Photo by Simon Matzinger from Pexels It's taken me almost 40 years, marrying the best man I know, burying my father, birthing two kids and surviving a global pandemic to get me here, but I'm here. Today. I'm here. Now. I've inexplicably arrived here at the ledge, one leg extended. Eyes forward and up. Eyes not looking back.…
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On Motherhood: Mornings like this
It's been one of those mornings.
The ones where I muster all my strength to stop myself from screaming at my kids.
The baby mashes his face against my breast, desperate to nurse, but then won't stay latched for more than 15 seconds.
The toddler disagrees loudly with any and every suggestion. No, not those shoes! No, not wear this shirt! Evelyn want to brush hair! No brush hair!
It's been one of those mornings.
On Motherhood: Judgement
“Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had, and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed.” -Linda Wooten I was afraid. When I brought my daughter home from the birth center, I was terrified. Not overtly. Not openly. Not wide-eyed and pale skinned. But beneath all the joy, excitement, fatigue and…
Tired.
I'm just tired today, y'all. Tired of worrying about how often I'm writing and how much I'm writing and what I'm writing and where I'm publishing my writing. how many words. how many pages. how many stories. I get tired of wanting to write and not finding time. Tired of having time, but not wanting…
Weak
A little piece of mine published recently on The Drabble.
“It’s weak,” she announced, eyes sparkling. I laughed. I cried. I cried because she hadn’t spoken in months. I cried because her salty humor still existed. The disease hadn’t swallowed it as it had her bent body.
“Mom, it’s steamed vegetables,” I smiled, stabbing a broccoli crown, raising it to her paper lips. They remained closed and curved upward in a defiant smirk on a normally barren face. She was with me again, for a moment. Then, like lowering a yellow shade, her withering face went blank again. Wiping my eyes, I lifted another bland forkful to her open mouth.
Inspiration
Often I wonder to myself "what and why am I doing this?" It's a pervasive question of mine. Maybe of everyone's. Is it ambition asking the question? Is it neurosis? I am very grateful for my life. I love my family. I love our home. It's cozy and unique and filled with a history of…
Agile
via Daily Prompt: Agile Agility. Now that's a good word. Agility is a word that precisely describes motherhood. Maybe I'm grabbing the low-hanging fruit here. Great, another blog about how challenging motherhood is. You're skeptical. That's good. I like that. I'm a bit of a cynic myself. Read on, doubting reader, and maybe I'll surprise…
pervasive fear of death
there is in us a pervasive fear of death. not necessarily of the act of dying but the concern over what happens after we die. and that fear has driven our logical brains to come up with explanations. ranging from pearly gates and clouds to anticipated family reunions with those gone before. we just…
gender at work
She was nervous. Thinking about it as she drove, she’d been to the office more than 20 times now. It shouldn’t be a big deal. But when you see your boss 3 or 4 times a year it can create a little anxiety. The drive was a pleasant one. Green sprawling land on either side,…
practice makes perfect
Coming to the realization that I have no real experience writing anything creative is difficult. I've written and performed slam poems, sure. But those are so stylized that they are formulaic. Slam writing felt more like fitting my thoughts into a preexisting structure than it did creating. However, if I'm being kind to myself, and…
