8:03 a.m.

aka Oh, Scotty where art thou?

IT happened. For the first time in 19 weeks it happened.

It's P-day. But I.....forgot. Well, I didn't really forget, but for the first time since June 11th, I just got up and started my day as normal. Then I looked up at the clock, it was 8:03. That's when the panic hit me. It's WEDNESDAY. I've missed Scott's email.

I hurried to the computer. 17 messages were downloading. Out of the 17, 1 from RS pres, 2 from meridian magazine, 14 things I'll delete because I'm not interested in perscriptions, shopping at Kohls, JC Penneys, current catelogue, pottery barn, williams-sanoma, or any of the other various stores that email me. (they are all trying ever so hard for my holiday dollars, which is looking more like holiday cents, but that's another post)

BUT NOTHING FROM ELDER MARX

What? I spent a few minutes of panic and guilt because I didn't wake up at 6 a.m. and come running to the computer to find his email and NOTHING?

That's o.k. It could be interviews, conferences, obscure brazilian holiday, the laundry is taking a little longer today, who knows.

Here's to both of our new normals. I'm not gut-wrenchingly miserable, clinging to every tick of the clock. He's busy and will write when he can.

Don't worry, I'm not a heartless mom. I bought him a pocket hymnal yesterday for Christmas, and when I looked down at the gold print that spelled Elder Marx, I cried.