I am reasonably certain this is the mug that started the whole thing:

 

#mugtag

I am outing myself here, but I saw this mug at our local thrift shop a couple weeks ago and it screamed a certain friend’s name to me, so I bought it, wrapped it in tissue and dropped it off at her workplace for her to find.

 

Who DOESN’T need a cat mug with a wee mousie hiding inside?

 

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Last July, my brother died.

I haven’t written much about him because I didn’t have room to explore those feelings when stressed over my pregnancy. I had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and, sadly, grief can always wait. Since MissVee’s birth in February, they have been slowly coming to the surface.

My feelings take me by surprise — their ferocity takes my breath away.

I still can’t write about him. I’m not ready. Someday I will be ready, but that day is not today. That day won’t be tomorrow. I need more time to process the finality — the “goneness” — of his death and the impact it has on me.

What I can do is tell you a little story about some glasses.

These glasses:

These glasses have a story.

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20 years ago yesterday I had my first date with this guy:

Me and the Mister

Me and the Mister, Halloween 1995

We met when I misspelled his name and he flamed me —
love at first byte, and all that.

I was freshly 19, having had my birthday the month before, and we had been emailing each other for about 6 weeks. He worked at my university and I was a freshman. We met on a local newsgroup when I misspelled his name and he flamed me — love at first byte, and all that.

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As I sit here typing this, I am listening to Miss Vee — 9 days old — snoring away in squeaks and snorts on my lap. She is a wonderful sleeper, as long as she is held. As she is Baby#4, I feel no resentment at being trapped on a bed, cuddling her while she sleeps — these days will pass all too fast.

Miss Vee

Yesterday was the last day I snuggled an 8 day old.

Tomorrow will be the last day I will cuddle a 10 day old.

I am counting down these precious “lasts” one moment at a time, filing them away in my memory to savour when she is older.

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