Encouraging Stuff

I went to a meeting last night, a very informal meeting for parents/grandparents of children with Autism. It was so incredible to sit in a room with people who understand exactly what it's like to deal with meltdowns in public, how amazing it feels to get any sort of communication from your kids, and resources for literature and help dealing with Autism.

I left feeling like I could handle anything, which is pretty great considering how isolated I've felt so far. I'm going to do another post with more details about Autism, but right now I'm super busy. I just had to share how awesome having a support group is.

Overload

Life has been crazy! Trying to juggle being a stay-at-home mother of two, wife, daughter, housekeeper, circus ringleader, Twihard, aspiring novelist, family holiday traveler, and all-around happy chick has seriously taken up all my time.

But things are good. The book is going well, and I'm already writing a few chapters for another one that I'm pretty excited about. I enjoyed Twilight the movie. Thanksgiving was delicious, and I ate way too much. I realized exactly why I adore my crazy family. My kids are happy, and healthy, as am I. My husband is phenomenal, and thinks I am too. My sister and nephews will be here for Christmas, with a big surprise. I've spent tons of time with my friends, and talked to my absent bestie frequently. I'm happy.

Life is good, in short, and I want to go into detail, and share some truly adorable pictures of the babies, but I'm in the middle of a tense scene for my book, so duty calls.

To quote those adorable Brits I'm so obsessed with-
"Keep Calm and Carry On."

Think Happy Thoughts!

Halloween

I love Halloween, it's one of my two favorite holidays-that-aren't-really-holidays. Mostly I just love an excuse to dress up. This year was pretty funny though, since I spend all year talking about what I'm going to be...then wake up the morning of and say to myself, "Hmmmm...what can I make out of what I've got here?"

My inspiration this year was the witch hat I found in my Halloween box, a leftover from one of my mother's costumes a few years back. Since I'd never been a witch, I thought that would be easy, and I was right. All I did was put on a dress, fishnets, and heels that I've owned forever and did some crazy eye-makeup...voila!

Ryan was....well...I just told everybody that we decided to dress up like ourselves this year. Which still makes me laugh a little bit.

The Pooh suit made it's last appearance (*sigh*) which really does make me sad. It's just so darn cute! Chloe was Pooh this year, while Colin was a ninja (very appropriate, yes?)


Unfortunately, I couldn't find the digital camera to take pictures of Colin, so I used a disposable, which I haven't developed yet. As soon as I do, I'll add the pictures of Colin in here too. But I did put some gear on him, just for a giggle, which I am posting so you too will hopefully get a giggle. =)

Next year, it's on like Donkey Kong. I'm not sure what we'll all be, but I'm sensing a certain...epic-ness in the air. ;)

A Little One

So tomorrow is Halloween, which is always at the top of my list for favorite pointless holidays. I adore dressing up, for any occasion, and Halloween is like...the Oscars of dress up. I haven't made a sweet costume this year, I'm just digging through the box of old stuff, looking for a repeater.

The kids are going to be so adorable!! I'm putting their costumes on them today, and taking a billion pictures, so hopefully I'll get at least one good one of each of them. We'll see how well that goes.

While I love this place, home of my first blog, I've really spent a lot more time on my novel.

(Hahahahahahaha, I don't think I could say that out loud without cracking a smile, and probably giggling too. It sound so pretentious for some reason!)

So when I get free time, I'm trying to put it towards getting some pages down. But I am going to attempt keeping up with this one as well, so don't forget about it! ;)

Robsession

I think I need help. I've seriously become totally obsessed lately with Robert Pattinson. I know, I know, so is almost every woman who has read Twilight and is desperately waiting the movie's opening on November 21. But mostly those women love Edward, and would be equally obsessed with anyone who played the part.

Personally, I never fell in love with Edward. He really was too perfect, almost obnoxiously so. He's like a manic-depressive immortal, until he falls in love with Bella, and then he's a super control freak. Until Bella defies him, and then he's got too much self-control. I mean, they never even have a fight. Maybe that's my age kicking in, (it is a young adult book), but that's how I feel. I like Edward, don't get me wrong. But I've loved many other leading men in other stories quite a bit more. (Mr. Darcy anyone?)

But Rob is delish. Period. He's awkward and smart, and has the most amazing singing voice, plays guitar and classical piano, and that accent doesn't hurt either. And let's not even talk about the "magical unicorn forest". Those of you who are similarly obsessed know what I'm talking about.

Okay, just had to get that out to avoid immediate implosion due to his adorableness.

If you share a similar Robsession, you'll probably want to check out
Robert Pattinson Life

On Writing

So I had a few entries here on writing, but obviously they aren't here any more.

That's because I moved them!

I started a new blog, On Writing, to detail my journey of writing and publishing a book. (FINALLY!)

So go ahead and check it out!

Click below:
On Writing

The Big Clean

It's so amazing to me to look back and see how totally different, and yet very much the same I am now, as an adult, compared to when I was a kid. I guess I should say child so no one reminds me that kids are baby goats, but it seems somehow...pretentious?...to refer to oneself as a child. Maybe that's just stuck in my head since I've been reading Robert Jordan, but there it is, one way or another.

There are very few people, outside of my family, who have known me long enough to witness both sides of this difference/sameness. And all of those people are either my closest friends, or people who didn't actually know me, then or now. I have no idea if my friends think I've changed or not, I'll have to ask them soon. I know for a fact that my acquaintances who were considered friends at the time would think I've changed completely. Those who were too cool to know me then are mostly still too cool to talk to me now.

(Thank God.)

My recent manic organizing/minimizing is just one point that brought this change, or lack of, to my attention. Here's one example: the first half of my life was spent obsessively keeping anything and everything that had a memory attached to it. For someone like me, who pretty much attaches a memory to everything, that meant that by the time I reached high school, I had a room packed to overflowing with what was mostly junk. Thinking back specifically to my freshman year, and the first time I brought a boy over and let him into my room...I shudder to now to recall how it must have looked to him.

Just getting the open in the first place was impossible. The carpet was invisible, because there was a layer of clothes and other miscellaneous junk covering ever square inch. Every available space was loaded down with more stuff, and that included my double bed. Only half of it was left clear for me to sleep on, the half piled high with clothes, papers, books....you get the idea.

But somewhere along the way, I just decided to be organized. I discovered a long dormant desire to have a place for everything, and put everything in it's place. It's funny for me to feel the sense of satisfaction I get from being organized. I giggle when I boast to my friends about my newly organized closet, because I know how funny it must sound to hear the pride in my voice...and yet I cannot help it, because I really to feel like I've done something great.

I suppose my friends really aren't that surprised to hear me bragging about cleaning out the downstairs room in a 10-hour marathon with my husband, or being excited about the shelf organizers I picked up from Target. They think pretty much everything out of my mouth is funny for one reason or another.

I guess some things don't ever change.

Drama Free

Yesterday was my husband's birthday, so we gathered up the crew and headed out to have some drinks and some laughs. Of course, as is the way of the Outer Banks, and probably small towns everywhere, there was drama. Anyone who knows me knows how much I despise drama. I truly think there is no bigger waste of time. Ugh, just thinking about it irritates me and makes me...irate.

I think that most of the drama that people deal with is self-inflicted. People pretend to be friends with other people, while telling lies behind their backs and stirring up a big fat pot of drama stew. I've never understood why anyone would pretend to be friends with anyone else in the first place. I surely don't waste my time on false pretenses, and I hope others don't waste time on me. If I don't like someone it's not the end of the world, it's just a fact that I deal with and move on. We're aren't supposed to like everyone, human nature doesn't work like that. But I don't spend all my time plotting against the people I dislike. In fact, I spend zero time doing or thinking anything about the people I dislike.

I don't expect everyone to like me either. In fact, I'm kind of a hard person to like at first, and sometimes later too. But if you don't like me, that's great. I have no problems with your dislike, and chances are high I feel the same about you. So let's just move in our own cirlces, yes?

No, apparently not. I will never understand why people who dislike each other pretend to be buddies and hang out all the time. And then wonder why the other is backstabbing them? I mean, seriously people, get a clue. These are not your friends.

I think that perhaps part of my problem with the whole "social acquaintance" and drama issues are that I have some of the greatest friends in the world. I'm not exaggerating when I say that. If you knew them you would agree with me, I have no doubt.

I have real friends who are always there for me. Not like on a stupid sticker on Myspace that says "Friends Forever", I mean they are ALWAYS THERE FOR ME. How many people actually have that? Not many, from what I've seen.

No matter how long we go without seeing each other, it's like we just hung out together the day before. No matter how long we go without calling each other, it's like no time has passed when we talk. There is no uncomfortableness, no self-consciousness, no lying, and no back-stabbing. These aren't rules for a club, they're facts of true friendship.

And I'm blessed and lucky enough to have this small, vital group of people in my life. They're always there, they'll always be there, and nothing can change that. Since I met these people over ten years ago, we've been through so many things, good and bad. Usually the bad was brought into the equation by me, more often than not, and they still love me as much or more than ever. And the same goes.

So I have these amazing friends, real friends, who I would never do evil things to, who would never do evil things to me. And I talk to these other people who tell horror stories about their "friends", and their on-again, off-again relationships with the same "friends". Drama, drama, drama.

Ugh.

I'm wondering if I should have more patience with these idiots or feel sorry for them. Well, in all fairness, they're not idiots. They probably don't even know what they're missing out on. Because while I cannot imagine a life without my most stupendous support system, they're probably like those little animals that live in the deepest caves and the depths of the ocean. How can one miss the sun if one has never experienced it?

It really does make me kind of sad for those people....but I'm also gloating a little bit on the inside. Because my friends are the best friends. And they're mine. For some reason I cannot fathom, they feel the same about me. My friends rock. Out loud, all the time.

Drama-free.

A New Hat

A few days ago I went to KMart, and took the kids, and my mom. Now, anytime both of the kids go anywhere, it's guaranteed to wear me out quickly, and this day was no different. Colin was as good as he could be for as long as he could handle, but my mother is famous for her shopping excursions. She goes in to get one thing, and two hours later, she's still looking around.
So after an hour of sitting in the cart and being good, I could tell my time was running out. Chloe was getting hungry, Colin wanted to run around, I was slowly losing my famous patience...and Mom wanted to look at the hats. My mother NEVER wears hats.
EVER.
So I tell her that's it, after we look at the hats, we're leaving. I already know she just wants an excuse to look around at more stuff, and I was ready to go and feed the kids.
When we get to the hat department, we start trying them on the kids for laughs. Anyone with kids will appreciate how much fun it is to do terrible things to your children and then laugh about it. For example, trying silly hats on them that are much too big, and ridiculous looking without being huge for their little heads.
After a little while I was pushing for us to go, and starting putting all the hats back. Colin was not happy about clean-up time. He was having a good time laughing, and making us laugh with trying the hats on. As I reached for the last hat, a brown plaid fedora with peach stripes and a leather band around the base, he just started screaming. The high pitched scream that never ends, and everyone looks at you like, "My God, do something with your kid!", which I always love. So instead of waging war, and working on lessons like listening, not screaming, blah blah blah...I just said OK, let's take the damn hat with us.
Now I knew when I said it that the hat would end up forgotten as soon as we got in the car, and I hate having junk just laying around. I have enough junk laying around, and I struggle just to keep my house marginally put together without bringing more useless stuff into it. So I was not in a great mood on the way home, having dealt with a tantrum, another hungry baby starting to cry, and the though of something else to pick up at the end of the day.
When we got home I started putting things away, and as soon as I took that silly fedora out of the bag, Colin grabbed it and started laughing, doing his happy dance around the living room.


And of course, once he started playing with it, Chloe had to go investigate. So Colin, in a rare moment of generosity with a new toy that I will forever be proud of, puts his new hat on Chloe.


Which she is immediately blinded by, considering how huge the hat was. Her inability to see did not, however, detract from her laughing. She crawled all over the floor smiling, and every time he'd take the hat to wear himself, she'd sit next to him and grin, like she was just waiting for her turn.
They just went back and forth, both of them laughing like it was the greatest game in the world. And of course, my bad mood was quickly turning into a good mood. Kids are great for that; they can take one moment, and change everything for the better just by smiling.

Since then the hat has become a part of our nightly playing before bath time, with Colin putting it on and strutting around like Sinatra, and Chloe just happy to be in the middle of things, smiling and laughing whenever her brother decides she needs to wear the hat for awhile.All in all a success, I suppose. And if it's one more thing to clean up, who cares? For a face like that I'd buy ten more!

Free Time

It's been awhile since I've written. Sitting here now, looking inward for the reason, I have to admit to a certain...laziness. The act of writing is just so simultaneously theripudic and tiring that I procrastinate. While procrastinating is an art form, and I consider myself a master, I feel a seriously sense of loathing at realizing that I'm once again procrastinating myself into a practical coma. Well, a thought coma at least.
I blame having 2 kids for taking up my spare time, but that's only true to a certain extent. The times when I watch a movie after they're asleep at night, I could put to better use on writing. The naps they take during the day, I could get a little bit in instead of watching a rerun of E.R., since I've already seen them all anyways. It's just so much easier not to. Not to start my crazy brain working, not to get all those crazy intellectual juices boiling around in there. I get tired just thinking about what it does to me.
But when I go back over old writings, I'm amazed at myself. I did that? Little ol' me? And I feel a sense of pride in myself, and accomplishment in my work. Which is a damn good feeling, I'm sure anyone would agree. The fact that I can bring emotion to myself, from my own work, that's how I know it's a piece to save. That that one is one I'll let someone else read.
Wellll......maybe. I'll think about letting someone else read it though. ;)

Anyways, I have actually been busier than usual with the kids. Colin sees his speech therapist one morning a week, and I've actually been trying to keep that scheduled into our day, in the hopes of cutting down on tantrums when she comes. More on that further in. I've been putting some serious effort into my role as "housewife" as well. I know some of you are laughing, and some of you aren't. Those of you who are have never been a housewife/stay-at-home mom. Good for you. The others of you who are not laughing will appreciate the fact that my job is a lot tougher than almost any other job. Period. And that subject will become another blog in the very near future I believe. Back to my time management though. We've been going on longer walks each day, which has pretty much doubled the time it used to take. Which could be because they've turned more in to "exploration" adventures that just "walks". If you want to see the world from a whole new angle, go on a walk outside with a two-year-old. It's fairly amazing all the things I'd pass by without a glance that Colin has to stop and ponder for at least a few minutes. But it's pretty cool to spend an hour doing what would normally take fifteen minutes.
Even aside from the kids, there's the husband. Who is amazing, by the way. If we happen to have the same fifteen minutes of free time, all we want to do is curl up on the couch together and relax until one of the kids attacks us....or each other. Getting time with just the two of us is pretty rare, so we try hard to enjoy it to the fullest.
So in the spare five minutes that leaves me, on occasion, writing is just soooooo tough to do!! Yes, it makes me feel amazing, I'm pleased, blah blah blah. But even as I'm sitting there writing, (like right now), I'm thinking about the other things I could be doing. Or not doing, because just sitting down on the front porch for a moment in solitude is like....awesome. And I mean that in the truest sense of the word, not in the "gnarly brah!" type of way.

Decisions

I could write a checklist of each decision that led to the point I'm at today. While that probably doesn't sound too stupendous to you, let me assure you, it really is. Not the lone act of remembering the event itself, but the clarity with which that memories comes. I can tell you what the weather was like, what perfume I was wearing, the food eaten...and the precise second I turned off the voice in my head telling me to RUN THE OTHER WAY. It's almost as if God has permitted me this perfection of memory, but only for hindsight, be it good or bad. I suppose it's always that way, hindsight is 20/20 and all that...

I wonder sometimes if that means I'm "growing up" or maybe even "becoming an adult", (bleh!); the fact that I'm actually learning from my mistakes, something I've always thought was a great plot line in books, but rarely true in real life.

I watched my husband fall asleep with a smile on his face. He was watching our daughter sleeping between us, and fell asleep himself, still smiling, 5 minutes later. It was one of the greatest things I've ever seen. I suppose we've both learned from our mistakes. But here we are, one way or another, and most days life is pretty good.


I suppose, if having crystal clear memories of all my mistakes means I won't make them again, it's worth it. And I suppose, that if being an adult means having moments where my husband and children make me smile with supreme happiness, well...I guess that's worth it too. =)

Accentuate the Positive?

I often feel overwhelmed with all the things that are rolling, bumbling, and sometimes jumping around in my head. But in a strange, rather contrary way, (a way that is a sure sign of my own contrariness), the more overwhelmed I become, the quieter, and more withdrawn I am as well. It seems almost as if the sheer amount of thought is forcing me into a comatose state of mind, where I simultaneously focus on all and nothing. It's a very strange, almost uncomfortable feeling, let me assure you.

When these contrary fits of thought-madness strike, I often find myself seeking the most comfortable surrounding possible, so as to easier fall into the coma of ignoring it all. I gather lots of pillows onto the couch, eat junk food, heavy things that make the body logy and slow. I put on movies I can sink into and get away from my world for a little while. (Pride & Prejudice anyone?) Now, occasionally, the movies have a reverse effect, depending on their content. If it's something I can really get into, something that wraps me up quickly in its story, then I add even more to the flood in my brain. (Pride & Prejudice anyone?)

Sometimes I do let myself fall into that flood, and grab at whatever the first thing is that floats by, and see where it takes me. But going on those trips is something like an emotional white water rafting trip, and by the end of it I'm happy just to have survived, much less actually taken in any of the surrounding scenery. Mostly I just leave them (my thoughts) alone, and do my best to float along the top, a bit like that waterlily I'm so fond of borrowing from Fiona Apple's song. And the reason being, I'm lazy. Pure and simple. It's much easier to stay afloat than to try and make sense of it all, or even of some of it. That must be the epitome of sloth, I think; being too lazy to explore the depths of one's own mind. It should be a crime. And once again, I must laugh at myself, at my ridiculous stubbornness, and ability to ignore myself. I really amaze myself sometimes, truly.

But I have appeased myself slightly by at least making the effort to document the problem, if not moving on to the actual doing part. Perhaps another night. Or year. =)

Obsession

"People can get obsessed with romance, they can get obsessed with political paranoia, they can get obsessed with horror. It's isn't the fault of the subject matter that creates the obsession, I don't think."

~Adam Arkin~

I've spent a rather large portion of my day ruminating on the sheer stupendousness of Keira Knightley. I'm pretty sure that I've Googled her enough to classify it as an "obsession". But seriously, can anyone blame me? The girl is just phenomenal, any way you cut it. She's young, smart, honest, driven, BEAUTIFUL, talented...did I mention beautiful? I mean she is really just stunningly gorgeous to me. Part of that is the way she comes through in her interviews. I especially loved the interview in the Dec. '07 issue of Elle, which featured her on the cover. She's not scared to let her own neurotic thoughts come through, she argues with herself out loud, even refers to herself as a "moody bastard". What's not to love?! When many young starlets keep themselves in the "trash mags" (as I call them) by alternately rehabbing and sticking their heads in toilets at exclusive clubs, she manages to avoid that route, and stick to the "serious actor" lifestyle.

And she actually can act, which is more than some young ingenuous can claim. If you disagree with that, you obviously haven't seen her in Pride & Prejudice. She gives such an impeccable, detailed, perfect performance as Elizabeth. Since that has been my running favorite movie for years, and the reason of my starting obsession with her, I've seen it quite a few times. And still, every time I watch it, I'm blown away anew by the depth she gives to the role, how every word is delivered in the exact tone it should be. And how her eyes seem to actually convey what she is feeling, or I should say what her character is feeling. Her ability to fit herself into the roles she chooses, and own them, is amazing. So many actresses seem to portray the same basic character, no matter who they're playing at the time. Keira Knightley truly becomes the person she's playing, constantly changing, and yet always coming across as realistic in her role. She seems to become the character, instead of someone trying to be the character...if that makes any sense.



Anyways, I just had to take a moment to share my slight obsession of this most fascinating, enchanting woman. I can't wait to see what else she does over the years. Although, if she turns out to be one of those women whose beauty peaks at 30 instead of 20, I may be forced to go from obsession to depression, slowly leading into a distant hate....haha, just kidding. I'm sure she'll remain as stunning on and off the screen, even becoming more so as she goes.

A Little Less Conversation...

"Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body."

~Elizabeth Stone~

I never realized how removed from the world I am until I get out in it again. Since my husband has been working out of town recently, I spend most of my time taking care of our two young children. Needless to say, adult conversations are far and few between.

But a friend of mine came into town recently; one I hadn't seen in about a year, a year that was filled with some big changes for us both. So when she told me she was at a hotel with her man, I was thrilled! Finally I was going to see her, and hear all about her life, and be introduced to this amazing man she couldn't say enough about.

After putting our oldest child to bed, and getting my husband set up with the youngest, I was finally ready to leave. Of course, that's when I noticed the weather was getting worse, and discovered, after checking the Weather Channel, that the entire area was under tornado watch. Great! But since the hotel was only about 10 minutes away, I was bound and determined to see them, and to get some time to myself! I adore my kids, but I was in desperate need of a few hours without holding one and chasing the other.

By the time I got to the hotel, the rain was just pouring down, the wind was blowing like crazy, and I had to park at the very last parking space in the lot, the furthest from the front door. Determined to hold on to my rarely exercised sense of excitement, I just threw a coat over my head and ran for it. I was a little out of breath when I got into the lobby, which was empty...so I thought. The first thing out of my mouth is a muttered "damn", just under my breath, because it really was some bad weather, I mean, I could hear the waves just pounding the beach behind me, even through the storm sounds. As I turned around to jog up the stairs, I saw the family waiting for me to get out of the doorway so they could leave. And they had not one, or even three kids with them. They had five kids with them, all of them staring at me with round eyes, mouths slightly open. I try a smile for the parents, who seemed totally unresponsive, probably due to a vacation overkill...I mean, five kids? Seriously?!

As I jogged up the stairs, I was thinking about all the things I want to talk to my friend about, mentally rehearsing because I didn't want to forget any important details. For me, this was not just about seeing a girlfriend, this was a full-scale event, and I had to be sure to cram as much into the time I had as I could.

When she opened the door, looking wonderful, and introduced the supposed boyfriend as her husband, we all got settled down to talk, with me looking forward to hearing about the elopement.

About two hours later, my husband called, asking if I could come home because our youngest was fussy. I got my things together to leave, hugging and promising to get together again soon, and I was just glowing from the adult interaction, the first I'd had in two weeks.

I got home and got the baby settled, and my husband asked about my friend. He said,"How's she doing? How is school going for her, is she graduating soon? What else is going on in her life?"

And I sat there and thought about it. And slowly, a feeling of shock took over. Because I had NO IDEA! I hadn't asked her a single thing about her life! I had, in fact, done nothing but talk the entire time! And as I looked back, I realized that for almost the entire time, I had talked about my kids!!

What was wrong with me?! I was so thrilled to see my friend, to get away from my kids for a couple of hours that I...what? Spend the whole time talking about...my kids?!!

After sending her a letter of apology, and receiving one back promising a double date soon, and her full understanding that I was a mommy now, my kids were my life, and it was alright, I had to laugh. I had done what every mommy I know has done, and will continue to do for the rest of my life. My kids really are my life, they are what I fill my day with, what I work for, and what I love. That will never change, so I guess I should just get used to talking about nothing but them for a long time to come!

Or just warn people to hit me after the first hour of "kid-talk".

I Am A Poet

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is

passionately in love with language.

~W. H. Auden~

The first book my mother ever read to me that I can remember was C. S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. I’m not sure exactly how old I was, only that at Chapter 1, I could not read, and by the end, I was learning how to read. I have such vivid memories of being in my room in the upstairs of the big house, sunlight pouring in through the windows, and sitting on my trundle bed next to my mother, listening to her read about the four children and the Lion. And sitting there, hearing her, I was taken to another world. It seemed so natural, and right, and wonderful. It was like she was painting me a picture with the letters on the pages, so clear was everything that I saw. That is when my love for the written word started, and over the years it has grown into something so huge, so vital to who I am.

Other than a short period of time during my first grade year when I decided to become an artist, a teacher, and a zoologist all at once, (big dreams for a little person), I’ve wanted to be a writer. I can remember the first story I wrote, and I actually still have it in a box, packed away for safe keeping. I was in kindergarten, so I guess I was about 5 or 6 years old then. I remember loving the fact that it was MY story, and therefore open to any avenue I wanted to take. I had complete control over it, I could write whatever I wanted. That amazement still hasn’t left me to this day. I’m constantly astounded by the power of words, whether it be through writing, reading, dialogues in film, or conversations on the street.

But as I got older, and my motivation grew less, I started only writing as a means to keep myself sane. That is to say, I only wrote when I was so overwhelmed with emotion, my only option was to write it all down or implode. I was never one to talk to people around me, so writing was the ultimate escape/therapy. Soon the only things I wrote were sad or mad…(of course, I was going through adolescence at that point so I suppose most of emotions were based in either sad or mad anyways.) I was too lazy to continue sitting down and just writing for the love of writing, even just about simple day-to-day things.

After getting some small recognition for poetry I’d written, and having those around me tell me that I should truly make a career around writing, I was more steadfast is my vow to write daily. That lasted for a few months, and then I discovered the teen-aged world around me, consisting of skipping school, getting in trouble, and further killing any drive I’d finally found. Once again my writing was only done in the small hours of the morning, either with tears of anger or depression dotting the pages, or with little hearts drawn around the words of undying love for whoever I was currently, and always secretly, in love with.

Let me break into this stream of memories to say that I think the ability to do anything well is a gift from God. Ignoring that gift just because you can, because you assume it will always be there is the grossest sort of self-indulgence, a complete waste, and a terrible thing to do. But at that time I just assumed I could put that gift on the back burner, and pull it out again when I needed it, like high school.

So I went into high school with that gift tucked away. I kept it tucked away all the time actually, preferring to skip school to do nothing at all instead of learning the craft I claimed to love. Come test time in English my teachers were astounded by what I turned in, when I actually did the work, and berated me for not trying harder. This, to my perverse, rebellious young mind, was a sign to try less, to skip more, and further ignore what I was capable until I needed it. Like when I went to college.

The fruits of my labor finally bloomed when I was in the last semester of my senior year, somehow scraping by enough to have gotten that far. I was told that I was going to be one credit short of being able to graduate with my class. Having no motivation or self-discipline, I decided I would drop out, relying on my supreme intelligence of 17 years to get me through the rest of my life. And for the next 3 years, I didn’t write a single thing with more meaning than a grocery list.

When I finally did decide to write again, I was astonished to find that I couldn’t just sit down, pick up the pen, and fill pages with anything and everything. I couldn’t do anything but sit and stare at the paper, my thoughts about to explode out of my ears, and that gate between my mind and my hand stubbornly shut. Boy was I scared. For a week straight I tried to write constantly, coming up with terrible, trite-sounding lines, nothing like the clear expression of my mind that I used to write so effortlessly. But as I continued with my newfound, (and fear-induced), writing frenzy, it eased back into me, and me to it, like an old man into his favorite recliner. After lunch, with his favorite pair of slipper. And a pipe. It was like falling in love all over again, and I immersed myself in writing, and reading, to escape my daily life. Because my daily life was filled with a newly budding regret for my past choices, and where they'd gotten me. Or, to be more precise, not gotten me. All of my friends were having a blast in college. I was visiting them on the weekends. They told me about writing assignments that had to be done soon, and while I comisserated out loud, inside I was dying of jealousy. I wanted to do those reports, because I knew I could do them well.

By that time, Ryan and I had been together for about 3 years, and had gotten to a pretty tough part in our relationship, so I had lots to escape from, and lots to write about. But, in the manner of all relationships, when we made up, it was incredible, so I began to write again about the happy times, the great times. I was amazed that I had left this venue untouched for so long. Nothing compared to being able to translate how phenomenal being in love was onto a page that I could look back at later and relive the feelings and thoughts of. For a couple of years I really wrote it all down, and put effort into writing even when I didn’t want to. But, as is the manner of the beast, (my beast at least), I became lazy and chose to do what I called “living my life” instead of writing…or doing anything really that was productive or good.

I started a downward spiral of the worst kind; the kind where you’ve convinced yourself that you’re actually doing good, things are okay, and meanwhile the hole you’re digging is actually becoming a tunnel to a very dark place. Needless to say, there was no writing in that tunnel.

Having my son saved me from myself. He opened me to a place in my heart that I didn’t even know existed, and a strong will to do whatever it took to make sure he was raised right. I had no idea what I was capable of until he came along. And once again, words overflowed from behind the bridge. Like they had never done before, there was a deluge of emotions that had to be put down in words, and there were so many I couldn’t keep up.

Now I am a mother of two amazing children, both under two at the moment, married to my high school sweetheart. I have no high school diploma, or equivalent. I never went to college. All the years set aside for me to learn and excel at my chosen craft were gone, replaced with motherhood. So now I have dreams that are still dreams, and regrets about all I could have done.

Except I don’t want them to be regrets. I want to do what I should have done, buckle down so to speak, and become a writer. So today I’m starting, with this blog, to write again. And while this is a small step, it is at least a step, and in the right direction nonetheless.

Let my passionate love for language abound, because I am, again, a poet.