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Isn't it amazing how you can sit in the middle of a crowd of people and feel completely alone? I know I'm far from the only person who's felt that.

Jeff left today to go camping with Drew. It's a Webelos outing, from today until Wednesday night. After a hectic week and an even busier Saturday, it feels like I haven't seen him or spent time with him in forever. I've fallen asleep on the couch with Lily almost every night this week, which doesn't help matters! Sunday mornings aren't much better, since Jeff leaves at 7:15 while I'm just barely out of bed by that time if I'm lucky. (Okay, okay, it's usually closer to 8:30 by the time I manage to get up...some of you know me far too well.) To add insult to injury, we've both been sick this week. When neither of us feels very good, it can make for some pretty irritable conversations.

I'm thrilled that Jeff is going camping with Andrew, since I'm not comfortable with Drew being gone that long without a parent, but as soon as he walked out the door today I felt so sad. He left straight from church, after the first part of the service, and it was difficult to just sit there with people all around me and not cry. It was like I didn't have a friend in the world. I felt absolutely ridiculous; I'm an adult, not a little girl who's losing her best friend, and he's only going to be gone for three more days, for heaven's sakes.

And then I thought about a young mom who attends our church whose husband died when she was 7 months pregnant with their first children--twins. The twins are now a month old or so, and she's raising them with her parents' help. That was enough for me to give myself a good swift kick in the pants and stop feeling sorry for myself.

Doesn't stop me from missing him, though.

My second thought for today, somewhat related but not really: Why do we worry so much about appearances? I was holding myself together by a thread today, trying not to lose it in the middle of Sunday School, but why not just let myself cry? Why do so many women feel like they have to appear as the perfect person, wife, mother, homemaker, the perfect anything? There are exactly three women here (in Dallas) that I can talk to when it feels like I'm about to fall apart. I have many other friends, but I don't ever let them see my weak spots or my struggles or when I'm about to lose it. And because I can hide my flaws, parenting or otherwise, very well, they have a much higher opinion of me and of my parenting skills than I do. Which makes it even harder for me to admit just how much I struggle sometimes or how hard it is to keep everything together.

There are several youngish moms, like me, who I talk to at church, go to playdates with, have long discussions with in the mothers' lounge, who I can talk to when I'm happy and everything is going well. But I'd never in a million years dream of calling any of them and saying "I have a killer migraine, I can barely think, and there are ten loads of laundry that need to be folded and I don't know what to do about dinner or getting Jaden to his baseball game. Help!"

Is it because I'm afraid I'll appear as less than the perfect mom? Because I don't trust them to still be my friend when they've seen me at my worst?

And if all of the moms are making sure that everyone else sees their good sides and holding in the rest, aren't we just artificially increasing the pressure that all of us are under to continue to hold up those perfect appearances?

I don't know. It makes my head hurt to think about it too much. Especially because it's after 1:00 in the morning, and I really need to go to bed. In my less-than-perfect bedroom, in my not-spotless house with a few dishes in the sink and two loads of laundry waiting to be folded and toys not picked up in the TVroom. OK, it's really three loads.

Hopefully this week will be better.