Baby Shell > Rebecca

"Mom, can I take a doll with us to the Science Center?" Alexis asked.

Thinking that maybe, just maybe, she may choose to acknowledge Rebecca's existence, I agreed.

Of course it was wishful thinking. She opted to drag her dingy old Baby Shell instead. You know, the doll that came from Wal-Mart a kajillion years ago.

I'm kind of glad she picked Baby Shell. If she hadn't, I might not have gotten to chuckle every time I looked around and saw this:

And now I remember why I always tell the kid "No" when she asks to take toys with her places. She NEVER carries them. Heh.

***********************************************************************

If you haven't delurked yet, please do. I'm completely loving reading the comments and the sites that y'all are linking. Thanks so much!

Delurking Day. Just Because.

It has been . . . well . . . aw, hell, just get off my blogging lawn, whippersnappers. It has been a long time since I did this:

No reason for that. I just haven't done it. Until now!

So, like, a lot of you stop here every once in a while, but only a few of you leave comments. I'm not here to tell you what you have to do, except for maybe I am. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? Delurk yourselves, please and thank you! I just want a chance to learn a little bit about who the people are in my neighborhood . . . in my neighborhood . . . in my neigh-bor-hoood. (You're welcome for the ear worm.)

Anyway, leave a comment just this once and I'll love you for a very long time. While you're at it, leave me a link to a blog you like or your own blog or whatever. I kinda sorta deleted Google Reader a few days ago, so I may need some reading material at some point in time.

PLEASE? And THANK YOU!

Tick Tock

tick tock.

It haunts me.

tick tock.

It softly lurks in the back of my mind. Weeks, months, and even years go by without thinking about it.

tick tock.

But it never goes away.

tick tock.

Every January it gains a louder voice. The 23rd day of the month glares at me. The calendar serves as an annual reminder.

tick tock.

A reminder that the time is coming.

tick tock.

She was 45 when breast cancer ended her life. She was 39 when she found that golf ball-sized lump that was the beginning of the end.

tick tock.

My mom was so young when her world crashed to the ground. She hadn't even begun to live her life when it happened. She had no idea that it was her destiny.

tick tock.

For as long as I can remember, I've thought of 39 as the age when I would begin to borrow time.

tick tock.

If I make it to 40 cancer-free, I'll consider it a miracle. A gift, if you will.

tick tock.

There is no rationale for the thoughts. They're ridiculous and cynical and pessimistic and so many things that I am not.

tick tock.

But they're still there.

tick tock.

It's what this whole thing is about, I'll admit. My mom died at the age of 45 and she left me with nothing. Nothing that tells me who she was or what she thought or how she felt. Nothing.

tick tock.

I can't do that to Alexis. I write as a gift to the future version of her.

tick tock.

Just in case I'm not around to tell her in person.

tick tock.

35 is just around the corner. With it, the shadow grows louder. 39 will be here in a blink.

TICK TOCK.