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I have trouble with holidays. I know – it’s my issue, and I’m trying to work through it. No matter how many times I remind myself to live in the present, it’s very hard not to live in the past. I had a very good upbringing. No, we weren’t wealthy, but we had each other. For a very quiet, shy and private person, my Mother was the center of it all. She hated people and social situations, but she loved her family. And, no, she wasn’t perfect either. I remember my Dad saying, “Happy Mother’s day” to her when I was kid, and she said, “I’m not your Mother.” She was weird with holidays, too. At least I know where I got it from.

I had a nice Mother’s Day morning yesterday with my boys and Hubby, and then Hubby left again for the road. The boys dropped him off and then went train-watching. I had the day mostly to myself. I planted the azaleas the boys got me, I gave myself a manicure and I read a book. Perhaps that was part of my “gift” for the day – time to myself. It was nice.

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Note “hole” in the mulch in the foreground – the squirrels have been digging this morning.

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