Chef Ayden the Great....



I think I'll let the pictures do the talking this time.... all I gotta say is, this kid is nothing short of AMAZING! 

Cookies and Yoga...

Cookie's ya'll. And yoga pants. Because there is nothing in the entire world that makes me feel better than eating a cookie while practicing yoga. These cookies especially. give me motivation to dip into downward facing dog.

I made lemon cookies the other day, before I decided to conquer my daily yoga. I think the only way to describe these cookies are with the following words: They taste like heaven. No lie.

Mouthwatering Lemon Cookies:

{Ingredients}:
1 C Softened Butter
1 C Granulated Sugar
1 1/2 tsp Vanilla
1 Egg
1 TBL Lemon Zest ( Use as much of the yellow on the lemon the more white you get the more bitter it will taste.)
2 TBL Fresh Lemon Juice
1/4 tsp Salt
1/4 tsp Baking Powder
1/8 tsp Baking Soda
1 1/2 - 2 C All Purpose Flour

{Directions}:
Pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees.

In a mixing bowl cream together the butter and sugar until it is light and fluffy and looks whipped. Add in the vanilla, the egg, Lemon zest, and Lemon juice and continue mixing until thoroughly mixed. Stir in the remaining ingredients. Use a cookie dough scooper to make small little balls on ungreased cookie sheets.

Bake 10 - 14 minutes until cookies no longer look wet. Remove from oven and keep them on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes before transferring to a cooling rack.

These cookies really have nothing really to do with yoga, I just wanted to justify the fact that I ate three of them. In a row. And in my defense, one of them was as I was doing yoga. I pinky promise.

Tis the season...

It's fall! Finally... and in true October fashion, I am cooking, baking, and flavoring with as much pumpkin as possible. I love pumpkins. I do. I love fall and I especially love pumpkins.

So today, I made pumpkin soup. My kids are questioning it and giving me the worried eye they always give me when I'm baking something they aren't too sure will taste sweet and filled with sugar. They're grounded at the moment, so they have no other choice but to eat my pumpkin soup.

They won't be disappointed, because this soup is good. This soup is divine and hits just the right spot on a rainy fall day just like today.

The recipe is as follows:

Pumpkin Soup

{ingredients}:

2 1/2 TBL butter (the real stuff folks, margarine is a four letter word in our family)

1 large or 2 medium Russet Potatoes (peeled and chopped into small pieces)

1 large Yellow Onion (minced)

3-4 Cups Chicken Broth (I use low sodium)

1 Can (15 oz) of Pumpkin Puree (make sure it is in fact pure pumpkin and not pumpkin pie filling, that would be weird)

salt (to taste)

freshly ground black pepper (to taste)

1/4 tsp freshly ground Nutmeg (I used McCormick ground nutmeg which is perfectly delicious also, just don't skimp on the nutmeg folks, it adds the perfect amount of spice to this soup).

You can also add about 1/4 up to 1/2 C of heavy cream but to be perfectly honest, the soup stands up well completely on it's own without the cream. I'm trying to be a little more health conscious these days so I do without)

{directions}:

In a large pot over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the chopped potato and onion and cook, stir occasionally until the onion is translucent (about 5 - 7 minutes). Add the chicken broth and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low and cook until potato is tender. Stir in the delicious pumpkin. Use an immersion blender to puree mixture until smooth. (You can also cool the soup and pour into a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Then return it to the pot.) Stir in the salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Increase the heat to medium and bring the soup to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to low and cook for eight to ten minutes. If desired, stir in cream and stir to distribute heat throughout the soup. Serve hot and ENJOY!!!!

Packed Bags and Crocodile Tears...



"i hat you. i am running awa tumoro! frum, Caler!"

 Dear world, I too, would like to write a run-away note. But my son beat me to it.  He had had enough and frankly so had I. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway...) we had a few rough nights this week. Tears were in all of our eyes as I sent them up to bed for the fifteenth time.

As I sat on the couch angry and tears streaming, I could hear the laughter and pitter patter of disobeying little boys. Momma was mad. And momma went upstairs and grounded anyone within a five mile radius. Momma's little men were not happy and not laughing. I heard the little pitter patter of eight year old feet one more time, and I was exhausted. I waited to hear it again, but it stopped. They had finally fallen asleep.

It was a little while later that I climbed the stairs only to find a letter waiting for me. The letter was written in the sweetest eight year old handwriting. It was devastating. But what was more devastating was what I found in the morning.

In their room, a neatly packed back pack sat ominously.

I didn't say a word to him as he sulked out ready for school. But I hugged him. And he hugged me back. We didn't talk about it right away. We both needed time I think.

I walked up the stairs with him after picking them up from school and we talked as we unpacked.

"I was going to bring Ayden's teddy bear so that I always would remember him." He said as he placed it back on Ayden's bunk bed. My heart smiled as I realized they do actually kinda like each other.

"Do you want to talk about why you were mad at me last night Bud? I asked.
"I guess."
"What made you mad?"
"I never want to be grounded. And real men are never grounded. So I was going to go and be a real man." He replied.
"Oh. Ok I guess I had a different idea of what a real man did." I said as I re-folded a pair of his jeans.
"What do they do momma? because they aren't grounded. I know that." He said matter of factly.
"I think they respect people and they don't break the law, and that way they don't get grounded or have to go to jail."
"Yeah I think they do that too."
"Do you remember our house rules kiddo?"
"yes..." He said.
"Do they remind you of something that grown-ups have to live by?"
"um... laws?" He smiled showing his toothless grin.
"Exactly buddy, so what do you think should happen when our rules at home get broken?"
"Oh. I see... we get grounded." The smile faded, but he hugged me. Which, I think, means he's staying put (at least until the next grounding).

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda... but didn't

My Dear Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda-been,

What a job you thought you could take on. Loving another man's children. Disciplining another man's children. Taking the backlash from another man's children. Being responsible for... another man's children. In the beginning you did it all. And you were good. You were loved by all three of us. You helped me put them to bed, or carry them in from the car. You helped build Lego's, you tinkered with tools in the garage, you asked for time with them. You were everything they had always wanted and everything they still deserve. In Ayden's words, "I trust him momma, when he says he will do things, he does them." And you did. You did with your whole heart and I don't doubt the love you have for them.

I saw you slipping away slowly, though. I saw the frustrations seeping in. I saw the fury behind a broken rule. I saw you slam the door and walk away. You walked away.

The thing is... you had it all wrong. It wasn't a job. It never was and it never will be. Not to them and not to me. This life, being a single momma, is not only mine... it's theirs. And they didn't choose it. They don't deserve it.

The worst part, is not that you made them feel like that. As you said to me often "it's not your job".  The worst part is that I let them feel like they were just a job. I'm their mother, their person, the only one person they have in the world, and I let them feel insecure for too long.

So it surprises me when I hear you say you want to try again. See how we work out. Because you miss me and you love me. It's not that I don't miss you. I do. I miss you. Everyday I miss you. It's not even that I don't love you. I still do, and I always will. And believe me when I say I've wanted to hear those words for over a year. I've cried countless tears and I've analyzed over every last detail of our relationship.

I've asked myself over and over some of the hardest questions I've had to ask myself. What would have happened had our baby lived? What would have happened? I don't have the answers. And you don't either. I wonder though, what our lives would be like. I wonder. I hope. I think. I dream. I cry. I ache and I miss you.  And then I stop. I have to stop.

Because what I dreamed of for me. What I had hoped for for me. And believe me, I had dreams for you and me. I'd be lying if I said I still didn't. But what I'm left with feeling is truth. And the truth is, babe, we didn't work. What you and I had wasn't what was best for the two lives I have been trusted to care for. It wasn't what they needed, therefore it's not what I needed.

So, I ask you. I beg of you... please let the wound I still feel for you everyday heal. Allow me to move on. Allow me to be a momma. A good momma to the men in my life who, no matter how many times I ground them or won't allow them to stay up fifteen minutes past their bedtime, will never choose to slam the door.

My love always and truly,
The Single Momma

Beating the bullies...

You are strong my buddy, you have heart, and you love... you love with your whole heart! You see the good in people even when they aren't good to you. I know you have what it takes to stand up to bullies, but it breaks my heart to pieces that you have to deal with the dark side of human nature at barely 8 years old.

All the things they spoke, they should never have said.
All the hands on you, they should never have been laid.
You should be crying, but you don't want to let it show.
You stand tall, when they want you to stay down.
You should be playing, instead you're running.
You have a little life in you yet, I know you have a lot of strength left.

How much courage it must take for this boy to get up and ready for the day, knowing what is ahead. What is waiting for him the moment he enters the playground. Shoelaces are stepped on, hands push on his back and all he wants is to make it to the slide.

The strength this boy has is something those bullies will never have. This boy is beautiful. His laugh is contagious. And his heart is as big as "all the way to Florida and back".  His imagination is in the clouds and because of this, attackers have a target locked on Caler and his superhero cape. This boy knows who he is and no matter what happens to him, he doesn't change for anyone.

My boy loves people even when they don't show love to him. My boy still refuses to fight back. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. My sweet boy... my sweet sweet boy and I had the following conversation.

"Violence is never ok buddy, and you should NEVER be the one to hit someone first. But Caler man, if they hit you, and the only way you're able to get away and tell your teacher is to hit them ... then, buddy, hit them back, and hit them hard enough that they stay on the ground!"

To which my baby replied:

"But I don't want to hurt them, Momma. I want to be their friend."

Looks like this momma isn't the only one teaching...

The Awkward Pause...

There it is, the awkward pause. Its there the moment I answer the question. Followed by the look. Avoided eye contact and they aren't sure what to say. They don't want to hurt my feelings. They're uncomfortable.

The question itself varies but the gist is always the same "So what happened? Why did you two divorce?". They aren't digging for scandalous answers, most inquirers already have an expected answer.

My response is not expected and is one that is usually repressed, ignored and just not talked about at brunch. My answer is  "Domestic Violence."  Domestic Violence is what caused my divorce. Dun dun dun... my answer is a mood killer, a conversation stopper, and it's truth.  It's unnerving and it's one of the topics my mom used to elbow me about... 'Kristal, honey, we don't talk about things like that. It makes people feel bad."

But the truth is, it doesn't make me feel bad. I don't feel shame. In fact, it makes me feel bad NOT talking about it. Not writing about it. Not feeling it. But most importantly, it makes me feel bad not sharing it.

I didn't have some fairy tale ending or wake up with some amazing revelation to make my story so much better or so much more inspiring. I simply survived. I'm still surviving. The point is... I got out.

No more awkward pauses. No more shame. No more silence.

There is hope and there is help. If you need a list of resources available to you please send me a message or notify your local police department. Let's fight back.

Silly...

This happens to not only characterize my boy, but it's the name of my boy's pet Horny Toad. (It's actually a lizard... which confuses me.)

Silly lives in a plastic aquarium found at the local thrift shop. It was one of those things that moms agree too... that backfires. One that starts off like this:

"Momma?"
"Yes my love bug?"
"If there is an aquarium at the store that's just a dollar, can I get it for my pet lizard or turtle?" - He asks with that little voice of his that melts my heart. (Unless he's throwing a tantrum - then it's the worst noise on the face of the planet. Comparable to Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels' "Most annoying sound in the world". I speak facts here folks... it's dreadful!)
"Yes my love, you may. We'll wander around a bit and look to see if we can find a cage." - Famous Last Words

It was a dollar. And I had given my word. It came home with us.

My sweet friend had found this little guy wandering the desert sand. He scooped him up and thought of the perfect little care taker for this spikey little dude.

And indeed he is the best little caretaker. He builds forts in the sand for the little guy to sun bathe. He helps finds harvester ants to feed his hungry little tummy. He talks to Silly in a voice he usually reserves for his baby cousins... "Hi little guy. I love you. You're the cutest little horny toad. I love your little spikey's."  He loves to describe in detail what Silly does. "Momma, he moved his foot!" and "Momma, he blinked. I think that means he loves me!" Silly sits next to my little man on the mounds of dirt as Caler plays, Silly soaks up some rays. It's a match made in heaven. They're BFF's. For life. (I just hope Silly's lifespan is a little more than predicted.)
  

Passion restored and maybe a little sanity too...



I re-found my passion for photography. It was hiding for awhile, but I found it. 

Photography is just as much of me as writing. It allows me to capture the world as I see it.. Through my perspective and my personal point of view. I get to tell a story in not only my words and thoughts, but also by what I see. It makes me vulnerable. It makes me happy. It makes me want to strive to be better, to do better, to learn, and to challenge myself. 



Caler man with his caterpillar named James

You see, I lost the passion for awhile. I had lost the courage to see beautiful things in the world. I had lost the ability and the strength to allow myself to be exposed.  I lost my sight. I lost my words. Writing no longer appealed to me. I had nothing to say and nothing to compose. I endured what I had to, for the boys. The smile that appeared had no life or glow behind it. My closest friends could tell, but I couldn't admit it. "I'm fine", I'd say. I couldn't live for me. And photography... that is one of the definitions of living for me. My eyes were seeing the world in dull lifeless colors. I was depressed. I knew it. I felt it... the giant gaping hole in my heart, it made it's presence known. I couldn't stop it though. It was to me what Zangief was to my favorite Street Fighter II character, Chun Li. I was not entirely defenseless to it. I was, however, intimidated by it. I succumbed. The fight was too tough. It was too hard. It was too painful and way too real. Despite all my efforts. My fingernails were broken and bloody from the fight, I was down. The ref had counted to ten, and I wasn't about to get up.

The next thing that happened though is something I still have yet to be able to explain. I woke up one day with the large void in my heart still beating it's drum, but the sun was shining an iridescent golden yellow, a color so beautiful and so familiar that I nearly blinded myself by staring for so long. It was no longer the color of faded straw ... bland and generic. The sky next to it... the color was radiantly blue, it was begging to be photographed. This was the first step. I was awakening from my knock-out. This was the second round and Zangief was not going to know what hit the poor bloke.

I am not awake at 5:00 am on My days off

The rooster that lives next door, the rooster from across the street, the horse next door, and his neighbor the Doberman are all wide awake and have been since about four hour ago.

In other words... I'm in need of a bb gun.

Babies and Gentlemen...



Photo courtesy of FotoFly

Gone are the days of chubby fingers and dimpled knuckles. Gone are the days of cribs and the mis-pronounced letter R.

My babies have grown into little gentlemen. They have grown into the 5^th and 2^nd grades. Are you kidding me right now?

And now we have sleepy mornings with grunts as they get out of their comfy beds. We have homework and ninja fights. We have Minecraft and “Kickin’ It”. We have “Momma, can you show me how to drive?” and “I’m not a baby anymore Momma.” We have bribed cuddles and shy dimples. We have “Momma, turn the radio down before you pull up to drop us off” and “Can I have a sleepover with my friends this weekend?”

We have the "beiber" hair swish and "peach fuzz" under armpits. We have "girlfriends" and iPad users. We have Michael Jackson lovers and movies under Teepee tents. We have ice-cream lovers and potato haters. We have... a tweenager and a big boy. 

Thankful

I had the most amazing opportunity to photograph my hilarious brother, sweet sister in law and her little tiny baby bump last night. The joy and sweet tenderness my brother shows to his beautiful wife and baby boy is amazing. Proud doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling. Tearing up I captured their sweet moments just weeks before they welcome this little bundle of blue to the world. And this little guy couldn’t have picked better parents.

Happiness. Right here! From the moment Trev called to tell me he was going to be a daddy to the captured moment of preparing for fatherhood. This guy is good! And Jo! I love you sister!!!

This too shall pass...

So I had a heart attack on Monday, and I was positive death was coming for me. An ominous cloud was looming overhead making my heart race at record breaking speed.  Air could not enter,  my lungs had slammed their doors.  My pounding heart was the only sound in the world. And I somehow managed to find my way to the emergency room. Nurses. Needles. And Machines.  I was surrounded by these things which should normally comfort a dying person… give them a sliver of light of survival. Instead I felt claustrophobic and impending doom. The tightness in my chest grew stronger and tears escaped my eyes, though they were squeezed shut.  I wanted the darkness. I wanted to feel it close around me. Peace. I wanted peace.  A sharp poke awoke my eyes and I looked down to see a clear line streaming into my vein. I felt coldness creep in and then I was calm. 

The doctor came in, he sat on the edge of my bed. Rubbed my hand. And he spoke. A panic attack. That’s what had happened to me. And it was terrifying. Apparently these things happen to people.

So while my heart is still racing, I'm breathing. Taking baby steps to managing my stress.

Life is tough folks, but This too shall pass.

Steel and the number eleven

Today is July 9^th, 2013. Today is my would-be 11^th wedding anniversary.

Traditionally, Mr. X and I would be giving each other lovely gifts made of steel. Steel is given to represent strength and endurance.  And it does. I am stronger today than the me who stood next to Mr. X eleven years ago. And I definitely endured.  I don’t know if Mr. X is stronger and I don’t care. I’d like to hope so, but some people never change and I’m betting he’s one of the changeless kind.

I can’t help but to point out the irony that falls on this year’s gift of Steel. Steel bars... is my gift to Mr. X. I hope that as he sits on his concrete bed staring at and past those steel bars, he reflects on today. That the steel bars that hold him in that small cell remind him of the strength I finally found. I may not have been physically strong enough to stop his attacks.  I was, however, strong enough to stand in front of the judge and an overflowing courtroom to explain in explicit detail what he had done to me. And that is real strength. That is the real strength Mr. X will never have. That is the real strength that pushed the button that slammed the steel bars shut. My strength stopped him. I had endured.

So happy anniversary Mr. X… I sincerely hope Bubba is being nice to you today. 

$100 Dolla Dolla Bill yo

I dropped Mr.Franklin somewhere in Bountiful or Salt Lake. It has probably hitchhiked its way somewhere else by now. Probably China. Expletive. Fill-in-the-blank-expletive. I'm close to the brink of begging... it's really my only option left, I've already cried all the tears I have in me. (Enter my dramatic antics.)

$100 is a lot of money. To anyone. And to me, it may as well have been my right arm (and let's face it folks… I’m totally not left handed).

Now if you’ll excuse me… I’m going to go crawl up in a hole somewhere and rock back and forth in the fetal position. No judgement  friends, I just foolishly lost $100. And it wasn’t even somewhere fun like Vegas or a shoe store. It was probably on the sidewalk or something. I think that justifies a little dramatic behavior. Right?

Human Lobster...

                                      

That describes me in two words. And, with the exception of claws, it describes me fairly accurately. You'd probably assume that, at 29 years old, I know better. And... you'd probably assume that after 29 years of living with the same skin day in and day out that sunscreen would be the first thing I'd apply when swimming. You'd assume incorrectly my friends. (Did you forget I was formerly a blonde??)

Pain. I'm in pain, and I'm addicted to aloe vera. The worst part of this situation... sunscreen was readily and easily accessible. We were just simply...distracted. Squirrel.

The end.

Perfection and Flaws...

Let's start with a couple definitions.

Perfection:

1.the quality or state of being perfect: as

a: freedom from fault or defect : flawlessness

b : the quality or state of being saintly

2.

a : an exemplification of supreme excellence

b : an unsurpassable degree of accuracy or excellence

Flaw:

1.imperfection

           a : a defect in physical structure or form <a diamond with a flaw>

           b : a weakness especially one that detracts from the whole or hinders effectiveness <vanity was the flaw in his character> <a flaw in the book's plot>

I can most definitely admit, I am not perfect. And I would rather not be. My kids, are not perfect. And I would rather them not be. I don’t feel like anyone should be held to that kind of expectation. Life is hard enough. I refuse to make my kids believe that I expect them to be perfect. It is my sincere hope that they know how proud I am of them regardless of any flaws people may label them with. Flaws. Flaws are what make each of us unique. Flaws are relative. They are merely opinions. They are what makes us break out of that limiting and boring cookie cutter form.

I want to celebrate the so called FLAWS my children have been labeled with, not bind them to a life of hiding these differences.

Ayden may not catch on to sarcasm or emotions as well as some people may think he should. He may expect his schedule to remain the same or be notified in advance of any detours. He may detest eye contact. But this kid respects. He loves. He smiles. He uses his brilliant mind for good. He sometimes picks on his brother and giggles releasing the little dimple that appears from mischievousness. He feels. He smiles politely when the kid at the skate park asks him if he’s Autistic or "just slow". He politely smiles. And then after a moment he politely and excitedly replies “Yes, I am Autistic. Thank you for noticing.”  His response was not intended to be mean. It was not intended to be snarky. It was genuine. He appreciated being noticed. My momma bear claws retracted as I realized this isn’t going to be the only ignorant comment he’s going to hear in this life. And instead of ripping this ill-mannered juvenile  a new one, I needed to let my child… my innocent  child handle this his way. To learn. To grow. And to realize that he’s above these comments. His Ayden-isms are one in a million and beautiful and they are his own.

My children have wild imaginations, free spirits, and they love. Their love is sometimes SO BIG that it breaks the rules.  You know the rules I’m talking about…  no being a kid, no having fun, blah blah blah. They are children. They are magical and I will not allow their spirits to be diminished by walls built around them by ignorance or anything else for that matter. I want them to break out, I want them to explore. I want them to ask questions. I want them to be themselves. I want them… to live without fear of perfection and flaws.

... an 8:00 pm bedtime wouldn't hurt either.

The time I almost stole a puppy...

It was yesterday.

And can you blame me you guys? I mean look at her! She's dang near perfect. And cuddly. And friendly. And I almost picked her up and ran.

Be proud, I didn't. BUT, today is a new day. Perhaps my next post will require a donation to my bail.

A list of things you should probably NOT do while running...

·         Take selfies.

·         Forget that you have music ADD and change the song every 15 seconds

·         Take random pictures because you’re sick of running (it’s ok if the scenery is beautiful)

·         Call your sister, friends, and Dad because you’re bored

·         Thirty second dance parties… wait…no… DO that…

·         Make Helium video’s

·         Post above mentioned helium video’s on Facebook and group message them to friends

·         Wear a thong…

·         You read that right.

·         Try to download new music

·         Wave back to the low-rider trucks… they stop and it gets kinda awkward

·         Sing out loud to rap songs (although, I have to say I think it's safe to say I'm a dang good rapper)

·         Wear three shirts, one is probably more appropriate

·         Use the last of your Mace to ward off a spider the size of China

·         Forget to use map my run to remember where you are and where you end up…  (unless you aren’t as directionally challenged as I am).

·         Play 4 pics 1 word (street signs come out of NOWHERE)!

In the name of self preservation I need a running partner… even if all you do is drive next to me throwing full-size cheeto’s in my general direction.

Even Still...

I don’t hear your words anymore, but they’re there even still…

I don’t hear your threats any longer, but they’re there even still…

I don’t feel your bruises, but they’re there even still…

I don’t feel the eggshells under my feet, but they’re there even still…

I don’t see your fists, but they’re there even still…

I don’t see your eyes, but they’re there even still…

You see… physically you are no longer there, but your actions still linger. They violate me, even still … in the nightmares that creep in at night and in the way I jump when someone approaches a little too quickly. This I was expecting… this I know how to handle.  I can talk myself out of the nightmares. I can calm my racing heart when I look into the eyes of the stranger who had no intention of startling me.

Your actions, though,  affect the way others look at me. Pity, disgust, and fear. These are a few of the emotions that pass over faces of those I tell my story too. I can, again, expect these.

This, though, I wasn’t expecting…

Those same emotions fell over the face of someone I wanted in my future. In my boys’ future. Your actions, not my own… caused someone I cared about to leave my life. Too much. Your actions were too heavy a burden to carry. To deal with. You have caused too much damage, even still.

This person was attacked for not being strong enough, worthy enough, or man enough… but I get it. I don’t fault him. I also don’t want anyone in my life who doesn’t want to stay. I don’t want anyone who isn’t willing to accept me as I am… with the experiences that I’ve lived through.  I deserve better…  

Your actions, Mr. X, were not something I asked for. They do not define me, nor do they define my actions. They do, however, belong to my past and as part of my past they helped me grow into the woman I am. They’ve made me stronger. They’ve made me softer. They’ve made me value my worth. They’ve made me stand on my own two feet and fight for myself.

What's a boy without his birdie...

 

Photo's by: Ayden

 

Lovin on his Birdie



And we’re not talking little fingers here folks (although, admittedly, I’m a bit surprised myself).

Nope we’re talking the real kind of birdies. The ones who chirp, fly, and poop on my car windshield and door handle (they never miss…)

My little men discovered a baby bird. Their little hands nurtured this baby and searched and searched for her momma. Upon discovering the little momma was missing (or “out searching for baby bird food” as Caler so innocently speculated), these boys took the little lady under their wing.

This bird was spoiled in the most loving of ways. With a name so affectionately selected from the their favorite game MineCraft, how could ‘Creeper’ not feel the love.  The boys carefully prepared a basket for Creeper to sleep in. Filled with freshly picked grass and a napkin blanket (in case she needed to cuddle or if she was too cold during the night).

Feeling a little scared with too many people gawking at her, she ran with lightening speed into the crook of Ayden’s arm and nuzzled her body in to him. Relaxed and calm, she stayed there.

With her chosen spot tucked in between the two lawn chairs on the deck, a spot lovingly picked to protect Creeper from harm, the boys tucked her in for the night.

Caler man’s momma radar must have been blaring in his ear, because sometime during the night he tiptoed out of the room. He tiptoed over the tiled floor and slid open the heavy sliding glass door.

His little hands reached for the basket still tucked into the safety of the chairs. He tucked Creepers basket under his arm and tiptoed back into the security of his blankets. Creeper spent the rest of the night nestled against Calers sleeping body.  Safe and sound. Sound and safe.

The sun rose and our morning routine went off without a hitch. No arguing. No need for second warnings to get out of bed. No sleepy eyes staring at me blankly. Walking out the door, I noticed Caler clinging to his “pack-pack” with a little more care than usual. Late. We were running late, so we hustled to the car.

It was noon when I got the call.

I picked up my men from school. Caler looked at me and said “But Mom, you make me go to school and you’re a good momma. Creeper is 7, like me… so she needs school to.” This caused Ayden to erupt into a fit of giggles… the kind that show off his sweet dimple.

I think they’ll be alright…

Faith In Leaping

Faith hasn’t always been a strong suit for me… I like to see things, hear things…. I like to know things.  Some things though, you can’t know… you have to trust.  There is no promise. There is no money-back-heart-break-forgetting guarantee. It’s believing in yourself and the faith you have for the person you are. That is what will stand up when the rest feels like crumbling.

The other day while helping someone close to me, I was asked to write what I believe makes up a Faithful Woman. She believed I was a faithful woman. “Am I?” – I asked her reflecting on years of questioning my faith in religion. “Yes.” – She replied “You are. Look at everything life has thrown at you. Really look. And look at the woman you are. You know you. You… are faithful to you. That’s what I believe makes you a faithful woman. Sometimes you leap and you fall but you stand up and you leap again.”

I did leap again and I believed in the freefall. I fell hard. And it was beautiful. And it hurt.  My belief was tucked in my heart. I still believe in love. I believe in the possibilities it opens. And most importantly I still believe in me.

Love walks up to you and leaves your heart standing right there smack dab in the middle of a local restaurant trying to catch its breath.  It can’t. Because whenever you try, the beautiful brown eyes, the pair that locked with yours as you both stole that second glance, are caught in nearly every thought you think and every breath you breathe. I think I loved him. My heart was clinging to the Velcro attached to my ruffly sleeve and I didn’t pull it back when it detached. I let it go. Let go… let yourself experience the possibility of love, I was told. I let him in, briefly, but he was there.

It took me a bit to learn to trust the fall,. Slowly I started picking off the pieces of cement that held me inside a box I was forced to believe I was supposed to fit into. A box I was constantly fighting against for so many years. A box I knew wasn’t my size. The freedom I felt when I was able to take a deep breath and fall backward is a feeling I hope to relive over and over again. 

The landing wasn’t at all what I expected. The landing didn’t have anything to do with not being enough. It didn’t have anything to do with who I am at all, actually.  But even if it had… I still have faith in me. I still am a Faithful Woman.

Nyquil...

To sleep or not to sleep? The answer should be simple. Sleep. Right?

Well, life has me stressed out a bit lately the only remedy to my sleep deprivation has been the green liquid sleep inducer.

I take it so that I can not only function the next day, but also so that my grumpiness is kept at a minimum. It sometimes works J

The problem with Nyquil is that it brings out some kind of crazy. My NyQuil dreams are warped and feel so real I swear they’ve actually happened. Except that… I’m no longer in the Amazon, no longer surrounded by the lush green foliage. The sticky air does not cling to my clothing and does not cause the effort of breathing to feel like suffocating. The murky water does not camouflage the slithering snakes lurking just beneath the ripples. My boys are no longer threatened by the coiling wires of spitting cobra’s that pop out of the sand as we run away from the giant gummy worm Anaconda who has wrapped itself around the entire circumference of the lake. No longer can I see the red mixed with yellow mixed with orange sugary concoction gliding its way through the moist bushes to where the boys and I picnic. I can no longer feel the threat of its thoughts lingering on how delicious a meal we humans would make.

And that my friends, is why I don't trust Nyquil...