Mrs. O'Hara, Puking, Momma's Bible, Towels, and 3000

 I am PMS'ing.  I have only PMS'd two to three times in the last year.  As to why, well you need to read A Scrape, A Burn, 6 incisions, 4 units of blood, and a Little Heart Shaped Surprise .  So  we are in the process of moving.  Well, sort of.  There's a catch you see, we actually haven't started.  Moving that is.  I started.  And it sucks.  After having gone all but one month in the last eight, without the womanly curse, Mrs. O'Hara if you please, she is so not welcome back.  Especially now, when I need to be busting my booty putting away all the Christmas everything, and then packing to move.  By the end of the month.  Mrs. O'Hara came to visit the day before yesterday while mini-vacationing at my dad's house in WV.  The visit was planned, but I extended it a couple of days, to avoid the inevitable packing and moving.  Ugh.  My hubbie came up to spend the night with myself and the 4yo at my daddy's.  It's like after having been apart for five days, my one remaining ovary, which is no longer connected to anything, said, "whoa, hold up, I can still party like a rockstar!  I smell the hub testosterone!  I smeeeeellllllll it!"  Creak, groan, pinch, cramp, smoke emitting forth out of the hoochie girl, and whamm-o, it's kicking again.  I'll be damned.  Everytime I mention being gloriously rid of Mrs. O'Hara, bam!  It's like she hears me!  She says," Oh no my dearie, your not done yet!  You thought you were done? Oh sorry! HATE to be an inconvenience(insert wicked grin and evil laugh here)!" So while I don't feel like doing anything but laying in bed, I have been running errands.  For the last six days. Ugh.  And I have been a little sensitive. I am sure my MIL is reading this going,"you call that sensitive?"  Sorry MIL, love you!

 
 So anyway, while at the father's, we had a 4yo puking incident.  As soon as we fell asleep.  I woke up to a cough.  Not just any cough, THE cough.  The one that means, here it comes, the big one!  And it was one of those lovely ginormous ones.  The kind where the child's dinner was not digested.  Yup big ol' non digested cheese globs.  Yummy.  All over the sheets, the comforter ,pink and white jammies, four pillows, three blankets, two afghans, and all over the brand new pink pillow pet. ( Feel free to sing along to the tune of the Twelve Days of Christmas!) So needless to say, Dad and I did not get any sleep that night!  We were up washing everything off and out in the sinks, and the dreaded stench of the inside of my child's stomach invaded my nostrils and stayed there. Ugh.
 
 So the rest of the night, I am reliving washing the puke out of my child's clothes. No sleep for dear old mom.  Every time she coughed or made a noise, I was right there, under her face with a peach trash can.  I did not want puke all over, well... everywhere again.  Plus we were running out of blankets! I decided to go through my mother's books, while I was on yak detail.  My mother's bookshelf is right beside her bed.  She passed away a year ago to the day on Thanksgiving Day, of last year. My mother had a habit of putting tissues to mark her page in a book, when she was out of bookmarks.  So I decided I was ready to look at the last things my mother had been reading.  Several books were about love, several about health, some she had started and never finished, and there were many containing poetry and verse, which she loved.  And then there was her green bible.  I opened her bible, curious as to what I might find.  I found all of the usual things, obituaries of long gone relatives, programs from wakes past, and my grandfather's funeral program.  Then as I was flipping through to where the pages fell open, the book fell open to the twenty second and twenty third Psalm.

  There was a blood stain on the left hand side, where the twenty second Psalm was located.   There was an elongated strip of dried blood starting at the top, and one single dot at the bottom.  Tears just started silently falling from my eyes.  I knew my mother had been here and read these pages before she died.  I later discussed it with my dad, and we decided she had probably been reading her bible one day, ad had a nose bleed.  I cannot describe the feeling I had had as I read the words that my mother had been reading.  I knew instantly what she was feeling.  Here is an excerpt from that page;

The Holy Bible: King James Version. 2000.

The Psalms

22

A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise
To the chief Musician upon Ai'jeleth Shahar, A Psalm of David.
1	My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Mt. 27.46 · Mk. 15.34   Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?
2	O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not;