Snow Day

You know the hard part about disappearing for months? When you finally reemerge from the abyss you have a million things to talk about, but not a single good starting place. I told myself I would not recap and I won't. I will do my best to fill in the gaps as we go along.

 

"Mama," five and a half year old Alice yelled up to me from the back door. "I'm not having any fun."

"Why not?"

"There are spider webs in my play house and I'm too heavy to slide on the kick board."

It had snowed this morning, but with above freezing temps it has begun melting. Sidewalks have been cleared, leaving the only good snow in our back yard. "Have you made snow angels yet?" I suggested.

"No. That's a good idea," she stated with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Gone for mere seconds I heard the familiar click of the back door knob followed by her happy voice.

"Mama! I am having so much fun! I found the best game ever!"

"What's that?" I asked.

"I'm brushing Marley's tail with ice!"

"Hmm. Really?"

"Yes. And it's so much fun. But I am getting ice in her fur. But she doesn't mind it. I'm so glad I thought of this game!!"

 

I, too, am glad she thought of the game. Does it make me the worst pet owner ever that I didn't demand she stop? Or when, fifteen minutes later, I went on the back porch to check on them and she was still brushing the dog with handfuls of ice packed snow and, still, I did nothing? No. I stand firm. I love my dog and I love my child and if this is how they choose to entertain themselves on our third snow day in a row, so be it. Her wonderful game was allowing me peace and quiet. I mean really, if the dog was truly being hurt she'd bite Alice, right?

Overdue

I'm back.

 

That's all.

Under Construction

Under construction
Under a spell
Under the weather

In a daze
In a haze
Waiting

Waiting on health
On time for the dust to settle
Waiting for the ducks to fall in a row

Any day now the haze will lift

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl. She lived with her father and her evil stepmother. One day, disappointed in his daughter, the father spoke to her with the harshest of words. He punished her, withheld his love, and forced her to wear a scarlet letter. The dear, sweet child didn't mean to do wrong. She was trying to find her way in a world that hadn't been explained to her.

Feeling immense sorrow and anger towards her father, the girl sought comfort from her best friend. She turned to him for validation, she needed to know she was not what her scarlet letter told the world she was. She turned to him for a shoulder to cry on. She turned to him for love. And, before she knew it, he turned to someone else.

Broken hearted, sad, and confused the girl went on. She held her head high, as though she was not scarred. She continued to seek love, the love her father withheld all those days ago, the love her best friend tossed aside. Try as she might, she couldn't find it. She found lust and excitement, but never love.

And then, one day, the girl trusted her heart to a man not worthy. He took every ounce of her soul and crushed it between his hands. He laughed at her pain...the pain he caused for his own satisfaction. He took everything the girl thought she knew about life and threw it up against the wall. The pieces crumbled to the ground much like the girl.

sigh

Cold and empty the girl trudged on. She was no longer looking for love. Love was gone. In its place was a wall. What the girl wanted now was to feel nothing at all. She sought out opportunities to numb the hurt as it crept in. The opportunities, though all different, were plentiful. They allowed the girl to go on, pretend her soul was still hers, pretend she was fine.

And eventually, the beautiful, broken girl was fine. Sort of. The foundation to her wall stays strong year after year. Occasionally someone manages to knock a brick or two down, never much more. The girl, so broken, finds love and comfort from her wall. She clings to it to keep her safe, to keep the pieces of her heart together. With a wall so high, trust in others isn't necessary. How scary it would be for the girl to bring her wall down, to expose her heart to the potential pain, to place her trust in others when some are not worthy. How can the girl determine who she can trust? She can't. Her father broke her heart. Her best friend broke her heart. And another broke her soul completely. So, the girl lives behind her wall. Every once in awhile she sticks her head out, looks around, begins to trust, grows scared and returns to the safety of her wall.