March 9, 2011 – Something Right

Our son is 11 1/2 and still hugs me every morning before he leaves for school and tells me he loves me. He was excited when we found out I was selected to go on his 3-day field trip and bummed when I couldn’t volunteer to teach art once a month with his class. He is a smart, sensitive kid whose courage is stronger than he realizes at first.

I sat and talked about haikus with our daughter at dinner and was amazed as she recited the poems she had written in school today. Even though I don’t do anything but sit and wait for her, she wanted me to be with her at dance class because she’d had a rough afternoon. She is a remarkable light, painting the air with her colorful presence.

There are incalculable moments filled with my irrational fear of not doing whatever it is that I am supposed to be doing right as not just anyone’s mom but their mother. With God’s guidance, their souls somehow picked me to help them through this life and I am usually so overwhelmed with trying to make sure I am not doing something wrong that I am missing all that is right.

And something is right in our world.

March 8, 2011 – Too Many Devices

I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. No drugs. Trying very hard to lower sugar intake. No porn or plastic surgery or gambling for me.

I will occasionally OD on sausage, biscuits and gravy at IHOP. I’ve been known to watch marathons of my favorite Sci-fi shows. And I am defenseless against the Sting Arts.

I got to thinking…

As I sit in my comfy chair (old blue Lazyboy recliner), I have my cute white MacBook in my lap with my iPod Touch connected and charging while I text my brother on my Blackberry after having just uploaded photos from my old-school-ish digital camera as I watch (bad) television on our 51-inch screen TV.

My vices may be limited but my devices are beginning to crowd me.

March 7, 2011 – With My Eyes Closed

With my eyes closed, I see shadows and lights tracing the underside of my eyelids. I feel the roundness of my eyeballs and the moisture that keeps them from drying out.

With my eyes closed, I see images of shark’s teeth, baleen bristles filtering salt water for sustenance, and darkness all around. The weight of my lashes keeps my eyes from opening, trapping out visual clarity.

With my eyes closed, I pray for the beauty in love to overtake my heart, the ugliness of hate to be expelled from my brain and the idiocy of perceived wisdom vanish from my mirror. The bone of my eye sockets serve as the hardened damn preventing both escape and access.

With my eyes closed, I weep with sadness in memory of my familiar’s departure from reality, years of moments left un-lived and singularly simple joys that make it all worth something. I feel and see all things differently.

With my eyes closed.