...a symphony of whistling and peanut butter.

Tonight I am sleeping in my old bedroom in my childhood home. All the bedrooms are above the garage. Mine is right next to my parent's. I stayed out here for a few weeks after my father died. First in bed with my mom. Reaching my arm out in the night to calm her when she sobbed in her state of half sleep. Eventually I moved into my old room. The first few nights it was like having a newborn. Getting up each time she cried and showing her I was there and confirming for her that he was not. One night the scream that came from her tired body was so terrifying. Strangulated and forced. Getting louder and more urgent. My whole body ached for the weight of her grief. She clung to me that night. A look of sheer terror in her eyes. She told me that she had felt her body being lifted off the bed. She was sure of it. She had seen him. And he was taking her. Eventually we gave up on the idea that she would be able to self soothe and achieve peaceful sleep. She began taking medication to sleep and has done so ever since. 

I haven't stayed here much since. The odd time when my sisters are here or at Christmas. But tonight I am alone in my old room. There are incredibly familiar sounds. The very faint sound of traffic on the distant highway. The rise and fall growl of an engine passing the house on the road out front. The constant sound of the vibration of the railroad tracks. It could be an hour before another train whistle blows but the tracks seem to hum perpetually with the friction of metal wheels on metal rails. And then the whistle. The comforting whistle. I don't even know how often a train passes through. The sound is not jarring enough for me to take note. It's just there or it isn't. Yesterday afternoon I know there were 3 during the funeral service for my uncle. 3 trains in that half hour. I reckon there might be fewer at night....

And tonight I am deafened by the sounds that are missing. My dad used to read insatiably. He would read in bed and fall asleep with his book in hand. He eventually installed a timer on the light. It clicked in rapid fire. Much louder than it should have for a device of it's size and purpose. It would make one loud click as the light turned out and then sort of fizzle out after that. That click and shift to darkness would often wake my dad and he would cough, roll over and turn the timer again. If that sound didn't wake him the sound of his book falling to the floor would. I think my mom slept with a light on more than off for most of her life. I often wondered why she didn't resort to sleeping in another room. 

There are other sounds missing. The whir and sigh of the air compressor, the ratcheting sound of something being lifted on a hoist or jack, the clang of indeterminate metal on metal.... The radio. The whistling. Oh and.... It's all flooding in. It's like a symphony.... The sound of a plastic bag having the twist tie removed. The slide and click of the toaster. The twist of the top of a peanut butter jar. The scrape of knife across toast. And the creak of that dining room chair....

It's strange coming home.  

...living in the waiting.

Sometimes you contemplate a line up and wonder if it's worth the wait. Dozens of people agree that standing on the sidewalk in the hot Seattle sun for a Caribbean sandwich is worthy of the hour it will cost them. I had to believe they knew what they were doing. My choice that Friday afternoon was to wait in the guitar store with a fidgety five year old while her sister and daddy shopped or move slowly down a sidewalk with a mass of "committed" individuals on the quest for roast pork and caramelized onions. 

Miss Lola and I walked the two blocks to join the sandwich throng and.....wait. I held her hand. Tried to keep her contained. Maintain our spot in the queue. Let her wiggle but not annoy the crowd around us. This lasted for..... 38 seconds. "Hi. I'm Lola. I'll be your friend" she stated confidently to the small child holding the hand of his young father a few spots in front of us. I shrug. That's all there is to do. This is her way and I will not stop her for the comfort of others. I occupy myself with my own people watching, looking up the menu on my phone, calculating how far we have moved and how much time we have left to wait. Lola has purloined the child's bubbles and is blowing them while he runs around bursting the little glistening orbs. He laughs. She chatters endlessly. She has discovered his name and that he's hopeless at blowing the bubbles himself but she's determined to teach him how. I make very half hearted attempts to reign her in but the truth is I'm inspired by her. She checks in with me often enough. My gaze meets that of the boys father enough to make sure he's ok with Lola's uninhibited friend making. He isn't entirely but I shrug again and smile. 

Behind us in the line is a Korean family. Multigenerational. All of them smiling. No one even remarking on the length of the line up. They are laughing. Talking about their order. And I notice.... The eldest man in the group has plucked a thick piece of grass from a vacant doorway and is weaving it. Slowly and deliberately. A half smile upon his lips. 

A fish. He has woven a fish. He quietly hands it to one of the children in his party, disappears for a few moments and returns with another blade of grass. The wait continued. The fish multiply.

At about the halfway point on our inch by inch journey to sandwich nirvana there is a vibrant man in a yellow shirt playing jazz standards on a flute. He enthusiastically speaks to himself between tunes and manages to keep the energy of his show alive by simultaneously being both artist and audience. Lola is captivated. She had found a nickel in the pavement earlier while blowing bubbles with her new best friend. After a good five minutes of summoning up the courage she drops her nickel in his hat. Doubling his earnings for his lunch time show. He plays "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". I sing. Lola dances. The crowd talks amongst themselves. The man weaves fish. Kieran blows bubbles. The line shuffles forward. 

The man is working on his fourth or fifth fish. Lola has stopped being bashful about watching and is standing directly in front of him.  He continues to smile like Buddha. She looks up into his face earnestly and asks for a fish. When he completes it he hands it to her. His smile broadens. She returns to snatch the bubbles out of the pocket of Kieran's father. I laugh and attempt to scold her utter lack of personal boundaries. God I love this child. This hot afternoon on the sidewalk in Seattle. The wait.

         

A lot of living happens in the waiting.

...a horizon.

I never thought I would be that mom. I had never imagined this moment in my life. The moment when I would gasp for breath at the realization that my baby was not a baby anymore. The tears would burn in my eyes and my head would feel damn near exploding at the thought that within the month I will have to decide where she will go to kindergarten. Yep, that's it. No big deal right? BUT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND...

I suddenly feel as though I have squandered these years. We didn't attend a single kindermusik class, I didn't take her down to the musty smelling community hall for baby gymnastics or hang out with the other moms at the public library story time, no Saturday afternoon baby ballet... I took her to work with me. She was dragged to fundraising meetings and coffee dates. She was my sidekick, under my feet, my blonde tornado, my partner in crime... she's been raised on a steady diet of roller derby mania and passive physiotherapy. She thinks it's normal that we have friends named Diva, Sweaty & Easy and there is an extra adult kid living in our house named Kitschy. She dresses herself in clothes built for comfort, favouring shirts that have a catchy message. Her hair is untamed and seldom washed. She can't print her name, sing her ABCs or count to ten. But she's along for the ride and she doesn't care where it's headed.

Suddenly all that time that stretched out before me has become remarkably finite. Years have turned into months and my time with her buzzing around making creative messes while I clean will soon come to an end. And tonight it has never felt so heavy. It's so ridiculously cliche to stand on this threshold and tell my tender mama soul that I should have cared less about my clean house and my healthy meals in favour of sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor singing songs with my toddler. But there it is. That's exactly where I am. And I'm wondering just how big a mess I can stand over the next few months. Cause that floor looks awfully inviting.

   

...a garden.

Bernadette and Gail make me feel warm all over. They have the garden plots on either side of ours. I haven't been there at all this summer. It's David's garden. Farmer Dave.

They introduce themselves in a peaceful and non threatening way. "You must be David's wife. I'm Bernadette."

They say kind things and they don't even know me.

"How are you feeling?"

"David said you were under the weather"

"This barrel has more water"

"Don't strain yourself."

I looked over at the bench and garden table at the side of the plots under the tree. There is a mason jar half full of coffee with cream. And a couple of mugs. There are other people at the garden but I know this is theirs. They have set up home.

Their gardens are beautiful. They are harvesting lettuce and peas.

Our garden is sad. Rabbits ate the onion tops and I've kept David from the garden when he should have been planting and tending.

"Your garden will take off" Gail says. "You'll have tomatoes and squash."

She's too kind.

I wonder if they have pickles or buttered toast to have with their coffee.

"You look like no more than a student yourself" Gail says. I blush and laugh. I don't know what to say. I always know what to say. But it's peaceful. And slow and no answer seems needed.

I fill my watering can half way each time and walk slowly back and forth to our small plot. Swinging the can. The water sloshes. I try to decide where to water and where to walk. I'm in no rush. The sisters are in no rush.

There are teens with their dogs in the abandoned tennis courts across from the garden. They are peaceful. Happy. Quiet even.

Bernadette is smoking and pouring herself a coffee from the mason jar. Gail joins her. They are both wearing straw hats and denim shirts. I don't want to leave but I'm done watering. I can't stretch it out any longer. I turn and wave and call out "goodnight".

There's a lone hat on the picnic table in the park. The swings are still.

Someone will claim it tomorrow. When the park comes alive. When the children with their Popsicle sticky hands and wide eyes and unabashed friend making prowess descend on this place again.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...a snow storm.

Some days are quite simply much harder than others. Kind of like a swirling vortex of shit really. All the little things that you can normally deal with effortlessly all fly into your path at once and your capacity to cope is tested to its limits or beyond.

Yep. Today was one of those days. No major obstacles. Nothing earth shattering. Just a shit storm. Cause you know, a few snowflakes at a time are magical, but billions upon billions can bring a city to its knees. We had a real life blizzard here yesterday and I followed it up with my own metaphysical one today.

In the quiet of the waning evening of yesterday's blizzard I looked out my window to see the moonlight reflected off the snowbanks like billions of tiny diamonds. The branches of every tree enrobed in crystalline white. The quiet and stillness so profound. It was breathtaking. And in the quiet waning evening of my shit storm today my sweet nine year old squeezed me tight around the waist and told me how incredible I am. How there is no other mother on earth as fine as me. And on my outward breath I could see the diamonds in her eyes. I could see that the day long tantrums of my exasperating three year old were simply billions of synapses firing and that the beauty of that growth was revealing itself. I could see that the swirling vortex of all the people in our lives are
small blessings that serve to make our existence richer. And I was able to sit down and have a great conversation with my kiddo about the finite nature of patience.

And now all that's left is to curl up in the arms of my partner and remind ourselves why we chose to weather this storm together.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...a leap.

Today seems like an appropriate day to be back here. Leap Day. The day we catch up. Make up for the imperfection of our calendar. The day we rectify our calculational deficiencies.

Today was to be significant in another way. Today I was hoping to be given part of my life back. To catch up... To leap. Today I had a date with Glen Sather. Or more specifically I had an appointment at the Glen Sather sports medicine clinic. I was hoping to get the news that I would be cleared for "combat". I wasn't. Four and a half months ago I suffered a temporarily crippling knee injury at roller derby practice (that's right - I'm a derby girl and that is another post all together). For weeks I hobbled around, I couldn't drive my standard car because it was my clutch leg and my knee had lost all bendiness, I barely slept because it hurt in every position and I watched my fellow fresh meat skaters pass their skills test and leave me in their dust. It was tough, scary and yet I found my way. Physio 3 times a week, ice, heat, ice, strengthening exercises, ice, doctors, MRIs, x-rays, ice... Its a new road. I have never been an athlete and figuring this shit out at 39 with two small children has been challenging. Some days all I wanted to do was kneel down to help my baby put her boots on. To be at her eye level and kiss her face. I found patience that I didn't know I had and a resolve that was reignited. And today I walked into that exam room with in my striped knee socks and taped up knee, holding the hand of my miniature moral support in a bumblebee back pack. All I wanted to hear was YES. YES, go hit those bitches. The answer I walked away with was not so affirmative and the statute of limitations on my patience has run out.

...abundant love.

These two girls of mine know love. It's all I've ever wanted them to be sure of. That they are vessels of abundant love. That they are conductors of abundant love. That they are abundantly loved.

And between them is an intensity of love for each other so electric that it could light a small town. Blows my mind every day.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...restoration.

Today I believe that sickness came to our house solely for the purpose of slowing us down. It took me a few days to figure it out, but oh how it was worth it. The fresh air seems to be the only remedy for Lola's croupy cough and after a long morning nap on daddy's chest she was ready to breath the fresh air deeply. She told me so by screaming at the top of her lungs and throwing herself on the floor. I don't know if she knew what she was asking for at the time. It was what we needed though.





















Our return home was perfectly timed as the sprinkles began to fall from the heavens and nourish the earth we walked upon.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...a thaw.

And so I break the silence. The end of a long, cold winter. I feel the warmth returning to my bones. Bare feet on concrete. Baths to wash off the filth of a day outside. Freedom.

Lola begs to be outside all the time. Despite the brutal winds this spring. Despite the helicopter sized mosquitos. She just wants to walk and walk and walk. Her hunger to expand her world is so desperate. Stopping to point out random cars and dogs and kids. Crouching to inspect an ant hill and trying to pet the ants. Grinning and squealing as she shuffles down the walk on her toddler bow-legs. Stilted and reckless.

It feels good to be back here.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...an off beat rhythm.

I've never liked the idea of having a "routine" or following a "schedule". Perhaps it is just a function of my desire to be non-conforming. And maybe it's just that it doesn't feel quite right for me. Over the last few years I have found the phrase "rhythm of my life" falling seamlessly into my vocabulary. Rhythm. That is the word that sits so nicely in my bones. It implies that there is a certain ebb and flow in any given moment and yet the tempo can change and the dance can continue. It allows for the many energies that make up my family to create one dynamic rhythm that we can all groove on.

There are frequently days on end when our family has fallen out of rhythm. It's like listening to the static between radio stations. It often happens when we are all moving too quickly to stop and tune us back in. But it never feels like we have failed to maintain a "routine" or follow a "schedule". It just means we have to fine tune. And that removes the intellectual analysis of how our lives are functioning. It's a feeling, a balance, a gut reaction, an intuitive sense of what is needed in the present moment.

In this moment, right now, I am feeling a little off beat. My Rx for that? Immersion. Complete and total immersion in my family. Face to face, side by side, orbiting around each other. A couple of days is ideal but often a small portion of an hour creates a harmony that can carry us through the next up tempo frenzy of our lives. Tonight I will set our dinner table with an earthy and rich Indian stew. Warmth from a spicy homemade chutney balanced with a cool, tangy yogurt. And we will sit over this meal. Facing each other while we tune out the world and tune into each other.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

...a nap.

I forgot all about "this" stage.

When I was pregnant with this babe I confessed to anyone that would listen that I wasn't really all that fond of babies. As I recalled from the first time around, six years earlier, the fun really started at about 2 years postpartum. Or maybe, as it turns out, I didn't really find my groove as a mom until that point. Don't get me wrong. I loved that baby with all my heart. She gave me what would be possibly the biggest adventure of my entire life. Becoming a mom completed me and all that cliche stuff. But quite frankly I found dealing with the demands of an infant quite tedious and my patience was taken to new edges...daily.

I could draw comparisons all day long, really. The "who I am v.s. who I was" factor, the differences in eating, playing, development, disposition and sleep patterns of my two babes, the only child v.s. the division of energy with the additional child, the stark difference in learning curve from the first to the second.....even the sheer lack of stimulation and organized activities for this second child is staggering. And maybe there is really not that much difference. The truth is I've discovered that I don't dislike babies at all. In fact, I fell completely in love with parenting this infant. She challenged me, fascinated me and mesmerized me in ways I did not recognize the first time. Or maybe I had just forgotten. Six years is a long time. Because, as it turns out I had forgotten "this" stage all together.

I know now why I waited so long in between babies. Until Meg reached the age of five it seemed like each stage became more difficult than the last. Just when I thought I had no time and no patience left to spare I was taken to a new edge. Left nostalgic and wistful about the stage we had just left. And yet when I had been fully immersed in that previous reality I could not appreciate it's gifts and apparent simplicity. And on and on it went.

"This" stage that I had forgotten is perhaps the part I struggled with last time. Perhaps this is what had me believing I didn't much care for babies. My Lola is an "easy" child. Amuses herself for hours in the day. Her defiance is short lived and easily redirected. Her determination is infuriating but admirable. She seems to understand the word "no" and doesn't always ignore it. Her ability to leave a trail of non-destructive chaos in her wake is charming. And yet it's all relative. Because she is my kid and I have only her to contend with I find that the "time-sucking" nature of parenting a toddler is....well.....frustrating.

Which brings me to today, right now, sitting in my car, outside my house. Laundry and dishes piled up to teetering heights. A diaper pail stinking to high heaven. A bathtub completely full of hand washing in various stages of completion. No plans for supper tonight (or any other night for that matter). A stack of paperwork to contend with and emails to answer. A trail of cereal boxes and granola bars strewn across the kitchen floor..... And here I sit. In the car. Listening to the deep and contented breathing of my sleeping toddler.

This busy toddler in the midst of a swirling whirlwind of change has had a lot of trouble with sleep the last couple of days. I have spent at least 17 hours over the last three days lying next to her, nursing her, comforting her, rocking her, singing to her, ignoring her, patting and rubbing her, all in an effort to get her to sleep. Both for her naps and at night.

So today I decided to forego all ideas of crossing something...anything off my list in favour of making sure that this child slept. I was out anyway and headed home around naptime. So I took a circuitous route past the bank and to the drive-thru at Second Cup. Driving until finally I heard the sweet sounds of sleep emanating from the back seat of the car. I drove leisurely towards home and pulled up in front of my house. Coffee, brownie and silence...... Now what.

I decided at this point that one could dedicate an entire blog to sharing helpful tips and suggestion for the busy mom of a car napping toddler. I started a list...

1. A directory of products and services that are available in drive-thru format.
2. Tips on how to fold laundry on your tailgate.
3. A comprehensive guide to the best places to tap into free wi-fi in your community.
4. A compilation of creative, gourmet and mess-free on the go lunches for hungry mamas.
5. The complete illustrated compendium of napping options for the front seat of your car.
6. A listing of the best radio shows available between the hours of 10:00 and 4:00.
7. A map of the best views of your city from quiet streets or parking lots.
8. Ideas for toning your thighs, buttocks and belly in a seated and upright position.
9. Directions for creating awe-inspiring crafts with old gas reciepts and slurpee straws.

And that is just a start...

...this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A weekly ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. I was inspired to do this by Soulemama. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

...this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A weekly ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. I was inspired to do this by Soulemama. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

...this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

...giving thanks.

Life gets in the way of gratitude sometimes. Sad but true. But for this one solid weekend in October I feel like it courses through my veins and oozes out of every pore.  What I am thankful for right now is...

Karma.
I am immensely grateful that my father was the kind of guy that would drop everything and do whatever was needed to help a friend or family member. I was explaining this to Meg this morning and it went like this.
Me - "Grandpa was the kind of man that loved to help and give. Because of this.."
Meg - "He made a lot of friends."
Me - "Yes, Meg. He was loved. And more than that, Meg, now..."
Meg - "People want to help Nanny."
Me - "Yes, baby. That's karma. And it works best because when he helped people it was never with the intention of getting anything in return. It was just done with love in his heart."
And now with love in their hearts many people are creating a matrix of support that is making it possible for my mom to continue to live in the place they called home together for almost 40 years.
Youth.
As parents we are given the incredible gift of seeing life through the eyes of our children. When I really connect with my girls it's as if I am able to plug directly in to the joy, excitement, anticipation, grief, frustration, wonder and intensity of their experience in that moment. I find it most profound when they learn something new or finally achieve something they have been working towards. The sense of accomplishment actually feels like a physical swelling of the chest. And an even more surprising experience I had not anticipated before I was a parent is that I get to relive my childhood. Sharing my own experiences with Meg and remembering things long forgotten as I watch Meg go through them herself. Yesterday we approached the railway crossing less than a mile from my childhood home and the signal began to flash. We pulled up to a stop just as the train was approaching. Meg suggest we wave. I opened the windows and we enthusiatically waved as the engine slowly rolled past. To our incredible delight his window was also wide open and his nonchalant wave back had us grinning like fools and cheering at our success. Having lived my entire childhood
just down the road I had been stopped at that crossing thousands of times and waved at every engine and kaboose that went past. Always excited when the wave was returned. I wonder when I stopped waving. Ah, another great thing about youth is the chance to be uncool and foolish again.

Maturity.
At the same time that I delight in the spirit of youth, I also savour the comfort of my age. With that age comes wisdom, confidence and acceptance. Peace. Less inner turmoil, more clarity. You know, maybe youth and maturity are more akin than I thought. In one stage I was layering on my psyche-protecting veils, until perhaps one day it all just got too heavy, too clouded. And then as I matured I labouriously shed one layer at a time in a search for my authentic self. With each layer peeled away becoming more raw and feeling more alive. I'm grateful that this means it will only get better.

Community.
What does that mean? Friends that have become my soul sisters. Neighbours that shovel my walk and mow my lawn. Dozens of mothers to my children. The walking school bus we are a part of everday. The children my daughter calls friends. The facebook friends that laugh at and respond to my status updates. The people that read and comment on my blog. Even the guy at the hardware store that gives you that extra piece of advice. The woven fabric of my life is intertwined with the lives of all these people by the threads of our encounters. It's a colourful tapestry.
Where does one even end? Like I said, gratitude oozing from every pore. I'm thankful for my husband's love. My big girl's imagination. My baby's sweet, milky breath. My extended family (all of them, even the slightly crazy ones). Chocolate buttons and wine. Warm autumn light. Good health. The roof over my head and food in my fridge. Air travel, email, and long distance telephone plans. My iPhone. Kids that occasionally go to bed early and sleep in late. Knowing I am surrounded by people that really love me.

Clearly I need to do this more often. Perhaps then my list would be more manageable... Nah, not likely. My life is pretty sweet. Here's proof...

...this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Photo Credit - David Walker

...this moment.

Well, I'm a day late this week. I had a busy Friday. I had so many photos to choose from just from last weekend alone. I really feel as though I lived in the last 7 days. It was one of those weeks when you really know you're alive. And then Thursday gave me this special moment. I feel compelled to explain that there is one very important element that you can't see in this photograph. Hidden by the angel of a woman in the white t-shirt is a minutes old babe being held in the arms of his warrior mama.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

...this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

...tetris.

You know that game? Who doesn't is more to the point, I guess.

It's my life.

Not "it's my life" as in I live for it. But actually, it's precisely what my life feels like. Like I am at the controls as tiny, huge, mundane, unexpected, challenging, time consuming, frustrating, creative, complex, joyful, productive, repetitive, tender, juicy, .....tasks filter down into my life. It's my job to effeciently slot them in. As a matter of fact, as a mom, it's my job to do this for my whole family. Most days I feel like a pro. Assessing the task and slotting it in. Sometimes spinning it around or flipping it to make it fit and other times just watching as it drifts down and lands perfectly in it's place. All of it, a very sophisticated series of well timed moves.

And then suddenly...I make a wrong move. I wager what the next piece will be and it is unexpectedly malformed to fit in my puzzle. Or I shift over just one square too far and it gets hung up and blocks the route for all subsequent pieces. Or someone comes along and distracts me for a split second at a crucial moment. From that point on things just seem to log jamb and I might as well throw my hands up in the air. At that point it all feels about as sophisticated as a bar brawl.

I'm not sure that everyone knows that moms are doing this all the time on some conscious or sub-conscious level. I think we can make it all look so effortless that people don't see what's going on behind the curtain. The only time that people are aware of the tetris juggling act is when we log jamb and things are going terribly wrong. All the finesse and grace of months, weeks or days of expertly played moves go entirely unnoticed.

It's kinda like when someone pulls that piece out of the Jenga tower that causes the whole thing to wobble dreadfully..... Wait a minute. Now I am mixing my geeky game metaphors. Let's stick with Tetris. September has been one big log jamb....There is only one cure for that. A clean slate.

...this moment.

I love the blog world.  It's soooo huge and oh so intertwined.  I kinda began following blogs with this one.  I think maybe the reason I decided to blog.  Then when she was in the final days of gestating her baby girl I began following her mom's blog to catch updates and hear of the news that the babe had arrived.  I got hooked on her mom too.  A couple of weeks ago her mom began this Friday ritual.  Inspired by Soule Mama.  And now I am going to give it a whirl

 {this moment}


{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.