Tick Tock

Time is a strange concept. We all experience it, yet it feels different for each of us. One year may be better for one person than another. A season or time of day may be preferred varying from one person to the next.

When I was a child, a week felt like a month and a month felt like a year. The minutes ticked by so slowly I thought Christmas would never come back again and summer was a faint and distant memory. I was always in awe of the concept of time, questioning my mother why the day felt so long and the nights blinked past us in a flash.

My mother had told me time is like a triangle. As children we all start at the bottom, traveling from side to side, which takes the longest. As we grow old, we move up the triangle and traveling from side to side goes by more quickly, until you’ve reached the top, when you find you can no longer keep up with the years.

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Well Mom, you were right! I have moved up the triangle and time is really picking up now. The pause button doesn’t work, there is no slowing it down. Another school year has flown by, summer is just eight short weeks and then we can all scurry around for another holiday season.

I understand this realization when I look at my children. They have become kids, past diapers and bottles. When did that exactly happen? An old photograph of them caught my eye the other day and it took my breath away. When did they change? I hope I really enjoyed holding each newborn baby, listening to each first word spoken. I pray that I remember their first steps and how it felt when they would rest their heads on my shoulder.

I hope I am soaking in every moment now that they are in grade school, letting their imaginations run wild and discovering the world they live in. I hope that I can capture their excitement and wonder, never letting a fleeting moment pass me by without indulging and fully experiencing it. I am aware of the importance of right now. 

The clock seems to be ticking by just a bit faster . . .

tick tick tick tock . . .

The Winds Are Blowing In From The East

The casket is closed. It is always difficult to watch such an excruciating death. My knees weakened and tears seemed endless. So difficult to let go, no longer able to be called upon. I have mourned and grieved this death for a long time.

Now, I am convinced that it was for the best. It was my pride that had died that day.

It had been some time ago, I fell down on my luck. I had been filled with a sense of hopelessness which pained me to start each new day. A new day consumed with dread and despair, achieving nothing but to be reminded how my ridiculous goals were far from being realistically attained. My goals were sitting on the other side of the ocean and all life handed me was a paddle, which was broken. I have cried, screamed and complained, which only seemed to spread the gap wider between me and my happiness.

Gratitude showed its face to me out of fear. I was afraid things were going to get worse. I was afraid that terrible things would continue to happen in my life and I was fearful of what would become of my children. Gratitude would stop by here and there to console me. Gratitude made me feel fortunate for the little we did have and taught me the importance of the intangible things, which is too often overlooked. Gratitude eventually replaced the ugly pride that filled my soul, no longer able to consume my happiness.

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I have lived in this quote everyday since the death of my pride.

The other day the sun rose in the sky. It was an ordinary day for most, getting the kids off to school, hauling to work. The flowers and trees are busy carrying out spring. The post had been delivered, filling our mailboxes with empty hands waiting for their share of your hard earned money. Some people probably ran a red light and others needed to pick up a few things at the store. All were completely unaware of the wind’s from the east blowing in . . .

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As many of you were going about your day, my makeshift boat scraped on the shallow bottom of the beach, as my calloused hands pulled it ashore.

I have arrived on the other side of that ocean.

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I used duct tape on the paddle. It turns out, it worked just fine.

Is this thing on?

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Testing . . .Testing. . .1…2…3…

Can you hear me? That is the real questions here, isn’t it? Do YOU hear me? Are YOU listening? We are all here typing relentlessly at our keyboards, giving our words a once over and then holding our breath as we click the “Publish” button. WordPress uses its magical powers, casting a spell or hums a tune while happily busy at work. “Beep, Bop, Boop.” Presto! Our words are displayed for the reading pleasure of our followers.

I started blogging after winning a writing contest. Yay!! Yes, I was so excited because it was the first time I was recognized for my writing. They announced me as the winner by using my name and a photograph, but I was very disappointed when they didn’t publish or post what I actually wrote. I felt very unsettled about it all. I kept saying, “I want to be heard, not seen.” It was a big let down, to say the least.

I am now very grateful for this disappointment because it led me here! I can clearly connect the dots of my journey this far in my pursuit and it feels right. I am skipping down the yellow brick road with no evil witch in sight. I set out to be heard and in three in a half months have gained over 350 followers!! I am grateful for each and every person that has committed to following me and most of all for listening!

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This is us! Our arms are interlocked as we skip down the yellow brick road to ask the Almighty Oz for something, only to discover we had the power all along.

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How did you get here?

Happy Blogging!!

Dear Blue Pajama Pants

My Dearest Blue Pajama Pants,

It saddens to me have to write this to you, but I fear that it is time we part ways. Lately you seem to be unwinding at the seems, frazzled and weak. It seems as though I have worn you thin and despite your best efforts, you can no longer provide for me the way you once did.

Indeed, we have been through it all together. I remember when we first met, that glorious night in the hospital. I had just given birth to my daughter and desperate to get out of that dreadful hospital gown. That is when you were presented to me, neatly folded and wrapped in soft white tissue paper, nestled inside a colorful bag. From that day forward I knew we would be close, I just felt it.

We shared countless nights walking the floor with babies, innumerable mornings spent coffee clutching. You always stuck around for the clean up too. Remember that one time we painted the house? You remember, it was late, we waited until after the kids went to bed with my husband. He rolled a stripe of sage green paint on you, right on the back. You thought you were done then, but not me, I still wore you proud. Countless mornings we spent together on the bus stop, it never not once bothered me to be seen with you.

Oh, but now my old friend, you have gone grey and lost color in places, you’ve lost your elasticity, and the holes are spreading. I’m afraid there is not much more you will be able to endure. They say, maybe one more washing. So, before it comes down to you completely unraveling, I will leave you now, as you still have your shape and your dignity. When I look back at photographs of us together I will always be filled with fond memories and adoration I have for you.

Blue pajama pants, its time for me to say goodbye. There will never be another quite like you. You will be missed dearly.

Your devoted friend,

Lisa ❤

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Do you have a garment that devastated you to part with? How bad did you let it get?

This doesn’t look so bad, the back is filled with holes. Its not good.

Today I will write . . .

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Today I will write because I want to be a writer.

Today I will write because the ache of not writing has become intolerable.

Today I will write to calm the noise in my head, as each thought is fighting for attention. Letting the thoughts drain from my fingers will give me clarity and peace.

Today I will write because my imagination and creativity is clawing at the door and gripping tight to the bars, desperate to break free from the space it is held captive. Only I have the power to set them free.

Today I will write because it is the only thing I can do in my pj’s, sitting on my couch, that makes me feel absolute exhilaration.

Today I will write because the story that I have begun to tell is crying for help. It needs to be tended to and worked on and I am the only one who can fix it.

Today I will write so when I lay my head down at night, I can fall right to sleep, knowing that I consciously took a step towards my passion.

Today I will write because I AM a writer.

Today I will write . . .

will you?

Lock The Door

Some days my face is twisted with stress and my mind in spinning like a top. I am out of answers, dry of ideas and simply weak.  On those days your arms around me aren’t just a loving embrace, but my protection from all that I cannot fix.  I can hide my face in your chest and press the pause button, call a “time out” on life. You have an ability to sense when I cannot stand tall next to you as a partner. When I am fragile and run down, you don’t think twice or need to be asked, you instinctually know to carry me.  When I have a problem, you present a solution. When I am in trouble, I look for you to save me.  When we don’t have enough, you always get more.

When the chaos of the evening routine is in motion, you bring order. When tears swell up and slide down little cheeks, you can find laughter. You sharpen the pencils and break out the books to see them through their school work. You help dole out portions of a hearty meal to our little one’s hungry bellies and help pull their arms through their pajama shirts.  As bedtime draws near, you aid in scrubbing their little teeth clean and kiss them atop their head while pulling the blankets to their chin.

As nighttime arrives, our eyes are heavy and the day has ended, you are just starting to begin.  You collect your things and tie your laces, prepare your bag and get ready to leave.  One last kiss goodnight as you zipper your coat before it’s time to head out.  You walk down the stairs with your keys rattling in your hand and close the door behind you, for your day has just begun.  But before you start your car and travel to work and become  the person you need to be to do your job successfully, you always manage to take a second, even in the pouring rain or blistery snow, to turn around and lock the door. Of the many roles you play in our family, Dad, father, fixer, Santa, human toy, you always remember, without being asked, to be our protector.  You always lock the door.

My words will never be sufficient for the love and gratitude I have for you, so this will have to do.  With everything that I am and all that I stand for, please know that I love you deeply.

Now if you could just remember to take the garbage out with you!

Rainy Days

I sit here hanging on to the last few hours of the morning, sipping coffee in my comfy sweats, my legs curled under me and the television gently humming out the sing song rhythm of a children’s show.  I have put most of my children on the bus with no chaos, no arguments over clothing or meals, a victory as far as I’m concerned. Perhaps it is attributed to the rain pouncing down, leaving the windows a dark shade of grey. When I reluctantly stepped foot out of bed this morning, each child was safely nestled in their blankets, eyes tightly closed, absorbed in the sleep where dreams come through.

The last little girl of mine is now playing contently with the sound of plastic clattering as she sorts through her toys. I feel content, a gift from the rain I suppose.  I am in total serenity when I watch the water beading up on the windows, what looks like several hundred at a time.  The drops slide down the glass making the outside world look like a distorted image from a painting I might have seen before.  The branches on the trees are mostly bare with a few soggy leaves hanging on before they surrender to winter and collect in piles on the ground. Its on days like this I wonder what it must be like living in a place where the clouds cover the sun and the forecast almost always calls for rain.  Perhaps it will lose its effect, but for today, for right now, I am appreciative for the rain.

Photo Credit: http://www.wallpapersphotography.com/Rainy%20Days/index.htm