My love letter to writing

This is a blog about parenting. However I am a writer by birth. And how honest can I be while ignoring who I really am. I am taking this time to post just how deep my love of writing is: I carry many titles and many demands as a woman . I am a partner, a mother a daughter, a care giver and so on. A household rest on my shoulders causing the sabotage of any true rest on my part. six years of being a mother has shown me the deepest purest forms of love, and my first signs of aging. and after seven years of being a partner to a wonderful man has cleared away my tainted and soiled view on relationships. The dynamics can be complex and I have a new respect for that kind of love. breathing happens on auto-pilot. It's like blinking. It is something that I don't even notice I am doing. There is no respect for it other than it sustains me. It is like a heart beat, you only care if It stops working. Maybe it's because i can never hear it. Kids are always yelling, the cats yelling, I am yelling. I tried meditation and grew frustrated when I couldn't fit it into my day. I discovered a new sacred temple in book stores. Out of all my relationships those with words are the most intense. When I write and when I read, it awakens a slumbering part of my soul. It can relax me, arouse me, or help me sleep. My love affair has gone on for as far back as my mind can think. And like any relationship, it has matured and intensified over the years. Not to many people understand my marriage to the written word. Reading, writing, breathing in words. I know realize when I am in a book store I can hear myself breathe. The quiet: so calm and refreshing. Being baptized by a rain of poetic sentences flowing down and washing away my sins. I sit nestled in a cocoon of books. surrounded by the comfort of the words. Feeling safe and feeling at home. In a meditative trance, my senses become heightened. Though transfixed yet fully aware. Aware of my breath. The way my breasts rise and fall. Growing slow and steady and deep, like with a lover. Concentrated on the journey. A rhythm of words beats through my heart and pump through to my veins. I can feel it coursing through me, with no one destination in mind. Fulfilling various parts, both with purpose and on a whim. until finding A final resting place in my soul. admiring the details, smiling, laughing, crying. Having an obvious love affair. blinded in my rapture oblivious to the care of how I am seen. unlike with a man, unshieled is my public affection.I feel no shame nor bashfulness. no causes to bind me to fluster. The longer I read , or write the more intense it becomes. It just flows out of me. Or shudders through me, and I allow it. I enjoy it's waves of pleasure and do not deny it. It calms me, reassures me, wanders my mind, enduring it's passion. It's seductive, like a drug. I seek good books like a high. with the frustrating misconception that either can be done anywhere, I assure that it is not true. devouring a good book or writing is like sex. It can be done only when the mood strikes. otherwise it is facade. Personally I enjoy it late at night and alone. I get upset when I am writing and people talk to me. I have to focus or it becomes frustrating. I love to write and when I am done I feel satisfied. You will find no shame in this love letter to the art of writing. Only an understanding of my unyileding fasination and dedication to this craft.

Thanks for waiting/ The Office

I let life get in the way, and I abandoned my blog. so much and yet so little has happened. if that makes any sense. well, today I got "the call". For someone like me who went to the office alot as a kid, I grew nervous. It was only in elementary school tough. So maybe its hereditary. the Principal wanted to see me. As I walked towards the school I regressed to being a child. I felt the school tower over me in intimidation. the children's playful laughter directed at me. knowing it was all in my my imagination, but still an unrelenting feeling. My son had hit a kid while playing and needed to be picked up. It seemed harsh but agreeable. On my drive I thought of what to say. The right things to say to both the principal and my son. Because no matter how many parenting books are out there, there is no guidelines for everyday occurrences. I decided on firm. And with sweaty palms , of dread and also embarrassment, I found him in the office. He was seated next to a box and I couldn't see his face. I saw his little feet ( which by the way just grew to a 13 and 1/2) .. any way.. they dangled from the chair. Not even grazing the floor . So delicate and petite looking. His small frame dwarfed by the approaching doom. He knew I had come in , but didn't get up. I saw his head fling back. As if every second was torture. And my heart ached for him. At first I was pissed. but I love him and when I saw him I felt bad. I know he did something wrong, and so did he, and there were consequences. But when you have to set a consequence when you don't want to just plain sucks. we went in and it went pretty easy. I thought for sure I was in trouble. But as we both sat toward him with wide inquisitive eyes. Watching his every move for a Trace of reaction. I felt his fear. How scary! Two very powerful women staring at you , waiting to seal your fate. All I wanted to do was hug him. I was still pissed and embarrassed. Because as a parent your child's behavior reflects on your parenting skills. like walking talking breathing pieces of art , there for the world to scrutinize and criticise. I remember what I felt like getting trouble. It was like jail, so significant, so fatal. But I told him I was disappointed and I still loved him. And although t.v was still prohibited, he still feel asleep in my arms. And my heart ached a little less. These are the precious moments. When I know he is truly safe. They grow up and life happens. bad things, far things and so on. But tonight he was safe and I breathed it. I indulged in every morsel of that moment. Tomorrow is a different story. But I cant complain about something that hasn't happened yet...