well the apocalypse didn’t happen so maybe i should think about what to do with the next 40-50 yrs of life.
After watching one of mom's all time favorite kid movies:
Kid: Well that's it!
Mom: What is it?
Kid: I've seen all the kids movies there are on earth to see.
Mom: I guarantee you this is not true.
Kid: Oh yes, it's true after 'The Never Ending Story' there are no more kids movies.
Mom: Hmm, you may have a point there kiddo.
milestone: bottom two front teeth lost. first on December 8th. second, er… kick me, a few days later.
we kept the first one in a safe place. he lost the second at school and then never brought it home but who cares really what was I gonna do keep a box of all his baby teeth?
now that’s a gruesome little thought. one is enough. maybe we will keep the last one if possible.
our baby is growing up. how strange to watch the last pieces of his babyhood fall off him.
he will tower over me before long. already more than half my size. what will it be like to look up at him instead of down?
it makes me all so emo.
back to school
first grade
first impressions of a six year old.
“it’s loud.
I’m tired.
is it all the same?”
sigh. here we go again… chin up mommy somebody needs you.
It’s been another 365 days, and then some.
You might not recognize the world you left behind. It hasn’t even been that long yet so much has conspired to alter your world. It’s different now. The place you left. It’s clean. There is a cleaning woman. A woman you couldn’t abide. How could you she might come in and sweep out all the safe things.
The roses you left, small and struggling, are thriving. Save for one, they bloom heartily. I’m told they look healthier this year than ever before.
He’s even spiffed up. After a quick brush with the reaper who missed his mark he is better than bad he’s good. A few rich relatives have died and he suddenly is comfortable. No more worry, no struggling, no more. He has a shiny new car and calls the housekeeper his ‘friend’. It’s all shits and giggles down there.
Then there is you. Yet, that hasn’t changed. You are still there collecting dust on the mantle. With the cheap box & the crooked cross you sit waiting for that place you were promised. I hope the ‘new him’ comes to his senses and spends some of that new money on giving you your final wish.
I want to be able to visit you. It’s silly, I know you aren’t there but I want it so badly. Here’s hoping next year we’ll be talking about the new you.
Now, I just miss you. Like a little girl. And you will never be back. This is real. It is forever. You are gone from me. I am free and it is sometimes sad.
there is time for pictures. there are no free moments for words. the images will have to tell the story for now.
He is s.. i… x…
6!!!!
gulp.
every year it happens. he gets a little older, inching toward adulthood, changing before these eyes.
pride kicks in and wonder at the awesome human who is developing. yet, there is also a sorrow that creeps about under it all.
someday my iron boy will be an iron man and i will only be lucky enough to watch him fly from the ground.
for now i’m still helping him construct the perfect arc reactor.
buried in the earth.
in our back yard.
fingernails full of dirt.
pulling weeds.
digging up worms.
no time to worry.
just plant and water.
plant and grow.
*I’ll be back to the regular sporadic crazy soonish. For now, nature calls.
It’s Spring again. Newness all around us. My heart is just a tiny bit lighter. My body moves in a different way. It begins to fuse with the outdoors. The sky is brighter and sound is sharper. I’m awake and there is hope that the new season will bring better times. We all feel it. Everyone in this house has promise in their eyes.
This is how I felt in childhood. It was a time of escape from the confines of the indoors. A cramped, cluttered, and dirty place where dreams got buried under garbage. Hope couldn’t breathe.
Windows would fly open, air rushed in pushing aside stale choking desperation. For awhile, it felt like maybe it had all been a nightmare. Not as bad as it seemed. If there was sky so big and beautiful how could there be such things.
It was always a fleeting happiness. This was the reality of living with hoarders. Sooner or later, the doors close. The windows are locked and the cycle begins again.
Spring always holds hope, promises, and dreams. I cherish it every year for everything that it brings.
found today while lurking around the web. re-posting here so i don’t forget how beautiful it is.
The Invitation by Oriah
It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.
There’s a mask worn. It hugs tightly to this face.
Nothing gets in, nothing gets out.
It started as a game. It’s become survival. Each hinge tightly secure.
There are cracks beneath the surface.
Tiny, difficult to see. Yet always creaking slightly wider it might split open with a quick twist it could come easily.
The situation remains the same. It’s been for as long as the face can remember. A kind of stasis, an in between.
The cracks hold moments. They threaten every thread of the mask that holds the face until it can be something more.
