Summer is here…

Boy silliness…

So there was this after work…where my toddler screeched with delight and ate a strawberry with gusto on my lap….my 6 year old desperately trying to take a silly picture with his missing front teeth…

The piece of watermelon bigger than his head…

And the gigantic watermelon that we sliced open, it tasted like sunshine and happiness all rolled into one…

And my husband who picked up these magnificent hydrangeas last week and then planted them all in our backyard…

Snuggle time

And the big kid reading “nigh nigh” books to his little brother…while the kitty rests on his chest…

A grandfather and his grandson…

And seeing the looks on their faces as my dad and my little boy embraced after an afternoon of swimming…was priceless!

So, although there are lots of changes happening around here, there are beautiful happenings too. I am taking the time to see them, embrace them, and let it soak all in…


The Now Is Fiery. Hot. And Blistered.

There is probably nothing more infuriating to me than when I am not allowed to have my opinion or feelings about something. I’m not talking about politics or religion, because quite honestly I am not the person who would care to debate any of that.

I’m talking about when you have a very personal understanding or view of something and it’s shamed or not listened to because the person you are around is so into themselves they can’t see outside their own personal dimensions.

I say this after years of not seeing eye to eye with my brother. On anything. Give us a topic and we can’t  discuss. He is right. I am wrong. I am skewed. He is correct.

Somedays, I feel raw and vulnerable about being a mama, being a working mama at that. I feel stuck between getting it all together and falling completely apart. I hide behind sarcastic remarks and humor in order to cope with my feelings of loss.

I am knee deep in wondering how I can be more patient with my beautiful, bubbly 2 year old.

I am questioning my ability to keep tabs on my 6 year old son’s troubled tummy problems that seem to be getting more complicated as the year goes on.

I wonder if I’m good enough for my new job.

I try to imagine a home cooked dinner that everyone is eating together.

I absolutely can’t imagine working 12 hour shifts three times a week and getting home when the kids are going to bed. And yet, this will be happening starting next month.

I am wondering if my MIL’s cancer will require treatment and subsequently incur many discussions with my inquisitive 6 year old. How much do I tell him? How much is too much?

I wonder if I’ll always feel disrupted by small detours in life. Or are they really small detours when they involve my children, their health, my ability to be home more?

I realize that my comments are jaded by these things seeping into my heart and soul. I am trying to not live in the what if’s. I am living in the now. But the now is fiery. It’s blistered. Hot. And weeping still.

I just want to wear a sign that quietly says, “healing in progress, please be gentle”.

And yet, the one who probably needs to read that sign more than anyone, is me.

Healing is in progress.

It’s still weeping, but all wounds weep before they heal.


Sometimes it’s just a lot…

I cry.

Because I am loved.

Because I have loved.

Because I have won.

Because I have lost.

I am blessed.

I am wounded.

I am healed.

I am broken.

I am healing.

I am blissfully raising my children knowing they are nothing short of a gift. I am deeply aware of the milestones we pass. I beg my mind, my heart, my soul to download them all so I’ll never forget. The smell of their hair, their cries, their little fingernails, their silly giggles.

There are days when I struggle with the ache in my heart from having it broken into a million pieces when my baby was born still. And the shattering of faith that ensued. I struggle with difficult times in a way I never used to. I can’t shake bad news off like I could before. Or I find myself disconnecting completely.

Lately, I can’t disconnect. I have to share my emotions. I have to hold my friend’s hand while she grieves her dear husband who took his own life a few months ago. I think of her trying to live on and how difficult it is to maintain normalcy. It hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live. I remember.

Somedays I miss my old, naive self. The one that doesn’t get it.

The one who thinks that people live forever.

The one that thinks that only old people die.

The one who thinks that I can make it through anything.

The one who fearlessly went into the field of nursing.

But I know better.

And when you know better, you do better.

I can only pray that all the broken pieces have taught me enough to get through all of what lies ahead.

And be thankful for the angels who light the way.