I've been having trouble writing lately...which is probably pretty obvious from the lack of regular blog posts around here. Though I'm not sure there are too many people that still read here anyway.
The symptoms show up periodically throughout the year...that nasty virus called writer's block. It happens when I neglect to feed the inner writer...the reader. The last two books I read were not at all difficult reads. They weren't inspiring. I didn't think much about them. They were fluff and they've stifled my voice. I write best when I read great writing...come to think of it, I think I write best when I read great writing online. Some of the best writing I've read, the words that have touched me the most, inspired me the most, made me cry...has been on blogs. And I've been a terrible blog friend for several months now. I haven't been reading. Well, I've read a random post here and there but for the most part I don't know what these inspiring people, many of whom I've come to consider friends, have been up to lately.
Gah! I'm boring myself, blogging about not blogging, writing about not being able to write.
Then there are those moments when I have my little D in my arms while she is supposed to be going to sleep (yes, I lay with my daughter while she goes to sleep...I do a lot of things "wrong" and I don't care.) and I weave perfect sentences in my mind that will help me remember just how beautiful and sweet she is at this moment in time. She removes her pacifier to throw her arms around me and plant a kiss on my lips. She tells me "wuv you too Mama" in anticipation of my response. As I leave the room after I put her in her crib, she calls to me "have good sweeper Mama."
Almost every day I see my exuberant, handsome, full-of-love little boy exit his school with a gigantic smile for me. He still gives me a big hug right in front of EVERYONE and still lets me kiss him. I imagine the days of this are numbered but I am beyond thankful that my 6 1/2 year old first-grader is still confident enough in himself and who he is that he doesn't care if the other boys might tease him. (I actually suspect many of the boys are a little jealous.) This boy makes me smile and makes my temper flare and then makes me laugh.
My oldest child, Miss M, I am beginning to feel reluctant to blog about. She's 8 1/2 going on 13 (23?) in many ways. With her, especially, it seems that I am no longer blogging about myself if I write about her. But she is beautiful, sassy, smart and fun. I'm never sure where I stand with her each day, a feeling that is echoed in many of her friends at school (one day they'll say hi and wave, the next they pretend they've never seen me before). It is normal, the starting to push away. It stings only a little so far. I can still bring her back. So far. There are still unexpected moments when she catches me in a hard hug and tells me she loves me and thanks me (to which I say what for? For being a super mean mom? 'Cuz that's who I am.) for some small thing. She's full of drama so her newest venture trying out for the school play may be right up her alley. She beats herself up about things that she needn't worry about and I call her on it. She's a worry wart and I don't know when that started (though I suspect it started when those stomach aches she used to have started as well) and I'm desperately sticking my fingers in the holes of the dam.
As for me? I have my good days and bad days, just like you. Though it's usually parts of each day that are good and not so good. Normal. Life. I'm thankful there is nothing really bad going on in my life. (Well, there is and there isn't. Perspective I suppose. The bad is sort of on the periphery for me. Distance helps detach.) I stay up too late at night. I eat too much of the wrong stuff and not enough of the right stuff. I do a lot of things "wrong" and make a lot of mistakes but I know my heart is in the right place and I'm trying to be better. I think that's about all we can do, right?