Thursday, November 18, 2010


I am tired.
More to the point, my joy is exhausted, depleted, empty and pinging annoyingly at me as I push myself just one step farther.
It's the time of year, when missing my Daddy becomes a deep ache and my eyes fill with tears at the very thought.
It's the bone deep mama tired from juggling birthdays and holidays, field trips and homework without reprieve.
Just so my babies joy stays full.
It's every worry about selling a house, paying a bill, squeezing in one last chore before the day ends.
My glee is gone.
And I'm sort of okay with that.
I'm the person that is content with content.
I don't expect every day to be full of giggles and good wishes.
If it was, I'd probably run screaming from the room.
I have moments of pure bliss, mostly when the heathens are being sweet, that slide through my bones like sweet lightning, charging me for the next foray into the wild world.
But I know I'm lacking in the joy department.
But as long as my kids have sucked the very marrow from life's happiness, I'm okay with it.

Out of the mouths of heathens

Said by my duaghter to my dog.
"Move over, Harvey. Princess coming through."

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


It seems like for some things, time races by without a care to how much you wish it would slow down.
For instance, keeping my babies, well, babies for just a few minutes more.
And there are other times when and hour feels like a year.
Monday, November 22nd will be four years since my Daddy died.
That feels like a lifetime.
Especially when I think of all he's missed.
Bug is no longer a toddler, but a bright, happy boy with a few interesting quirks. And he still loves his PeePaw.
Boo was a chubby baby when Daddy left us. Now he's a clownish, handsome boy with a mind of his own.
Punk wasn't even a thought then. And I know how much he would love my little fiesty mini me.
My babies find comfort in talking to PeePaw's start, the brightest star in the night sky. They look for it every night and are so excited to see it.
I wish I could find the same comfort is something so simple.
I am selfish. Always have been. Always will be.
I wasn't ready to let go. Still aren't. But I wasn't given any choice, so I survive.
It's the natural cycle for children to bury their parents. Doesn't make it any easier. Doesn't make it feel less like a gaping hole.
It just is.
And so am I.

Monday, November 1, 2010


Five days and a lot of pain meds later, I've realized my mouth will never be the same.
Not only do I have stitches in my gums that resemble strange black worms, my front teeth and everything in between hurts.
How can teeth not touched hurt worse than the holes in my jaw?
It makes no sense.
Add to that the fact that I still can't eat comfortably, not even soup goes down easy, and it's a problem.
Its a problem that I have two huge bags of Halloween candy in my house and I can't even take a little nibble.
It's a problem that every time I drink something, I wince.
It's a problem that I'm upright and back at work, when all I want is to crawl into bed and pop another pain med.
This whole thing is one big, freaking problem.
And now I'm done whining.