taking a break

frog

 

Taking a little break from weekly blogging for a while. Need to spend some time exploring my writing in other parts of the pond. Don’t miss me too much. Stay tuned for occasional posts when I have something REALLY important to say. In the meantime, enjoy your summers.

love,

me

baby and i are growing fast

baby and me

I am now 24 weeks pregnant.

And I look it.

I absolutely love being pregnant right now. Yes, I’m tired all the timeand no, I can’t fit into most of my usual clothes, but aside from that, it’s pretty amazing.

My little guy is quite the athlete these days. His favorite time to play is at night, which may be contributing a bit to my fatigue, because whenever I wake up in the middle of the night now I like to see if he’s awake and wants to hang out for a little bit. It’s often in the very middle of the night that he must be doing somersaults or jumping jacks or something, because it’s crazy how much he moves. I could lie there for hours with him doing that.

I’m already in love. Someone asked me the other day what I was most excited about, and I realized that most of all, I just want to meet him. I feel like I know him already just by feeling him move, by letting his tiny body pass by my hand as it rests on my ever expanding belly.

I told Marshall that I think I like the tiny movements the most, because I imagine his adorable little hand or foot punching or kicking in there when I feel them. I can’t wait until I can hold them.

I feel like time has flown, when I look back at how long I’ve been pregnant. We’re over halfway through, and we will be meeting our son (crazy!) in four months or less. I know that time will fly by, and that it will continue to fly once he’s born. So I’m doing everything I can to savor every moment as it comes.

I still can’t believe I’m having a baby. It’s pretty unreal. And such an unbelievable blessing. It truly is a miracle, this little life growing inside of me.

-me

thoughts about rain.

rainbow

I love the sound of rain.

I always have, for as long as I can remember. I’ve always loved most things about rain. There isn’t a rainy day goes by when I don’t wish I could run outside barefooted and bathing suit-clad to let the water soak my skin.

When I was little I used to sit at the window in our playroom when the rain came down in sheets, mesmerized by the patterns it played on the asphalt, wishing it would come down harder. It feels so good to be inside when it’s raining outside, particularly if I’m somewhere comfortable.

At camp I would wish for rain so that I and my fellow cabinmates could return to our wooden bunks until it passed, listening to it caress the leaves and dance on the roof above us. Summer rains are the best, that ever-elusive break from the heat, the immediate cool that rushes over the earth as creatures run for cover. The flowers love it, the grass is immediately greener, and once the shower dies down the deer and the rabbits come out in full force to explore the newly dampened creation.

Even cars sound better in the rain as they pass, flinging water aside as they tumble through. And thunder, wondrous thunder, the power it brings, in its many manifestations. Whether rolling and gentle or sudden and fear-striking, miles away or right by our side, we know it is something much bigger than we are, a glimpse into the world beyond our tiny lives.

I’ve never really been afraid of storms, or any kind of weather, most likely due to my love and fascination for them. I’m the one who hears the tornado siren and runs outside, who sits on the porch as the lightning approaches, who wants to go driving in the snow to see how pretty it is. So maybe I haven’t quite grasped how much bigger these acts of God are than I am, how utterly destructive and terrifying they can be. Or maybe that just adds to my naive infatuation with the weather in all its extremes.

I’ll never stop loving the simple rain, the gentle strength that comes with soft drops of water falling to the ground with nothing but good, restorative, beautifying intentions. Everything about it is wonderful, relaxing, and for some strange reason it draws my mind to nature more than the most perfect of sunny days. I can’t help but stop a little when it rains, think a little longer. Even the bugs seem louder, and the birds, as a kind of silence allows for listening ears to hear through the raindrops.

Nature adores the rain, it needs it. I think I do too. I must have been born on a rainy day.

-me

yesterday i threw a tantrum.

I threw a tantrum yesterday. I knew it was coming, had known it for quite some time in fact. It had been a while since I’d had one, I was about due I noticed. About a week ago when I was picking up my morning bagel at Bageltown it came to me like a word from above. A switch flipped and the currents changed inside of me, warming my nerves and preparing them once more for the inevitable. I looked down at my cinnamon raison bagel with lox cream cheese and asked it, will today be the day, bagel? The bagel said no, so I breathed a sigh of relief before biting into its poor little body.

The next day I inquired of a toasted buttered everything, it too shook its head in reassuring negatives. The next no came from a croissant, and I ate it quickly thereafter because I started to hate it. The next day’s bagel must have sensed my animosity because it remained poised and still in the face of my interrogation, still managing to give off a negative vibe. It wasn’t until yesterday that a saucy looking plain bagel, naked as the day it was born, showed no signs of response and immediately I knew, today is the day. It’s funny I should know without confirmation from my breakfast, but miracles happen every day, you know. I waited for three or four minutes before dressing and devouring my fortune-telling friend, hoping the world would explode in the meantime or I would go into septic shock or have a stroke or a heart attack or something evasive like that.

When the clock struck three minutes I gave in and ate it, hole in the middle and all. After that, I was peaceful. The world brightened, sharpened, touched me all over. My skin tingled. I felt the ghosts of bagels past riding on my shoulders, spectators in the sport they knew I would play in a short time. I smiled to the bagel guy standing behind the counter as I pushed open the door, bells tinkling their goodbyes as the sun shone into my eyes. I squinted. The world focused, I breathed a little.

I turned on my heel, shoved my right hand in my pocket and walked down the far left edge of the sidewalk, dodging oncoming traffic as my left hand slid over storefront windows. I watched my shoelaces to ensure they stayed tied, checking my back left pocket from time to time to confirm the presence of my wallet. The presence of my wallet is always comforting in times such as these.

Finally, after what felt like forty days wandering in the desert of the sidewalks of my city, the sliding doors of the supermarket opened at the touch of my absent-minded left fingers. I stopped. I squinted. I pirouetted and heaved a shallow sigh. The doors slid closed. I tapped my right foot three inches in front of me. The doors slid open. This time I didn’t let them close on me, and I thanked them as I passed.

I followed the familiar lines between the tiled floors with my feet and my eyes, marching my way, head down, to aisle nine. No one stopped me, and if they tried I didn’t notice. I forgot my basket, I murmured as I entered the pasta aisle. I checked my watch, realizing there was no time for my basket anyway. Slowly, almost dreamily, I lifted my eyes to the sight of blue and yellow boxes, filled with who knows how many starchy mini-statues. I stepped closer to the farfalle, my nose grazing the plastic that revealed the bows to my wondering eyes.

And then I was on the floor once more, covered in yellow bows, yellow sticks, yellow tubes, even some red ones, cardboard under my feet, my head, my elbows.

“Clean up on aisle nine!” a voice from heaven called. I started to giggle. I checked for my wallet, still there. My eyes closed as I listened for the old familiar pattering of rubber-clad feet coming for me.

This has been a story brought to you by one of Wesley’s recent free-writing sessions. Just a little peek into what goes on in her mind when she lets it go.

-me

thoughts on evil

woods

There is evil in this world. In fact, it rules the world, runs our lives, breathes through all of us and suffocates the potential for happiness that we strive for every day. Sometimes it lies dormant, as if napping until its next job, and we are allowed to see beyond it to beauty, to truth. But then, once it wakes, it clouds over us, raining down fear and suffering and debauchery and anything else it can think to throw in our way, to keep us from being who we were truly meant to be.

Evil is a great hindrance to the lives of us all, keeping us gagged and bound and incapable as ragdolls, leaving us wasted and weary and no longer searching for hope when it grabs ahold of us too tightly.

Evil is like a blindfold pulled tightly, violently over our eyes so that we cannot see the Sun, do not see the way we should go, know not which way is up. We wallow in it, wading through the muck, barely able to pick up our feet one by one as we fight to the finish, a finish we often feel isn’t even there.

Evil is our enemy, we battle with it from the time our eyes open in the morning until we lay our heads down at night, exhausted. It keeps us on the treadmill, always going and never going anywhere, busy as bees but useless as garbage.

We are stunned by it, whether it manifests itself in us or through others, on the news, on the street, in our homes. It surrounds us, wanting always to devour us, not gently, but violently, without mercy or care for who we are, for who we could be if we only could escape these chains, this prison cell, this loneliness we call pain, loss, anger, sorrow, cruelty, evil.

Evil, you are our greatest enemy. You will not defeat us.