my own personal cry fest

I hate to cry in front of other people.

Big emphasis on that word "hate".

When I woke up this morning, I was feeling quite confident that I had this day figured out. The girls and I would get ready for school then kiss the husband/dad goodbye. Determined to see the short term (he'll be home after 2 weeks of training) instead of the long term (he's deploying for a tour in Afghanistan), I was not going to cry.

Lunches were packed, backpacks were in the car, shoes and coats on the right kids. Kids hug dad and buckle into their seats.

Reagan: "Mom, as soon as I get in the car, I'm going to be sad and cry."

Not happening. No one is crying today.

And then I burst into tears as I hug him goodbye. Wet tear marks are left on his gray pullover jacket. The girls can be heard through the closed garage door, fighting over who sits by

who. Little do they know that their mom is a mess in the kitchen.

On the road to the sitter's, the girls are happily chattering away. I speed dial the home phone, reminding my husband to find out where our voting site is for today (forgot to do that last night).

How am I going to handle being so completely removed from his life?

McK easily lets me go once we get to the sitter's. Her only concern is sucking down her container of red Jell-O that she packed for her breakfast. (I'm currently in the running for Mom of the Year, you know).

Fast forward to 7:55. Tuesday morning devotions for middle school teachers are in my classroom. A surprise Starbucks was on my desk. Yay for caffeine on this morning.

And then a wrench was thrown into my plans of keeping myself in tact.

Kennedy's teacher, Mrs. Ellis, walked into the room. Followed by Reagan's teacher, Mrs. Smarrella. I instantly knew what was going on.

They prayed for me, which was exactly what I needed.

The tears plummeting down my face, however, were not intended to spill out. They

were supposed to oblige and hide.

(secretly, then, I kicked myself in the butt, without anyone aware of what happened. just last night I told Aaron how just a handful of people at school make it obvious that they're praying for me. another excellent example of me being too quick to judge and think only of myself.)

God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good.

I need to tattoo that on my arm, because I so easily forget.

What would these next 365 days be like if I weren't surrounded by these prayer warriors? I'd be lost, undoubtedly.

It's become a tradition in our house. At the end of each day, when we're all together (or, in tonight's case, mostly together), we each share

our favorite part of our day. Unanimously, our favorite part involved a colorful butterfly, a blue dolphin, and a rainbow colored bunny rabbit.

Thanks to the face painter at Chick-Fil-A for saving the night, not only with her artistic and FREE expertise, but for telling me a survival story of her own. Her husband was a helicopter pilot during Vietnam. She made it. So will I.