I’m sorry for the amount of sap in my post yesterday.  I’m sure it’s all over you and you need a bath by now.  Maybe it’s like that jar of molasses you were playing around with that one time.  Was it molasses or marmalade?  I think it was marmalade but I can’t remember exactly,  I just recall that it made a huge mess while you were buttering your toast that morning.  I would go find it but I don’t want to open your pages just yet right now.  I can’t look at them all the time.  But I think of them constantly.  

Max had his second basketball practice tonight.  His first game is Saturday morning.  His team is The Mustangs.  They’re all so adorable.  I can’t wait to see them play.  His coach is a bit of an overachiever for this age group, though.  I remember him from last year and was really hoping we wouldn’t get him this year.  So, of course, we did.  He was constantly yelling at the refs and his own kid.  I’ve always felt sorry for the coaches’ kids. It must suck so bad to never be able to live up to who your dad thinks you should be because he played basketball that one year when he was a junior and he was really good at it so, of course, his offspring should also be.  Gross.  Why do people project their own bullshit onto their kids?  I’m sure I do it too.  Being a parent is mad hard.  You never know if you’re doing it right.  It’s kind of a lonely place.  You just hope you’re giving them the best of you as much as you can to counteract all the bad that you also can’t help but show them.  Believe me when I tell you they understand so much more than you wish they did.  They don’t get to stay little long enough.  The world comes looking for them way too soon.

Max is a cool guy.  You would have liked him.  He’s smart and hilarious and really good at sports somehow.  He definitely does not get that from me.  He’s really tall for his age.  He’s almost as tall as me but I can still pick him up.  I can still carry him upstairs to bed when he falls asleep on the couch.  It just about kills me but I do it.  I’m not looking forward to the day when he doesn’t fit in my arms anymore. He has horrible taste in music.  Horrible. I’m hoping he’ll come around.  He’s stubborn as all get out.  He has a really smart mouth that gets him in trouble every single day.  He loves animals but will tell you he doesn’t care.  He’s sensitive.  Very.  He’s afraid of the dark but would not want me to tell you that.  He loves his teacher and school.  His Mimi is probably his favorite person in all the world.  He’s kind but he can also be unkind.  He’s really a lot of fun and we laugh a lot.  But he also sees me cry and act ridiculous.  I really don’t want him to see any of that but it’s just the two of us here and I can’t hide it from him.  He knows things I wish he didn’t.  

What’s going on over there on your side of the map?  I wish you could tell me all about it.  There’s so much I want to tell you.  More than the things I say to you here.  Just everyday mundane things, really.  I miss your sense of humor.  I miss the way you wrote to me.  I miss the shorthand you’d use sometimes and the symbols that I didn’t understand but wouldn’t dare tell you I didn’t.  I miss the way sometimes your words would go over my head and I’d have to read them again and again.  I miss the way I’d get so excited to see your name in my inbox.

I keep waiting to see it there again. 

I may never stop waiting.

I hope you’re ok with that.

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