Ten minutes to write

My brain is too cluttered to write anything coherent here. Am I writing for me, Shawn -- the one I've known forever? Am I writing for me, the mother? Am I writing for you? Am I writing for the new me, the working mother who's finally getting it together? Or, am I?

I haven't a clue, which is why I haven't been writing.

Not that I don't have anything to say; I'm just not sure how it fits. Or, perhaps, when I'm downstairs in the kitchen and think, "Wow, that's a great blog post" I'm often instantly sent in another direction to answer a question (because that's what it's like now) or to reason with a 3-year-old. And then my mind forgets the good idea. Or, I walk to the computer to write and then I get stuck on Facebook, which reminds me of the past and soon I'm walking down memory lane and getting stuck. And then tired.

And, where was I?

Lately, my good ideas have been centered around the me I am now, the one I've talked about lately -- the one closest to the everyday me.

Stop.

Smell.

The.

Roses,

Mama.

Breathe.

Breathe deeper.

Let your ears fall away from your neck.

Hug your husband.

Giggle with the silly girls.

Write with no strings or purpose. Just do it.

Be patient with yourself.

Be even more patient with others.

Lower your expectations.

Forgive yourself. The things you've said. What they're saying now.

Live.

Stay awake.

Create. With your hands.

Enjoy.

Find peace. Know peace. Hold peace.

Sleep.





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