Little Boys and Little Girls

I was not one of those little girls who grows up dreaming of getting married and having babies. But when they came along, I loved my children more than anything in the whole world and couldn't imagine my life without them. They have provided me with moments of immeasurable pride and limitless love, and also unbelievable heartbreak. And in those very quiet, deeply soul searching moments when I've been alone with my thoughts and asked myself what I wanted to do with my life, what one thing would make everything worthwhile, and after which I could die and feel completely fulfilled and happy and peaceful, it was always that I would raise my children to be responsible, self-sufficient, loving, happy people.

And, I'm happy to say, I have had those days, days when I've said to myself or to my friends, "If I died tonight, I'd be a happy camper." That's a great feeling.

And now my babies have babies. And everything that I knew as love before, every laugh or smile that I thought was special, every little hug or kiss that I thought was the sweetest, every tear or frown that I thought would break my heart, was nothing compared to the laughs and smiles and tears and frowns and hugs and kisses of my grandbabies. There must be other words for these feelings. There must be some other chamber of the heart that only opens up when one becomes a grandma. There is no other explanation.

J and j, and S and k, I love you so much!

J

S

k

j


XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Friday Night Love Affair

Since confession seemed to be a theme in other blogs I've read today, I decided to follow suit. I wasn't going to write at all, but the guilt consumed me, and I must avow as well.

My husband has been working nights. He gets home at about three a.m., and being the dear that he is, he has been sleeping on the couch (which he can do quite well and satisfactorily, unlike me) so as not to wake me. I kiss him goodbye when I leave for work in the morning, and I talk to him on the phone when he's getting ready to leave for work again, somewhere around three in the afternoon. We get face time and actual time to talk come the weekend.

After a somewhat bizarre and harried week, I was in somewhat of a bizarre, yet animated, mood. I had the proverbial ants in my pants to do something besides sit on the couch and watch "What Not To Wear." And I had promised myself I wasn't going to spend three hours in front of the computer. I felt like doing something decadent and just accepting whatever consequences might follow.

I love my husband. I love my children and my grandchildren. And I love my friends. But I have another love, and sometimes I only want to be with that love. And so tonight, I am. I'm going to kick off my shoes and fix a drink. I'm going to fluff the pillows on the bed and turn down the volume on my phone. And then I'm going to languish with something steamy, and I swear I'm going to last more than fifteen minutes this time.

Sigh . . . life is good.

If I were . . .

If I was a pen, I would write only love letters.

If I was a shoe, I would skip all day.

If I was a book, at the bottom of every page I'd say, "P.S. I love you."

If I was a spoon, I would always have a cup of coffee to stir.

If I was a pillow, I would be filled with the softest feathers and the sweetest dreams.

If I was a blanket, I would always feel like your mother's arms around you.

If I was a window, I would always find the sun to dance across your face.

If I was a watch, the time would always be "NOW!"

If I was a pocket, I would always hold a coin to share.

If I was a lipstick, I would always paint your lips with a smile.