Dear "Normal,"

Who are you?

When I was growing up, "normal" meant the television came on as soon as we walked in the door, popcorn on Friday nights, music playing all the time, and some fairly rude noises happening regularly in our home.  "Normal" also meant a lot of laughter, married parents who were still in love with one another, and friends who were always welcome.

Spencer's version of "normal" was much different than mine.

I remember when each of our children was born, "normal" didn't exist any more.  I remember thinking, "Someday this is all going to feel normal again."  It was always a day of celebration for me when I realized one morning--about two months after the births of each of our children that life felt "normal" again.

Right now "normal" for me means getting up and getting dressed for work.  It means that our oldest lives far away.  It means that our second child goes to work full time.  It means that there are usually just four of us at the dinner table.  (It also usually involves some rude noises.  What can I say?  I am surrounded by boys.)

In a few months, "normal" is going to change again.  Our two oldest children have chosen to serve as missionaries for our church.  I am afraid of what "normal" will feel like when they leave.  Maybe I'm easing into it slowly enough that it will be OK.  Or maybe it will be like a gigantic hole in my heart and it will take months to feel normal again.

Normal, I would appreciate it if you'd come quickly.