and it's one of his Very Favorite Things about me.)
I got all worked up about my speech for Thanksgiving dinner last night and then after I had two glasses of wine and a huge piece of apple pie with ice cream Sam gave our closing grace, which takes awhile because...of Sam. He likes to preach a little extra when given the chance, as most of the boys are total heathens, wayward souls who don't go to church enough and need to be saved. So I leaned my head against Ben's shoulder and rudely fell fast asleep, sitting up like a horse, no less, and missed my turn, which came around and was sweetly ignored by all, and no one protested, as apparently they had a little Bridget-free family meeting and Sam read the pertinent parts out to them from yesterday's post and they had already decided to let me off the hook.
Sam insists I will go to heaven, that God doesn't want me to mourn anymore and that my reward will be the end of this pain I'm in. While he was talking the tears started rolling down my face, a race to the bottom like no other and he shook his head. Apparently most people are rapturous when he talks like this but for me it just confirms my misery as if once it's validated it is real and then I'm really in trouble.
No, no, no, Bridget. Don't cry. These are beautiful times. Your words, God's plan. the love and patience of this entire extended family that holds us in the palm of their hands-
I wish they-
What do you wish, tell me.
I wish they could understand how much I love them all.
See? That's what I said, flighty to devastating in the blink of an eye. That's what makes you worthy, Bridget, and that's what makes this whole argument pointless.
(or as Sam told me later this afternoon, I seem to go from ridiculously silly to devastatingly profound in the blink of an eye and it's one of his Very Favorite Things about me.)
I got all worked up about my speech for Thanksgiving dinner last night and then after I had two glasses of wine and a huge piece of apple pie with ice cream Sam gave our closing grace, which takes awhile because...of Sam. He likes to preach a little extra when given the chance, as most of the boys are total heathens, wayward souls who don't go to church enough and need to be saved. So I leaned my head against Ben's shoulder and rudely fell fast asleep, sitting up like a horse, no less, and missed my turn, which came around and was sweetly ignored by all, and no one protested, as apparently they had a little Bridget-free family meeting and Sam read the pertinent parts out to them from yesterday's post and they had already decided to let me off the hook.
Sam insists I will go to heaven, that God doesn't want me to mourn anymore and that my reward will be the end of this pain I'm in. While he was talking the tears started rolling down my face, a race to the bottom like no other and he shook his head. Apparently most people are rapturous when he talks like this but for me it just confirms my misery as if once it's validated it is real and then I'm really in trouble.
No, no, no, Bridget. Don't cry. These are beautiful times. Your words, God's plan. the love and patience of this entire extended family that holds us in the palm of their hands-
I wish they-
What do you wish, tell me.
I wish they could understand how much I love them all.
See? That's what I said, flighty to devastating in the blink of an eye. That's what makes you worthy, Bridget, and that's what makes this whole argument pointless.