An Acrobatic Extravaganza!

Hunger gnaws at me, tearing my insides apart. I should venture out for a nibble, a bite, a snack. Yet, I remain rooted, lost in a world that is not my own. Stuck between reality and nonexistence, I balance on a dew drop and one wrong move will cause my fall.

In one hand, I juggle the steal balls of work, family, and health. In the other, I juggle the flaming swords of writing, friends and recreation. As balls and swords intermingle in the air I hop between the thin wires of Mom, Writer, Manager, and Myself. All while blind folded. And such is my life, a never ending acrobatic extravaganza!

Sometimes I can manage with extraordinary dexterity. But every now and then, a ball with fall or a flaming sword will cut deep and the whole she-bang will come crashing down around me. I will fall into a pit of unknown doubts and nothing will come from it for a while.

But always I pick up the balls and swords, climb out of the pit and with a deep breath begin again.

Today, I feel on the brink of a fall, my reaction times are slowing and I catch the juggle with sweating finger tips. My shoes are wearing thin from the sharp wires. Should I keep up as I have been, knowing the pit awaits me? Or should I make my way to the edge, and take a break for a little while?

My Magic Morning

I’ve grown to really love my mornings and the silence in the house, the sleepy scene playing outside the window. I get to watch the sun set the mountain side of fire, see the flames lick down to the field below. Sometimes it kisses the dingy sides of cows, others the blaze highlights great birds in flight. Today, that field is empty, except a lone deer with her head bent to taste the dew.

Both girls are sleeping, little faces twitch with dreams and cheeks so rosy red. The cat is out, either hunting a rabbit or stuck in the tree. Mr. Fo, the forever fish, rests at the bottom of his tank. The only sounds inside this room: the click of keys, the sputter of coffee and the hum of the fridge.

I know this wonder will be short lived. I know soon enough the sun will finish her journey and her fire will leave the mountain a lush green. The babies will wake and fill the house with their unique music and the cat will beg for food as she hasn’t eaten all night, poor thing. Cartoons will drown out the crisp tap of words and the slosh of milk will over power the tinkle of coffee.

I find myself waking earlier each day, just for a few more moments of this magic morning. I gladly give up that little extra sleep for this time that is mine now. And as joyful as these few hours are to me, as priceless as they have become, I wouldn’t want it to last forever. That would ruin it, I believe. So, I’ll take this time and when the house awakes, I’ll bid it ado until tomorrow with a little grin and fully recharged to meet the crazy that is my life.

To Battle a Mirror

This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever set out to do.

I’ve driven across the country with less then $400, a 3 month old baby and an injured shoulder. That was an easy stroll to check the mail compared to this.

Working two jobs just weeks after having a baby was like tossing a TV dinner in the microwave when put next to what I’m doing now.

Fighting to join the Air Force was nothing more then a casual conversation with old friends, while this, this is a life or death pleading in an unknown language and I don’t even have a phrase book to help me along.

I’ve battled demons, tackled dragons and nightmares, and kept my feet when the earth heaved. I’ve overcome plagues, mutilation, sociopaths and horrors. I’ve fought a battle against an army with only a Shield of Crone, the Sword of Motherhood, and the Hope of Maiden.

But this, this path I’ve been laid, goes so far beyond that, my knees bend in awe, my heart trembles with fear such as I’ve never known before and my mind fights against the knowledge of what must be.

All of that was nothing more then a peaceful fall evening under an Oak. This, this is hard. This is rushing blind folded and bare footed across a newly paved six lane highway during LA rush hour. But my babies welfare sits on the other side.

And what is this? This horrific feat I need to do? This, my dear friends, is write. And that, believe it or not, is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

Why? Because in order to write I must battle the worst demon you can ever imagine, myself. I stand between me and the book, the page, the word. The armor I wear is damn near impossible to get past. I brandish a flaming sword in one hand, a poisoned tipped cat-of-nine-tails in the other. I know my every move before I do. I can throw obstacles in my way I know are far beyond my skills to over come.

How do you fight a mirror? How do you get past yourself?

With head held high, the power of Knowledge by your side and little help from the Web Mistress, Liberian and knowing that you must.

All The Bliss Without The Jet Lag

It always surprises me how much can go to the way side when the writing bug really hits hard. I can forget to do the most basic of things, like eat or sleep. I’ll get sucked in so hard and so deep that suddenly the sun is down and I’d only just woken up. My days get all burled together into one black and white adventure. My hands cramp up from holding the pencil too long and the side of my pinky is coated with lead dust, smearing the pages.

Despite all the physical discomforts from prolonged writing binges, I come out of the zone feeling so much better then I went in. Sure, my back and bum are telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I over did it. But the bliss I get over shadows all of that. Yeah, I haven’t slept in who knows how long; however, I’m more rested then I have been in ages. So what if my body is screaming at me to eat, it doesn’t matter when I feel filled to the brink.

When life just gets to be overwhelming and I’m pulling my hair out, all I need to do is pick up a story and write. The times when Bells is in a fit and the Puffet is screaming in my ear I turn on a show, place the baby in the a jumper and hide away in the land of Mother Goose for just a few moments and come out again ready to tackle the next poopy diaper and splat of milk on the floor.

I don’t know why this happens and honestly at this point, I really don’t care. It’s an escape, a release, a much needed vacation without the cost or jet lag.

Just Another Day For This Mother

Today is a day to acknowledge all the hard work a mother does for her family. It’s a day to show her how much she’s appreciated and for some, it’s the one day out of the year that she can take off. For me, it’s just another day.

I woke up to a screaming baby and a 4-year-old demanding breakfast. So I dragged myself out of bed, despite the day or the ungodly pain. Today, I get to clean house, change diapers, cook meals, clean some more, wear spit up and butt heads with a stubborn preschooler alone.

And I get the baby giggles, “I love you’s,” slobber kisses, leg hugs, raspberries and cuddle bugs all to myself. I won’t have to share the ear-to-ear smiles, squeals of delight or sleeping angel faces.

Today is just another day for this mother, because in my life, everyday is Mother’s Day.