Remember to BreatheLet’s take a break here. I’m hating this time period and who I was at that time. I just read somewhere that you should write a letter to your younger self. My instant thought was, ‘You’re an i***t’. So maybe that’s not such a good idea. I was thick into the ‘good times’ of family and children, birthday parties and Santa visits. Pulling stuck children out of the mud behind us, SpaghettiOs and tater tots and diapers, after our third child, Laura, also adorable, was born. Since I didn’t have my pots and pans yet, I made dinner from canned beef and gravy in a corn popper. Frank hit a guy on a stalled motorcycle and dented the car. I only mention this because his bad driving played a big factor in his life decades later and made me glad he had divorced me when he did. Shortly
