Splendiferous Conventionality

my memory is failing me. if in fact it is true that our brains only use a certain percent, then it makes sense that when new information must be stored, old information must be cleaned out. kind of like a coat closet. one can not continue to stuff years and years of coats into that tiny space and expect it to function as a proper coat closet without items wrinkling and flowing out... ( apparently, in case you are wondering and/or are worried, this percentage thing is a myth ) but i wish most that i could have a choice in what should be 'replaced'... i certainly do NOT need to know how to beat Super Mario Brothers one, two, and three (including every extra life and warp zone). Although, i am pretty certain i earned a fair amount of 'cool' points from my son when i proved that i could do this still! Another bit of useless info stored in my grey matter- cartoon and television characters that i watched as early as age 4. What good are these memories? Sure it brings me...

I am hoping that by the silence of the 'crickets' that it means my darling daughter finally found her way to dreamland. I have deduced that the more 'good' times that we have, the harder Sunday nights become for her. For a whole split second I consider "Mommy Dearest" in the event that it would make the transition 'easier' for them... then I come to my senses rather abruptly ("NO wire hangers!") and realize that in itself will bring other issues that are certainly ones that I do not want to be responsible for. There isn't a good answer, there isn't a perfect way to deal with it- we grit our teeth and do our best to make it through. My Sundays (every other) have been typically going like this: 9:15 pm: crickets chirping (ring tone) Me: *elated* "Hi!" Her: *happy enough* "Good night, Momma" Me: *positive* "Well, have a good day tomorrow and a good week. I love you, good night." Her: *hesitan...

...at 30 minutes after the hour. a picture of two very familiar faces also indicate who this special call is coming from. i happily answer as i unfortunately missed its ring earlier. a little, beautiful, piece of me voice, half jokingly, half scolding asks why i didn't answer earlier. i explain that i was visiting and my phone wasn't near. she eventually accepts it, but then tells me disheartening news... My Heart: "I might have to start seeing my counselor, my counselor Jan again.". Me: "Oh?", (i try to muster out without alarming concern) >> did i fool her, or just myself? >> My Heart: "Yeah." Me: "Why's that?" My Heart: " Because I am starting to miss you again ." Me: "Oh." >> completely heartbroken >> "Well, that's ok. We all have to talk to someone sometimes. Maybe it will help. Does writing in the journal help at all?" My Heart: >> matter of factly >> "N...