i am constantly on the lookout for the moment.
the laughter that sounds like metal bells, the smile you simply cannot stop.
it is the painting that makes you feel like changing your clothes, the song that sits like a breeze on your wrist.
there are a lot of failings in my day to day it seems. the menu that didn't get cooked, the budget spreadsheet that looks much more like a rainbow than a pasture.
i am always wishing for the pasture, it seems. sitting on top of a mountain of dirt, unsure how to plant.
i am having trouble reconciling this space with the words i want to write. see, my children are getting to the point (my daughter especially) where her experiences are not mine to share. and, in part, my reaction to them is not mine to share, either. i, of course, have things to say that don't immediately revolve around my children but those things are increasingly rare, it seems. perhaps this is normal with small children in the home. when my free time basically is taken up with work and tasks and mindless nothing. perhaps i really am one of those women who has nothing to speak of outside my children.
(this is not true, of course. but it feels so at times. and therefore, to me, sometimes it is.)
i used to take a lot of pride in things i really had no control over. things like great skin on my legs (no marks, perfectly smooth, even tone.) now, my legs are riddled with years, creased and worn like a well used map. there are roadways and railways and bodies of water hidden just under the surface and they no longer look like a young girl. you see where i'm going here.
this is one of those moments when you cradle your legs between your shoulders and you thank them for the years they have provided you with vanity. you sit in the ditch on the side of the road between understanding the meaning of beauty and just plain not giving a fuck and you hold out your thumb to strangers thinking that maybe you will either be harmed or saved.
these are the moments i'm talking about.