The thing with writing is that it requires heart and inspiration to be real. Writing is a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story without giving you eye-contact. Writing, for me, requires cup after cup of coffee, banging of a backspace key and little distraction. It's a challenge- one that leaves me with crossed legs, tingling on a wooden chair and a migraine. Wise words: if you're staring at a blank piece of paper (or a glaring white box) and nothing comes to you, get up and do something else. If I forced the words out, they wouldn't be sincere. They would be just that; forced. I knew the noise would return soon enough- I just had to sit back and suffer through the silence for a short time. Sometimes, you have to shove the things you love into the backseat. Sometimes a writer becomes exhausted and frustrated- my words are manipulated. You aren't understanding a word of it. Unforunately, a writer sometimes throws in the towel. She throws her hands in the air with an exasperated I Freaking Give Up No One Listens Anyway. Recently, a beloved friend of mine turned to me during one of my adult sized temper tantrums and said, simply, "Get over it." And it struck me. He's absolutely right. It's time to get over it. To pull myself onto this yellow wooden chair, shake the tingles from my stiff legs and continue banging keys, cracked knuckles stinging at each backspace tap. tap. tap.
And now, there is the mighty task of catching up. Of trying to relay information from the past several months of our lives into your brains- to set the scene for our current position- to pick up where we left off, if you will. I'm not sure where to begin such a tremendous task so I will give you a short overview-
Kade and I spent our summer at the Daycare. Ten hours a day I pull hair into pig tails, do piourettes in the gym, build lego castles and practice sign language. I sometimes catch myself signing to grown adults and have said, "I have to go potty" to my boyfriend. My hands are stained with "washable" paint and there is paste in my hair on a daily basis. Glitter sticks, relentless, to my scalp. Kade has adjusted well to the Daycare life- he finally takes regular naps there and when he see's me through the window he grins and waves his little fingers. Hi my mama.
The past few months have been full of growth- literally. Kade is actually getting taller and judging by the immense amount of food he's been eating, another growth spurt is underway. But with this literal growth, a spiritual and sentimental growth is occuring as well. Gaining more respect for myself as a mother, being more intuitive to my needs as well as those of my family. I'm realizing even more so the importance of patience, kindness, faith, respect. Blessings are falling hard on my head, leaving metaphorical goose eggs the size of Texas. I've been sitting on the sidelines, keeping to myself, focusing on my tiny family unit and watching as things unravel around me. I'm realizing the mistakes that others make and how the mistakes I've allowed other to influence me to make. I'm watching intently as those who I always thought so wonderful and brave show their lesser side... It's uncomfortable but an important lesson. Things and people are not always what they seem. I'm becoming a stronger person- 'clothed in strength and dignity' (proverbs 30) and am raising the bar on how I allow people to treat me. It's important.
Christmas was warm and wonderful but sad also. I bid farewell to Kyden (My missionary, a long story that would require another blog post entirely) and tucked myself into the enveloped creases of my family traditions and eggnog cocktails, forcing myself to be happy its Christmas for Petes sake pull it together. There was a baby who tore paper from Thomas Tank Engines, there were family parties with good food and lots of laughs and glass after glass of wine. There was reflection, there was a pang of sadness for the absence of our grandpa, there was celebration- for we still have each other. And following, a new year, off to a rocky start of illness and hospital visits.
Thankfully, I am blessed with family. I am blessed with a small circle of supportive friends who offer help, each unique to them. My pastor is here to visit and offer prayer, Aaron will bring me food, walk around the hospital with me when I'm feeling cooped up, Tracy is offering a legit latte and my mama is the queen of snacks and shower breaks. This is where I find my sanity- remembering that I am loved, that a group of genuine people encircle me.
The blog is back- it's a rocky start but it's here. Cheers to that. And this blog is important, this blog is my outlet.. how could I forget that? Through all the frustration, the "writers block," the excuses, I have to swallow my pride and admit that I'm a writer. That's what I am.
Now if you'll excuse me,
a cuddly and very sick little toddler awaits my Super Mom snuggling powers.