She just died. The spider, Charlotte just died. It's my turn, I'm reading, and I knew the part was coming, it's been coming for awhile; it was eminent. She had no more energy, she whispered goodbye as Wilbur winked at her as he was getting shoved in the crate to go home. I'm openly crying by now, the Oldest doesn't know what to do. So he slowly takes the book away from me and starts reading, finishes the part I couldn't.
It's just a spider for God's sake. It's just a book. A ficticious spider in a ficticious book. What the?
(big overinflated sigh)
You cook, you clean, you go to work, you nourish, you love, you scold, you are professional and yet you hang your hat on every dust particle in your home. You are a woman. Some women are Moms and some are not. You are still a woman. We are all made similarly. We are strong.
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