Burning My Money

I enjoy burning my money. I more than enjoy it, I love it. I love everything about it from beginning to end.

The moment I get a notification on my phone or a reminder in the mail the excitement begins. I carve out time in my schedule to be alone, grab my keys and just short of run to my car. The anticipation builds as I pause at each stop sign and stop at every red light. Although it would appear I am driving, I am actually transforming into a forensic accountant, reviewing a mental ledger of expenditures and expenses. I can make pasta an extra night this week and save some money there. The cable bill isn’t really due until the 27th, so I can pull from the budget there. All until I pull into a parking spot. The time has come. The heavy door swings open, providing a warm greeting paired with a stiff punch to the face of fragrance. I know I am in the right place.

My curiosities are peaking as I take in the new inventory. Each item neatly stacked, and color coordinated, appeasing my OCD tendencies. So many vibrantly colored jars adorned with beautiful metalic lids enticing me to open and take whiff. Will it be sweet? Savory? Light and airy? The bigger mystery, which ones will come home with me? What will I be in the mood for?

Why does the ritual to burn money bring me so much joy? Well, not actually burning money, but spending money on glass jars of wax and burning that. Well, not just wax, infused waxed. But not just infused wax, special infused wax. Wax with creative combinations of essential oils and spices. Wax so powerful it can evoke moods and feelings from within and burning that. Why? Why do I love this so much?

I do. I love everything about the process. I love reading the creative names and silly puns. I love the beautiful packaging, with solid, soothing colors or vibrant florals. I love the acknowledgement of holidays with scary black cats and pumpkins or striped candy canes and snowmen dancing about. I love testing out each scent, allowing my nose to take the lead with a deep inhale.

I love the placing them on their special shelf in my home, aligning them just right. I love dropping them in their holder for the first burn, the most important, allowing the wax to pool evenly. I love trimming the wicks and igniting them again and again. Setting them off to fill each room with a unique aroma, Mahogony Teak, White Pumpkin, Frosted Pine or Clean Linen. I love the twinkle of the amber flame and the shadows cast on the walls, the ambiance, the setting, the aesthetic.

And when my husband gets a glimpse of the bank statements, I love that I only need a one-word rebuttal.

FIREWORKS!

I love burning my money.

The Pursuit of Happiness

 

A few years ago,  I was at a low point in my life. Every day felt like a fight and a struggle to get through. While raising my young children, I became so focused on being a mother and worrying about all of the things I could not change, I lost myself. In the midst of the chaos and stress, I became disconnected to the person I was and the person I wanted to be.

It was around this time I met a woman that would have a significant imprint on my life. Thinking back, I can see how we had just missed meeting each other earlier. However, it was inevitable our paths would cross. That’s really all that needed to happen for us to become instantaneous friends, as if we had known each other our whole lives. The first time we spoke on the telephone we talked for three hours! I was compelled to let my guard down and be honest and vulnerable, to share my worries and fears and my hopes and dreams. She too was in a place of discontent, desperate for change and growth. Through our hardship, we clung onto each other, setting sail to cross an ocean with hopes to make it to the other side.

Throughout our many conversations, it became clear on what I wanted from life and for the first time I wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

Slowly, I recognized opportunity and change happening all around me. The dream that I yearned for would slowly become a reality. I was able to step into the person I wanted to be. The person I am.

We only get a handful of people in our lives that know you for who you really are and can still be loving and excepting.

My best friend is without a doubt my soul mate. She was the mirror I needed to see what was holding me back and has continued to root me on and push me to propel forward. She is forever encouraging me to grow and follow my heart. My life will never be the same having met her.

The thing is, she too was lost and she too had a dream of a better life. Now, the universe has shown up to grant her the opportunity to step into the change she has been seeking for so very long. It is now her turn to pull her boat ashore, having crossed the ocean. 

I know in my heart, that it was no accident we met. It was no accident we both set out on a journey for change and after three long years we were both able to achieve it within months of each other. A soulmate encourages transformation. Neither accomplishment would be as rewarding if we did not both succeed. I raise my glass and tip my hat to you my friend, from the bottom of my heart, wishing you every single ounce of happiness you fought so hard for. ❤

Perhaps a little dramatic. . but i will miss the days when you lived close by!

 

 

Running In a New Direction

Today I will begin running, as in one foot in front of the other, down the street, at a fast pace. I am always envious when I see a fit person on the run in my neighborhood, device strapped in securely by their armband, tangled up in earbuds, ponytail flapping side to side, their clothing blotched with sweat. There is a notion of freedom and empowerment these runners seem to possess. It becomes obvious to me they are in a zone, sorting out their thoughts, stomping on their worries and moving towards clarity.

Today I will strive towards this image, although I am quite sure I will be keeled over midway down the block, desperately sucking in air, feeling like the oxygen has suddenly vanished from planet Earth. My muscle will ache and my legs will wobble. I will have to remind myself that the image I seek begins by placing one foot in front of the other, on repeat.  Today is the day to start something new, to work on a small goal and be the person you want to be. Today I will begin running.

We will pretend this is me. 🙂

Bittersweet Birthday Cake

From the second they place your newly born baby into your arms your life has changed. Not only because of the sleepless nights and endless diapers, but also because there is a person that you instinctively love more than yourself. I have received so much joy experiencing life through their perspective. Getting another chance to feel excited over the first snow fall or the last the day of school. Raising my children has allowed me to reminisce on my own childhood, to feel the magic I once believed in.

Today my youngest child turned five. As I write it, I still cannot believe it to be true. It feels like the closing of a chapter that is bittersweet. No more toddlers running through the house with bad pronunciations and a desire to stay in the nude. No more little fingers pinching away at scattered cheerios, or toothless grins. No more wobbly feet desperate to walk and no more teeny, tiny hands grasping onto my pinky finger.

There are many things I will not miss from that era of babyhood through toddler-hood, but somehow those details fade to the background, slightly out of focus.

My youngest child is now five.

Now, here I am, navigating through parenting with their childhood fully bloomed, inflated with feelings of their self esteem, curiosity, stress, fear, ego, anger, just to name a few. As a mother, I feel as though somebody turned the parenthood dial up a few notches. There is more to it than just maintaining their life and teaching them not to bite people. I feel an innate urge to ensure they are each emotionally okay, despite the world of influences they face everyday when they step out over the threshold of our home.

“A mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child.”

An accurate statement loaded with stress and heartache, which cannot be avoided. I know that in a few years, when they cross over to the next plateau of their life, I’ll probably look back and think how easy I had it. Tears and frustrations will fade and I will be in amazement of how fast time is passing and how bittersweet it is that they are minimally in my presence.

However, today I am working hard to make sure they have a childhood they can recall upon one day to fill them up with joy and reminisce the magic they were able to experience when they could rely on their mommy to fix their mishaps and make them feel loved unconditionally.

Happy 5th birthday to my last born child.

It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log

The kids had a snow day on Friday and another one yesterday, making today a false Monday and putting an end to their four day weekend. Winter has officially hit Long Island.

The day began like any other weekday, some breakfast, packed lunches and snacks, strange outfits and running down the block while the bus patiently sits at the corner with its doors open, ready to swallow up reluctant children. The day is in full swing with lots to get done.

By the time the evening comes, I sit on the couch with a cup of coffee ready to relax, a reward to myself. Sometimes I make a mental list of all the little tasks that I was able to do and I feel accomplished. I sit there all “Carpe Diem” and “Zen-like” feeling proud of myself. You did a good job. There will always be more to do, but you chipped away at the ol’ block today! You owned it today.   It’s usually around this time it starts . . .

“Go to bed,” I say slightly above my typical speaking voice. I can hear pattering feet above me. I decide to make my trip to the bathroom a surprise inspection, popping my head into their rooms while they scramble like cockroaches to their beds and fumble under the covers.

It’s only a few minutes later, their little voices are carried throughout the house, usually giggling or arguing and lots of shushing one another.

“Get in bed,” I shout out, with hope that they will instantaneously feel tired and fall asleep.

Skipping over the dreadful details, the evening typically concludes with me explaining to myself, out loud, that I am not being unreasonable by asking them to go to bed. We did everything that had to get done, it was a packed day and now its time for sleep. Simple.

If the phone rings and I decide to have a conversation, not work related, not bill related, just a casual, shoot-the-shit phone call, I find myself every few minutes pulling the phone away to scream like I have a disease. I am forced against my will to frequently get off the couch to sort them all back into their correct rooms and beds.

Just a few of the things that fly out of my mouth almost every night.

• I’m done!
• I’ve punched out!
• So much happened today. How are you not tired?
• That’s it! You’re all going to bed a half hour earlier tomorrow.
• Please just go to bed. Please.
• Now you’re thirsty? Really?
• GO PEE THEN!
• It’s a school night and because I said so, that’s why.
• The kitchen is closed!
• NO! I have already tucked you in twice, now you’re on your own!
• SLEEP!

Not sure what I am doing wrong here, but by the time they all settle down, I can’t even think straight. Any creativity to write or desire to read has been drained and I just sit there in shock.

Right.

 

What Matters

When my son was in Kindergarten, the teacher would tell me during recess all he does is sit in the field and dig in the dirt using a branch. She wanted him to stop because of the potential danger of having little holes littering the field where other children run.

When I confronted him on his digging, he brought me to his room and pulled an old lunchbox out from under his bed. He explained that he was searching for special rocks to add to his collection, despite the millions of rocks that blanketing the playground area he could have easily chosen. The rocks in his collection didn’t look special at all. As a matter of fact, some weren’t even rocks, but chunks of pavement or concrete. I left it alone and encouraged his digging to take place at home.

From time to time, on a special occasion, I would receive a small gift, wrapped in a paper towel. When I opened it up, I would find a rock that was carefully selected and washed.  I then understood how special those rocks in his collection really were.

As I have recently moved, and have spent a lot of time deciding what to pack and what to get rid of. It made me think about what really matters. I realize that what matters is different for each person but there is a common denominator, how it makes you feel. What mattered to me was the paintings from our travels, some of my favorite photographs of family, my favorite mug that has magical powers to make coffee taste better somehow, and my books. Each of those things make me feel something, sentimental, love or simply joy. They have the ability to affect my mood and remind me of who I am, at my best. I believe that what we have may be very different, but why they matter is because of the same reason. They make us feel something and remind us of who we strive to be at our best. Some of my most valuable things are not valuable at all. For my son those rocks were special and to me, that is what matters.

 

I would just like to note that a follower had emailed me to see if I am still writing.  She said, that I wrote about things that mattered.  Thank you for your concern, as it has inspired me to continue to do what I love.

 

LOVE in ten sentences (A Challenge)

I have been challenged by Nicole from The Whispering Pen for the “Love in Ten Sentences.” I was excited, touched and intimidated by this challenge, as I haven’t written poetry in a LONG time. EEK! Especially to be challenge from such a talented poet and writer such as Nicole. Her Haiku poems depict an interesting perspective. In just a few words she has the ability to create something beautiful, touching and thought provoking. Her blog is all about sending out positive messages and is a breath of fresh air that I look forward to reading.

The challenge is to write a poem about love and title it “Love in Ten Sentences.” It must have 10 lines, each 4 words long. Every line must contain the word “love.” At the end of the poem, you must include a favorite quote about love. Then challenge fifteen other bloggers.

Love erupting like volcanoes,

Love bursting and exploding,

My love spilling within,

Love dripping and leaking,

Crevices coated with love.

Authentic love is messy,

Love you cannot explain,

Boundless love, no restrictions.

Devout love for you,

Identical love you reciprocate.

        

I now challenge :

Vickiewhat  (you better do this one!! 😉  )

I came for the soup . . .

Best Poetry Blog in the Cosmos 

The Wild Rumpus

Renee “Soul Writer” Brooks 

Mama Writes Words 

A Writers Life

The Empathy Queen

The Happy Haikuer’s Blog 

Sarah Doughty

Creative Talents Unleashed

But I Smile Anyway

The Return of the Modern Philosopher

My Sweet Nothings

Have fun!! If you weren’t challenged and want to give it a try – Go For It!!! I dare you!! 🙂

This MOM’s Life

I am so happy to be featured on My Sweet Nothings! She features Mommy bloggers in her posts titled, This Mom’s Life. I love that she has compiled interviews of mothers from different parts of the world.

As different as we may be, we all have in common the love we feel for our children. ❤

I just want to say thank you again, for including me!

Today I will write . . .

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?

Now What?

I find I am clutching my mug of steaming hot coffee a bit tighter lately, grabbing for the throw blanket to burrito myself in more often than usual, and procrastinating a little longer before rolling out of bed or stepping out of the scorching shower. Winter has officially set in for Long Island. BRRR!

The garbage is filled with empty cardboard hearts, yes plural, and a new blemish has erupted on my chin (which for me, is unusual). We have gone through several sketch pads, glue sticks and packages of construction paper in this house. The DVR is empty, every book has been read, the toys have been played with and Logos have been built. We have beaded necklaces and bracelets, molded Play-Doh into mini animal shapes and even practiced some school work.

Its only Monday! SIX MORE DAYS! Six more days the kids are home from school and the snacks are depleting at an astounding rate! Its too cold to go outside and after an unexpected vet bill, my budget is a bit tight.  (Doggie is doing fine now 🙂  )

Its only Monday! Now what?

If it was up to me, I’d remain a burrito all week long reading, writing and editing. Sigh . . but that will not satisfy four energetic children. So does anyone have any great suggestions?