Word of the Day: undergird John Paul the Great died one month before my birthday. And because I'm good with connecting random dates with not so random dates, I will always remember that. I would have remembered that anyways. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be in Rome now. To have been there for the announcement, for his funeral, to be in the square during the voting. This hasn't happened in my lifetime. I've always known the little Polish man as my earthly leader, as The Pope. Who will the next one be? Poor man, I feel badly for him. He's got some ginormous shoes to fill. I suppose, however, you could have said that about John Paul [both of them] after Paul VI's death. I take that back. I wouldn't give anything to be in Rome. I have too much to give now. It's beautiful that he's gone, right after Easter. He's out of pain now and living the good life. But what'll we do without you? Another random date connection--Patrick first slept through the night on the night of March 30. There's really no reference point other than it was the day before the last day of March. I have to note these things somewhere because, among all of the stuff we've been given for Patrick, no one thought of a baby book. And I always forget to get one. Lazy. Yep. Spending time with my mother was very very nice. Patrick was bad for her, which was great. She took care of him all night, fed him, changed him. He slept in her room and I slept in my old room. Being with my mother was good, but I realized how much I actually hate that place. All of it, every nook and cranny, reminds me of my dad. I hadn't been there since August and it hadn't changed a bit. Nothing at all is my mother's and certainly not mine. It all drips of my father, even in my old room. It was quite an uncomfortable feeling knowing that I despised that house, where I grew up, matured, understood. In all actuality...I don't even know what. I feel as if I should be sad, but I'm not. And then I feel bad about not being sad. I do, however, feel for my mother and told her she should move back to Louisiana. Uncle Byron did. She should, too. She's got brothers to stay with [and cook for] till she can get herself situated, and she wouldn't be around my father, who is only bad for all people involved with him. She said she might. Which means she won't. It's because of me. Patrick slept through the night again. And by 'through the night' I mean that he slept about six hours between his late night feeding and his early morning feeding. Terah for that. This is only because, I believe, we're putting him on his stomach to sleep. He seems to sleep quite soundly on his stomach and, as of yet, hasn't died. I wonder sometimes what it really matters if a child sleeps on his stomach or his back. Just like sometimes I wonder if it really matters if a child has all these toys and colors and sounds all over the place. What happened back in the day? What did Galileo's mother do to him to make him great? What did Socrates' mother do? My son's going to be great not because of all the 'educational' toys he has [or might not have], but because he has parents who love him and tell him so. It's him and us. And if he sleeps better on his stomach, he's sleeping on his stomach. Take that, doctors.