Rain Running and Having Faith and Praying for a Sign

*Please excuse this rambling from my morning run...

This rambling of a tangled web of cluttered thoughts that cloud my brain until I can sort through them on my runs. Put each thought, each doubt, each worry, each fear, each self-hating, negative, horrible criticism in their place. I have a compartment in my brain for each one. I did just that on my run this morning.

The morning was gray, and the sky was crying this gentle, beautiful sprinkle of rain; the kind that leaves your soul cleansed and your mind emptied and your heart open and your spirit renewed. I needed that. I needed my spirit renewed. I needed to feel like myself again. Whole and happy and *together, not the huge, disastrous self I've been lately; walking around in a haze of sugar-coated-everything-is-fineness, when in fact everything has been a little bit hard for me lately. I have a bad attitude and an impatient brain and some days I need help that I don't ask for and what I really want is sleep and I cry sometimes when I'm in the bathroom alone, and I ask God to give me a sign that everything will work out, which I never do. I never ask for signs because I have faith. I have faith that everything will work out like it should.

But last week, my faith faltered and waned and my doubts and fears were bigger than life and I prayed hard for a sign. I shouldn't need a sign if I have faith. I DO know deep down that everything will be ok. It will all work out. And not on my own timeline, that is out of my control.

This morning on my beautiful rainy run, I was brought back to my 16-year-old self who ran in the rain for the first time and my teen-anguished self ran and ran and with each puddle I ran through, I felt heartbreak heal. With each drop of sweat-mixed rain dripping off the tip of my nose, I felt lighter, and my teen problems weren't so all-consuming anymore. That's when I fell in love.

I remember that run like it was yesterday. Sloshy shoes and dripping hair and a happy heart upon return. My rain runs, I remember them all. They are few and far between but they are some of my best runs. They leave me open and transparent and breathless. I looked up to the sky this morning and thanked God once again for making me a runner and giving me the soul and mind and spirit for running because it's not really about the physical self, and all of a sudden I could breathe again.

After two long, hard, bad attitude weeks, I could breathe. I didn't feel suffocated. I didn't feel like I was drowning on land anymore, I wasn't holding on by my fingertips and I felt a little bit free again. I felt myself smile. Just me and my footsteps and the the beat of my heart. And everything will be ok.

I just need to have faith. I need to run and have faith and get more sleep and remember that I'm in good hands. My children, they'll be fine. They'll be ok. They're thriving right now and that's really the only thing that matters. And I'm surviving. Someday I'll be thriving too; but for right now, surviving will do.

The Flawed Mom

I have the best kids. The.best.kids. They are thoughtful and kind and helpful and caring and nice. Really, really nice. Like, stop-in-the-hall-to-help-another-kid-in-school nice.

And mothering these not-so-tiny humans is the hardest thing I've ever done.

The other night I went to bed, and I thought to myself, today is the first day that I haven't felt like a bad mom in a really long time. The guilt is overwhelming sometimes. I'm positive I'm screwing them up for life. I've considered buying them therapy sessions for when they're adults for all the screwed up things I've done. I'm pretty sure I'm too hard on them. I'm positive I yell too much. I expect a lot from them. I worry about them constantly. I just want them to be happy, and not end up on drugs or in jail, but really, mostly, I just want them to be happy. And I think they are, I hope they are, but I'm not certain.

The older they get, the harder this mom thing becomes. Bigger kids, bigger problems. They are at the age where I can put myself in each of their shoes and remember what it was like to be right where they're at. They seem much cooler than I ever was. I was very much the ugly duckling and the odd man out. My mom still calls me the odd man out; the black sheep. I don't quite fit in anywhere. My kids, though, they aren't like I was, and I hope they never are. They are themselves, which I was always uncomfortable being.

Being a mom means I have four pieces of my heart walking around outside my body. Being a mom has broken my heart and mended it more times than I can count. Being a mom is the greatest thing I have ever done with my life. Being a mom has brought me to tears and to my knees all in a second. It has made me smile and cry and laugh and yell and want to pull my hair out and squeeze them so hard they can't breathe. It's made me want to lock them up and away from the big bad world and at the same time send them out to be the light in the darkness, because I know they're the helpers and the do-gooders of this world. They are my light and my sun and my rainbow after the storm, even though sometimes they cause the storm. They are my heart and my soul and my laughter through tears; they are my good morning and good night and hello and good-bye. They are the sparkle in my eye and the break in my heart and the smile on my face and the furrow in my brow. They are the reason I go to bed at night praying that I'll be better and do better tomorrow.

Today I don't need to be celebrated. I don't WANT to be celebrated. I want to celebrate these wondrous creatures God has given me and thank them for making me a mom. I want to give them more of me and my time and attention and more of my energy...because they deserve it. I want to give them the best part of me, and not always the exhausted part. I want to give them my joy and my patience instead of my hopeless, useless, ungracious self. I want to give them the grace they deserve, just like they give to me. 

So, Happy Mother's Day to my kids who made me a mom. What I'm really celebrating today is you.

Bubbles and Birthdays and Being Five

My baby turned five today. Her butterfly cake fell into pieces when I took it out of the pan. We used the whole tub of frosting to "glue" it together. Kind of a perfect mess just like a lot of things right now.

I was back and forth between smiling and laughing to swallowing down the lump in my throat all day.

"I'm not a kid anymore, mom", she said matter-of-factly, on our way home from picking up the big kids from school. A school where she'll have kindergarten round-up later this week.

My sweet, spunky, spirited, stubborn...so so stubborn child is a mighty force to be reckoned with.

She sparkles and delights and tantrums and tattles and dances and squeals and cartwheels and runs and disobeys and sings "Uptown Funk" at the top of her lungs down the aisles of the grocery store. And when I suggest a different song, because the "n" is missing from "funk", she just sings louder. And the mom-look I give her is given right back in a dare and a glare. And sometimes I'm too tired to battle, so I join in and sing along and onlookers can keep on judging, because all we can do is our best.

She is still a kid though...my baby. And her love, her unconditional love always shines through.

Some nights I go to bed exhausted and guilty and questioning, "what could I have done better and differently for the kids today?". And the thing that always comes to my mind and my heart and soul is just love them. Just love them like they love you. Unconditionally.

Happy Birthday, Kate. May your bright light always shine through.

The One About Running...

Once upon a time, there was a little, awkward, ugly duckling who tried every sport available to her and succeeded at none of them. Basketball was out because I was tiny, and clumsy, and couldn't run and dribble at the same time. Softball required hand-eye coordination, something I still lack, thanks to a bum left eye. Gymnastics wouldn't have been awful except I was afraid to try everything that wasn't on the floor. Strike, strike, and strike...I'm out.

And then in the 7th grade, in gym class, we were required to run the mile. And everyone was panting, and grabbing their sides all out of breath. And then there was me. The ugly, awkward, clumsy duckling. Running laps around the football field with all my breath and not holding my side. And as I passed my gym teacher standing on the sidelines, she yelled to me, "I think we finally found something you can do, Jenny!!", because people called me Jenny. And that's when my love affair started.

It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't something I would do every day. It wasn't until high school when boys were breaking my heart, and I needed to escape the cruelties of being a teenager did I turn to running completely. Running through teen angst, running for weight loss, running so I could eat cookies, and cake, and chocolate. Running to keep slim, running and running and running...and then something happened when I stopped running to stay thin. I ran for myself. I ran to stay sane. Duh...something clicked. I *needed to run like I needed to breathe. I didn't realize that when I took breaks from running, I wasn't myself.

My running...it's mine. It's my sanity, my saving grace, my therapy session, my unclutter-my-thoughts-and-leave-it-on-the-trail, my talk with God, my nature fix. It's the time when I rationalize everything in my head and make it right and tuck things away and reassure myself every little thing is ok and alright and it all happens for a reason. It's my passion, my soul, the one thing in my life I am more than happy to share and get excited about!! The more runners in this world the better!!!

I thank God every time I run for my runner's soul and spirit and legs and lungs to run miles. After years and years and years of running, I have realized that running has saved me. After years and years of pounding the pavement and thousands and thousands of miles, I've discovered that running has given me more than I can ever give back.

I am positive I wouldn't be alive if not for running...and my children.

I can tell you that running isn't always easy. But NOT running is harder. Life is hard sometimes, but running through this crazy, awkward life makes it easier.

If I could be anything in this life, it would be a unicorn who sweats glitter and runs on rainbows. But being a runner is the next best thing. 

Cracked

The cracked ones are my favorite. They're the ones that have character. They're the survivors. The ones with the smooth white shell, no flaws, no imperfections, sure, they're nice and all, but my eye is immediately drawn to the cracks. The way the colors are a little darker along the lines of the crack.

Nothing in this world is perfect. Not eggs, not people. Maybe chocolate; chocolate may be perfect.

There's a reason why nothing is perfect and nobody is perfect...it's the flaws that give people character; it's the flaws that give people the strength it takes to keep going. Not at first maybe; at first it sucks. Things might suck. Situations might suck. But it takes bad days to appreciate the good days, right? It takes being cracked and bent and a little bit broken to appreciate the happy; the good; the unbent. Sometimes you're left with scars. Scars are signs of healing. Healing is good. Scars are ugly in some people's eyes, but look! You survived. The pain might have been torture. It may have left you vulnerable and weak and a heap of crying tears, but you're stronger because of it.

Cracked; bent; bruised; scarred. Not broken. Healed. Stronger. Capable of hard things.

My babies...might be scarred. But look at how beautiful they are because of those scars. Imperfect, beautiful, strong, kind, empathetic, amazing little people. Gosh, I love them.

Start From Where You Stumbled

I took photos today. Photos of the kids for an Easter card that I *will send out. And then I opened my laptop and started reading my blog. The kids! They've changed!! Me too...I've changed. I'm different. Still awkward, still clumsy...those things will never change. But I'm humbled. I'm guarded. I'm weak. I feel on display. I don't let many people know about me or my screwed up life and if anyone asks I laugh, because I haven't lost my sense of humor and my life is totally laughable right now.

And then I realized just how much I miss writing. I miss taking photos. I miss hearing my fingertips typing out my thoughts. The thing is though, I've missed something bigger without even realizing it. I missed documenting a whole year of the kids. I missed taking photos of birthdays and holidays and things they've said and done and how they've grown. I know there's no going back. There's no such thing as do-overs. Just like in a race, if you stumble and fall, you can't go back to the starting line. All you can do is pick yourself up, brush off your dirty, maybe bloodied knees, and start from where you stumbled. Keep going one step at a time. Sure, you're embarrassed, everyone saw you fall. Yes, you're probably a little hurt and may end up bruised, but unless you accept failure; unless you just lay there and let people run all over you, you don't have a choice but to start from right where you are. Unbalanced, unsure at first. Just keep running and with each step your hurt fades, your embarrassment isn't colored on your cheeks in the brightest of reds, your pride and ego are bruised but over time that humbleness turns into empathy for others that have fallen before you and will stumble after you. You have a greater understanding for what it means to be in pain and you can put your pain to good use over time.  

Everyone has a story to tell, and I may never share my whole story, but I might be able to listen to others' stories; offer a hand to help them up; give a word of encouragement like others have given to me.

I'm ready to write again. I'm ready to take photos of sunsets and blue skies and flowers and write about running. Oh the running! The magical part of my life that has saved me from myself over and over again. Running has given me more than I can ever give back. Running is my passion; my happy place; my escape; my therapy; my prayer.

I'm ready to open the creative part of my brain that shut itself off when I was just trying to remember to breathe and remember the reasons why I should *keep breathing.

I'm ready to document the little things and the big things and the happy birthdays and the Merry Christmas' of my kids' lives again. I want them to read my stories here, and I want them to know that they are always and have always been loved. I want them to know that I chose to fight my wars with glitter guns to minimize the scars of their childhood. I can't get last year back, but I can start from today.

I can brush off my knees and write some words today.

Happy Birthday, Anna

Dear Anna,

Double digits is a big deal.  You're not a little kid anymore. you haven't been for a while now, though. I want you to know a few things now that you're ten.

You are an amazing girl. So kind and helpful and thoughtful and responsible and funny and smart. Man, I wish I were more like you. You are the person I want to be, the person I aspire to be like. I hope you find this little space of mine someday when you're older and have kids of your own, and you read all of these thoughts of mine about being YOUR mom. I am so happy to say that I am your mom and you are my daughter. I hope you know that you and your sister and brothers are without a doubt the most important people to me. And even though you guys drive me batty sometimes when you fight, I hope you know that there's nothing you could do to make me love you any less.  My love for you keeps multiplying and some days my heart is so full that it spills over out of my chest and falls in the form of tears down my cheeks.

I hope you continue to blaze your own trail through this crazy wonderful life of yours. I hope you don't let circumstances jade you. I hope you don't let ANYONE dull your shine.  I hope you continue to spread your joy and love around like glitter.

Most of all, I just want you to be happy. Now and forever. In whatever you do. If you're a garbage person or a doctor or a hot dog vendor in New York City...I just want you to be truly happy.

Happy Birthday, sweet Anna.  You're a shining star. 

The Space Between

You know the space between living and dying? the living being happiness and joy and the dying being suffering and hopelessness. the space where you just go minute by minute and hope to keep breathing and sometimes breathing is difficult and living is impossible and dying isn't an option so you turn to running your heart out and untangling the thoughts from the spool of useless, hopeless, fearful, dreadful thread. and after you run your heart out things make more sense, and you see a sign that things will be fine and let go of your fears. you see the most beautiful magnolia tree on your favorite running trail...one that you've never seen before and haven't ever seen again. because your thoughts made you breathless and your throat tightened up, and you looked to the sky for some answers and you looked right and then left and in the middle of all.the.green.stood the most beautiful magnolia tree with bright white blooms and it was like a sign telling me things were going to be fine, and don't give up hope, let go of what doesn't matter and hang on to what does. And right there i thanked God for the sign and gave up on my fears because a life living in fear is not a life worth living at all.

The thing about living and dying is i'm not afraid to die. I know that when i die i'm going to a better place, but the thing about living is that life is scary. life is not knowing anything. life is taking this path that leads me to who knows where and i don't know how i'll get there and if i'll make it safely and who will be on this path with me. life is messy. life is spilled milk and a hundred loads of laundry day after day and mismatched socks and fighting and tears and sometimes i feel like the worst mom. some days my kids tell me i'm the worst mom...other days they wrap their little arms around me and tell me i'm the best and they love me...but most days, i breathe a huge sigh of relief when bedtime comes and the kids are tucked in safe and sound and i collapse on the couch and sometimes the tears roll down my cheeks and other times i just bury myself under my blankets with my contacts still in. i make sure my alarm is set for my early morning run, because without my run i would die, i would literally die. i run so much my toenails are falling off and so are my pants and if i go without my runs i can't function normally. 

sometimes life sucks. sometimes i suck. sometimes i feel like i'm failing at everything i touch and do and look at. sometimes it takes someone dying to get back into the the joy of living. sometimes an epiphany comes in the form of sun rays shining on your downward looking face, and you raise your eyes to the sky and see the most beautiful, picture perfect moment and you grab your phone and snap a photo and something changes inside of you...like a light switch turning on and you snap the photo and put it on instagram and think to yourself that it's been too long to live without the joy of a sunset. it's been too long to live without hope and joy and happiness in the small moments. it's been too long living in doubt and fear and anger and hate and letting someone else control my happiness. my happiness is my own and i won't give that up to someone else.

so, happy thursday. my favorite day of the week. soaking up the evening sun with a beer in my hand and the summer upon us and the kids running around outside in their pj's and knowing that tomorrow isn't a school day and this giant epiphany falling into my lap and i know it's no accident because i have a guardian angel in heaven now and i know everything will be fine and good and happy again.

hope and faith and love are powerful things.

Unedited..

There's been no writing. No photo taking or tweeting or facebooking or instagramming. There's been nothing. Silence. Dead air, crickets chirping. I've almost forgotten what it feels like to write. There's been writing in private journals, not meant for anyone else to read, just my mind's ramblings of deep deep pain and fear and nothing to share but dark and twisted thoughts. The only constants have been running, running and running and music and friends...thank God for running and friends and music. Music so loud it blocks out any and all thoughts of everything and nothing all at once. Running has saved my life more than once. it's done it again. this running thing is not just about the feet pounding on the pavement, it's about chasing the demons from my mind and soul and my heart and body coming together in perfect harmony to find the strength to put one foot in front of the other and just keep breathing; one breath and then another and another until you don't have to tell yourself to just breathe. just take a deep breath and inhale good and exhale bad because sometimes my brain needs to tell my soul to take another breath because it's worth it to just.keep.breathing. and friends waiting for you on the other side to tell you they're there and they love you and that you're perfect just how you are.

Let go or be dragged. When you're going through hell, just keep going. On the other side of fear lies freedom. quotes i've lived by for many many months. Friends and brothers and sisters and dads, they've taken down walls around me one brick at a time. Left me bare and vulnerable and open and i hate it. i'm good at putting up walls, i've built them one brick at a time for years and years and years and everything has always been good and great and fine when in fact these empty words are bricks building walls so high no one can see over and no one can get through and it's just me inside the walls and i'm protected by these beautiful bricks that have taken years to build and only days to crumble apart. it's humbling to let people in. i hate it. i hate people knowing that things aren't fine and everything isn't great and nothing is wonderful and hasn't been. I hate the fact that I'm not really a badass, I just pretend to be...with the black nail polish and the tough girl attitude and the head held high and confident smile. Oh, some days I'm as confident as they come. Other days I'm the fat girl hiding behind a cupcake and crying in the corner and then running like hell the next morning because the fear of fat is the only fear i can control and the treadmill is a very good listener. Fear and failure and fat and fuck those feelings. I'm brave and scared and weak and strong and happy and sad all at the same time. I'm a mess except when i'm not. i ride a roller coaster every.single.day. and i want to get off. i want to jump off some days, kicking and screaming the whole way down, except i land on my feet and scream at the top of my lungs that i survived. i'm stubborn and kind and compassionate and empathetic and sometimes my heart explodes with pain and happiness and it bubbles up and makes the tears stream down my face and i wipe them away because nobody needs to see me cry.

I can feel the long, cold, gray winter days coming to an end. the days are getting longer and warmer and the sun comes out and warms my cheeks and my heart and when i run i don't feel my feet slide in the snow they splash in the melting snow puddles and i come back warm and sweaty and muddy and wet. i can almost see the light again. the middle is dark. there's no light on either side so you don't know whether to turn back or keep running forward because you're stuck in the dark and feel like you're drowning in it. the light feels like air...filling my lungs and i can start breathing again...start breathing without thinking about making myself breathe again. my soul feels less crushed. i feel less worn. my heart isn't as heavy.

worry and fear can't take up more space than hope and faith, and when there is nothing left to let go of, there is always hope and faith.

Sunset Running...

I'm a summer-loving, winter-dreading, cold-weather-hating kind of girl. I'm a get-up-early-in-the summer morning-to-watch-the-sun-come-up-when-I'm-running kind of girl, but with the shift of seasons, I've had to adapt if I want to run at all. So instead of watching the sun come up, I've been watching the sun go down on my afternoon/early evening runs. The days are short right now, so unbelievably short and sometimes really bleak and gray and depressing, so it's more important now than ever that I get my runs in when I can. These runs are my saving grace, my moments of calm, of deep cleansing breathing in and out and in again. I dress in layers and mittens and my stocking cap and I sprint...I sprint to get past the holy-crap-it-is-so-frickin-cold, I sprint to feel free, I sprint to feel alive.

I run and I run and I run and the sun sets in the distance splashing pink and purple and orange hues against the cold, winter sky. And the stars start to pop up one by one, and the light of the moon reflects on the snow and it's really really beautiful. I've never noticed this beauty of winter running so much as I have this season.

Running and breathing and feeling with my heart and soul and turning down the noise in my mind and listening to the snow crunch under my shoes and looking up at the night sky and feeling really small and really big all at the same time and feeling bold and empowered and strong with each step I take and finally warming up and hearing only the night silence with the beat of my heart in my ears and with each breath in and out my burdens are lifted and one by one they float away like balloons  into the cold winter sky. 

I'm feeling so thankful right now that I get to call myself a runner. 

Healing Runs...

My runs lately have been more of the healing kind. Healing the holes in my heart with each footstep. Run down the street, jump on my trail, and see that my running self has been waiting patiently for me. I jump into myself and we take off and I can breathe again. Breathe and smile and run so fast. Run away from my cracked and bent and battered self. Run so hard that I leave my worries in the dust until they are just a shadow behind me. All that matters is I'm breathing again. I forget in between runs how running makes me feel. No pain, no fear, just happy. The million pieces of my shattered heart slowly get patched up again. I feel like myself again.

And then I get angry. I get really angry as I'm on this healing run, because, fuck you life for dealing me an unfair hand of cards and for putting these impossibly high assholish hurdles in my path. I can't seem to jump over them, so I get furious and try to run right through them, only I can't because they're too big, so I crash into them and fall flat on my back and look up at the sky and ask why? What's with all the goddamn hurdles?

And then I run faster and harder and more furious until my lungs and legs and throat are burning with tears, and I have to slow down or else I'll throw up. I turn up my music to blaring and wipe away the streaming tears and tears are good and so is pain because that means I'm not numb...and I don't want to be numb. I'd rather feel in pain than be numb.

After the anger comes the realization that while I'm laying on my back cursing God and staring up at the sky, still reeling from wrecking into the hurdle, someone who loves me has come along and offered their hand to help me up and instead of jumping over the hurdle we walk around that huge asshole of a hurdle...leave it in the dust behind us. Why didn't I think of that before? Why do all of the hurdles need to be jumped? Going around is good too.

And then my healing run brings peace. It washes over me and around me and heals my bruised self and I'm renewed again with a fresh coat of armor to fight the good fight and the daily battles and chin up buttercup, you can.not.quit.yet.

Just keep running, keep going, one foot in front of the other, sometimes sprinting, sometimes slow and steady, but keep moving forward, because going back is not an option.

Things are happening...really good things.

I've even embraced this barren sometimes snow-covered trail of this season I'm in.

I Remember...

being cold...

in a light spring jacket that wouldn't zip. Only it wasn't spring, it was just cold.

The wind whipped through me and around me and my eyes stung with tears from the cold.

I cried to my older sister, I'm so cold and I don't remember what she said back, but I know she was just as cold.

We were walking blocks and blocks to school and I couldn't wait to get there so I would finally be warm.

I remember the sky was gray and threatening to snow and why was I in such a light jacket? My fingers were red and numb and I had a hood on my jacket only it wouldn't stay up because my jacket wouldn't zip and the wind kept blowing it off my pony-tailed head.

I hate being cold. I would rather be hungry than cold, and we knew hunger; when we only had Saltines and dry cereal to fill our little tummies, I could swallow away hunger, but couldn't escape the cold.

I remember being cold at night. I'd curl myself into a tiny little ball to try and warm up and I'd wish for more blankets so I could bury myself beneath them.

Today I wear layers and layers. There aren't enough layers...I text my sister to complain about the cold and wonder if she remembers those same walks to school in our jackets that don't zip, and the wind that whipped our hair, and the tears that stung our eyes.

She does. We know cold in the same heartbreaking way as only we sisters could. Someday we'll live somewhere warm where the sun is always shining and sparkling over the ocean waves and we can bury our toes in the sand and say, we never have to be cold again...

I wear layers to bed and sleep under piles of blankets and I curl myself into a ball like I used to. Sometimes I wake up sweating. That is the nicest feeling. I'd rather be too warm than too cold. I ask my kids every morning if they're warm enough. Do you need a hat? Another warm layer? Are you sure you don't need your mittens? They always insist they are fine. They love the winter; the snow, playing in it for hours until I beg them to come in and get warm. They don't feel the cold like I do, don't know the feeling of never being warm enough; and that's good, that's really good. I'll wear their cold for them.

Monday Morning Dance Parties...

My kids hate Monday mornings, and this morning was no exception. Why do we have to go to school? My head hurts. I hate school. School is boring. My thumb hurts. And then there's the 3 year old who gets to stay home all day but throws herself down in a crying heap in the middle of the kitchen floor for no other reason than because she's 3... This morning, I felt like throwing myself down with her, sprawled out and crying because, oh the Monday morning injustices. Teasing and fighting and whining and dear Lord, there is not enough coffee in the world for this Monday morning...

So when Camden asked if he could have candy for breakfast. I said yes. Yes, you can have candy with breakfast but only if you share with me, because they might as well learn now that chocolate can sometimes be a cure. And so can dance parties in the kitchen. Turn up the music, really loud, play our favorite music, Classic by MKTO and Counting Stars by One Republic and Holy Grail, which I'm a little embarrassed to admit the 3 year old knows the words to, and we danced until we were silly. Shake those Monday morning blues away, sing at the top of your lungs, hop around the kitchen floor until the 3 year old is laughing again. Start over on a different, better foot; make your own sunshine on this gloomy, dreary morning; and maybe? Just maybe, pass it on.  

Our dance party continued in the car on the way to school, and when we were stopped at a red light and my son was singing at the top of his lungs and waving his arms in the air, I looked over at the car next to us, and they were all smiling at us, not laughing in a dang-you-guys-are-really-crazy kind of way, but genuinely smiling. Look you guys, we just made someone smile. 

Have your own dance party; make someone smile today, they might need it more than you know.

Happy Things

As the weather turns dark and gray and the skies are threatening to snow, I'm finding myself gathering up happy thoughts like a squirrel collects nuts for the impending doom of winter. I'm writing them down; capturing photos and storing them in my memory bank so when I'm in hibernation mode, finding it difficult to even step foot out the door, I can look back and see that winter doesn't actually last forever. It just seems like it.

Some happy things that I'm collecting right now...

Great friends. Friends that don't judge; listen to you vent; laugh with; text with; drown your sorrows with; smile with; commiserate with; build you up when you feel torn down; confide in...I can't imagine living a life without friends.

My favorite running trail with leaves still on trees .

Family game night.

Little girls painting their nails all by themselves.

Impromptu zoo trips on days off of school.

Pumpkin carving disasters...

We didn't carve pumpkins until last night, and everyone was so excited!!to do all of the carving and the picking out of the seeds and scrape the insides and hollow those suckers out, and in all of the excitement all of the kids came in from the wet, muddy outdoors and walked right over our newish tan carpet with very wet, muddy shoes. Disaster of all disasters...not really, but it feels like it when it's edging closer to bedtime. I put everything on hold because it had to be cleaned up rightthisveryminute!! So they all stood on the front porch, looking in through the window, waiting with their pumpkins at their feet and I felt like the biggest ass. Take a deep breath, count to ten, it's only carpet and dirt and it can be cleaned, let's start over and carve these darn pumpkins like they've never been carved before. Kids can do do-overs so easily, me? not-so-much. But as I was scraping out the guts and emptying the insides, I realized that I'm kind of like a pumpkin being hollowed out sometimes; I think we all are. Scrape out the yuck to make room for the light we put inside. And when we light that candle we glow and shine and everyone can only see what we've become, not the yuck we've just emptied ourselves of. The pumpkins turned out wonderfully, and the dirt on my carpet has been cleaned, like the whole thing never happened.

Glow bright little pumpkins...and Happy Halloween.