Tomorrow I send you out on your journey to Mexico. You will make one stop in South Carolina to be reviewed, don't mess it up, and then you will be registered in Mexico City. For the past 11 months you have sat on my kitchen desk. Taunting me, reminding me, and keeping me focused. Sometimes you would get shuffled under bills, outgoing mail, and even Christmas cards. But still you stayed waiting patiently for your missing pages to come in slowly and complete you.
On bad days I would bring you out and stack and organize you. On really bad days I would curse you as I walked by and tried to forget about you. But still you sat waiting. Not to long ago you were so close to being complete, and you decided it might be fun to loose a page or too. I wanted to send all of you to the shredder. But I didn't, your missing page reminded me that I still have some fire left in me, your missing page also showed me what an amazing husband I have, and that he would do anything to make me smile again. I guess I should thank you for that, but I'm just not there yet. I'm still mad at you. Still I wish you luck on your journey. Please fall into the right hands. Please don't get lost on someones desk, and please please please don't even think about going near any water. May your pages find us our child.
P.S. So tonight I will sleep with you under our roof for one more night. If God forbid a fire breaks out, you will be the first thing I grab, after Liv of course.