{IRL}

1000 Today

Sept 2014 from phone 2 162

I sit down to type and all I want to do is cry. I hate the thought of blogging, of writing, of telling the world my story. I want it to be mine. The one’s who love me (the ones who live under my roof). It also feels if I don’t’ share it, I will have been a waste. My life a story never heard. But what is a life if not heard, seen and known? The thinking of writing takes over my waking thoughts, but the courage to type doesn’t happen most days. I long to be free of the desire to be famous and just write to remember. I do that in my journal already. Why make it public? Why link it to social media? Why shout it to a world that doesn’t want to hear? Pearls wasted. Putting it out there opens is up for judgment, cruel comments and stuff I don’t want to hear. I don’t care what others think. Why would I put my words out there for the public? Why? Why does anyone? Do I want to connect to those who hear my words, understand my feelings and want more? Is there a weakness in the ones who would like me for my dark thoughts, secrets and wild whisperings? Would I want them around me?! Would I want me around me?! A binder full of plans, ideas, checklists, words. An Evernote full of goodness, Pinterest boards chock full, folders on my computer full of our pictures and the ideas and words of others. I feel a longing to help people in a real way. In a hospital, a yoga class, at art journal playshops. Face to face. Meat ups :). Not in a retreat from reality sort of way but small classes held for consistency, for frequency, for fun. For a break in the week. A break in one’s day. Videos. Short posts. Inspiring tweets/updates and beautiful pictures for Insta.

Where does this fit into my family life? The family life I want to have/create? I want to be a present mothers, a playful mother, a loving mother. I want my children to see me having fun with them, not typing, not on my  phone.

Sitting down at this desk gives me a headache. My eyes hurt. Suck.

I want to remember the way Noah, with his little lawnmower, followed his daddy around while he mowed with the tractor thing. The way he stood so tall and proud. Mr. B told me later how he smiles at him and beamed with pride & deep satisfaction. The way Evan flies on the rope tied to a tree branch in the backyard. Asking me to “come on mom” and telling me to “sit” so I can watch him, to “count” so he can swing on ‘three’ or ‘go’. The way he leans his head back, eyes closed from the sun in them and monkey hat slipping off to reveal white blonde hair and a crazy cowlick. The way Mr. B lounges on the couch with a t shirt over his eyes, relaxed and sleepy. Enjoying (I hope) his vacation. I want to remember the kiss Noah gave me and the flower Evan found for me. The way Evan kisses his duck over and over until I pull him in to give him a dozen kisses and ask for one of my own, which he gives, ONE. Noah smiling after seeing me kiss his daddy on the forehead and then he his turn, open mouth, to give one to Mr. B too.

I want to remember the way I still remember Gremlin and he soft cheeks and her tail wagging when I pick he up. The way she was before. The times she let me flip her over and rub her belly while being carried like a baby. Trust. Tail tucked, sometimes swaying. Her groans of pleasure when rubbing her sides. Sweet Grems. You drove me crazy.

I want to remember the way my beautiful wedding ring shines after being cleaned. The way it looks as good as the first day he gave it to me over a decade ago. One of the reasons I married him-excellent taste and he knows me. What I like. I think I like that closeness. Maybe.

I want to write about the bracelet full of black rock-shaped beads on my wrist. How I made it. One long strand to be wrapped around 4-5 times. I like the feel of multiple strands on my wrist. Reminds me I am here, in this body, bound to this realm. The ring on my right hand’s middle finger, from my great grandmother. I don’t know much about her but she had fabulous taste in jewelry. My unpolished and short fingernails. The black polish with a rockin’ glitter top coat on my toes. The diamond studs-our tenth anniversary gift-in my ears. The simplicity & beauty of diamonds. I feel like carbon most of the time. Coal. I want to “Shine Bright Like a Diamond.”

My thoughts are scattered and blank. Linear and jumbled. I keep trying to believe, I am in the right place. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I was meant to do. I am here on this Earth for this purpose. To cherish the Gentlemen and Mr. B. To capture the beauty of my world through words and pictures. To collect thoughts and ideas for a time when? Is the time now?

There is a picture of me when I was a little girl on the desk I type at (when I am at my desk). She looks back at me, looking a bit like Evan does now, short  blonde hair with and short. She is precious. She is love. There is an old-fashioned roulette black telephone next to the photograph. I imagine it ringing one day with a voice on the other end telling me my meaning. My reason. My struggles are for this. The call hasn’t come. Yet.

But wait. I hear something:

A whisper in my heart, it beats pure & true. Love Charity. Just Love.

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