~One Generations Length Away~

My father and I are close; attached at the hip, always on my mind, my rock, my heart and my guiding light into the night. We (on average) talk every other day, if not every day and sometimes twice on Sundays.

In the middle of my bantering, ranting and raving over this and that and whatever of that particular moment that is pissing me off, making my blood boil and I'm venting to him; giving the exact definition for the word "venting"-meaning to have hot steam roll out of the vents after things have really heated up. He lets me go on and on and on about rat-tit-tat-tit-too and when I finally get to the end of such said vent, while I'm catching my breath he very calmy and every so plain and flat says, "You really should call your grandmother. She mentioned something the other day about probably not being around for next Christmas."

The phone falls silent...

"Ash?, Are you still there?"

I don't know where my mind had escaped to but I most certainly did NOT want to be having this conversation. Not only am I responsible for the lives of two small children, being the damn Santa Claus I still would like to magicially believe in, now here we are talking about death of our loved ones like we talk about the changing of the weather. Really?! Adulthood sucks!

"You have her number don't you?"
I say, "Yeah..blah blah blah-blah blah blah blah. It's been the same for the past 89 years, hasn't it?"
"87!" He says sternly although I get the humor behind his voice. I appreciate the effort and the timing for it, given the current circumstance.

Later that following day, I am driving my own children to their grandmothers to spend the night for a date night out. I flip on the blinker, take a right, proceed with caution, and immediately a downstream of tears begin to fall. It hits me like a brick wall right there in the drivers seat of the ol' family wagon, kids in the back, smiling to the DVD playing overhead. It's dark outside and my thoughts are in the same state.

"I am one generations length away from fighthing this life out on my own!" The words are playing loudly inside my head for only me to hear, my heart growing heavy and my eyes flooded with warm tears trickling down my face. I brush it off, take a glance in the mirror and promise myself that I am just entirely too sensitive.

I get the kids into the house, cuddly and snuggly in the queens bed to watch a movie and relax. My mother leads me out the front door, compliments me thoroughly on how great I look and I can't help but turn around, once again crying, and grabbing her tightly into my arms.

"Are you ok Ash?"
Cleary I am NOT ok. I'm confident enough in my day to day feats, I know my strengths and by golly and I am not confident enough to think I am strong enough to lead on this life without them, either of them, all of them.

I swallow hard, still crying. She politely says, "You might think about going to see someone, you know? Someone you can talk to..." her voice trailing off. I don't need to talk to anyone. I want to talk to you, at this particular moment, right here and right now and I want to hold all the good memories near and dear to my heart and savor all the infinite love I have for these good people in my life and I want them to know how much I love them and appreciate them and never a day go by that they might question that. I want to call my grandmother, spend my spring and falls in Southern Missouri with my father and my kids running around, I want my kids to know how great these incredible people are in their lives and have fond memories all their lives to carry around with them.

They all say I'm just overly sensitive and I'd say my cuppeth has runneth over with love. Either way?...I have a resolution, not just for the New Year but for always. The people we love in this life are important and I'm going to make sure they know it!


---
No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...
I just can't sleep on this tonight
Stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train

Don't know how else to say it, don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
-JM
 

What is this world coming to?

It's been a week and a day since the terrible sad and tragic events took place in the small town in CT that was spread about every news channel and media source. It truly hit home, someplace deep within, having a 6 (just turned 7 year old yesterday) trekking off to his school everyday and it's hard enough with all the other questions weighing heavy on our hearts and mind.

Upon making the transition to the new community we currently reside in, I often question the decisions I've had to make as a mother, a provider, the "brains" of this entire operation. Along with the everyday questions I am consistantly asking myself about his proper health and nutrition, his speech delays, his fine motor skills, his seemingly bad attitude, etc etc. I am often asking myself if his school and teachers and peers are really backing up his education and making certain he is excelling at the important academic subjects that he should be absorbing like a sponge.

Let's face it, the teachers and staff are underpaid. This is no surprise. There are teachers picketing outside of the buildings and going on strike for the lack of funds being provided to assist in them doing their job to the fullest. Not where we live (not yet anyway) but it's happening all around us. I have a difficult enough time having my own children running around, keeping them occupied, steering them away from the television and getting their little heads involved in something creative and productive. I cannot imagine having 20 something kids running around, all with the attention span of a gnat and not beating my brains into a cement brick wall. With that being said, I get the world we live in. I don't condone it nor do I completely understand it but I do know it takes all kinds to make this entire world go round and we will never completely fathom why people do some of the things that they do. I don't believe it's because a higher being needed them in heaven. I don't tell my kids this. I think people are nuts, everyday, every way, and everywhere. I don't sugar coat it. There are people that are bad and they do terrible horrible things and I haven't an excuse for it nor will I make an excuse for it. It's life. It's sad. A few days go by, we get back into the swing of things, we go about our routines until an entire year has passed and the news stations are reminding us of the anniversary. I don't need a reminder. It's filed away in the back of my brain where I hide all the other deeply sad shit that has no reasoning. Its all there, stacked high like old wrinkled newspapers set beside a fireplace just waiting to get put into the flame, turn into ash and disappear. It doesn't work that way. It all just piles up and it stays there, a constant reminder that we must be aware and on alert every single day that we live in a world of tragedy and disgust and throughout that there is happiness and joy and we count our blessings, hold our children tight and always use caution.

Now:
 
I am a stay at home mother. It may not always be that way but I take full advantage of being a stay at home mother and I take my job seriously more than not. My job is to make certain my kids and my companion and anyone or thing for that matter living under my roof has everything they could possibly need to make their life easy and happy and full of memories they will hold close to their hearts and remember forever, hopefully using the same tactics when they go out into the world on their own and one day having children of their own.

We moved to Carter Lake last March. My son was immediately enrolled into Kindergarten after I made the executive decision to leave Millard and venture away and start anew. Millard schools, although he went to Omaha Public Schools (to one of the best there is) was on top of their game. His teacher was the picturesque Kindergarten teacher. She had short hair, a round smiling face, wore skirts past her knee and often funky fun loving socks on her feet topped off with clogs. She wore sweater vests to match every holiday and usually some macaroni handmade necklace placed around her neck. She had a system down and it worked. The room screamed FUN for the kids and they wanted to be there. Everyday before picking them up, they were all dancing about, laughing and singing with the teacher being goofy and we could see it through the window that they all thoroughly enjoyed being there.

Each day upon picking up our children there would be a folder placed in their backpack and securely taped inside was a calendar for the month split into four quadrants for each day. A happy face in two quadrants and a straight face in the other two. They represented morning and afternoon and if your child was unhappy in the morning or afternoon she would highlight the straight face. She would do the same if your child was happy as well. So everyday we could see if our child had a good day or a not so good day. I didn't have to ask the teacher, being as there were 20 something other parents waiting for a similar reply. It was an incentive. All week we could get all smily faces and we could be rewarded at weeks end with more TV time or going out to a restaurant to eat. Now? I can't even get an email back from the teacher asking about treats for my sons birthday or any volunteer work I could possibly assist with.

Further on that subject, there is not even a Christmas program or Winter Program (seeing as some children are of different religions and don't celebrate Christmas), the music and PE programs have been combined into one, recess is given to kids "if there is time" and I spend a full day making a handmade wreath to give as a gift to his teacher and baking up and icing up and sprinkling up dozens upon dozens of mini cupcakes to take to the class to assist in my son celebrating his birthday with his peers and you know what I get? "We allowed it this time but homemade treats and gifts and are not allowed from here on out. It must be store bought."

(((Pausing...Mouth Agape)))

Excuuuuuuuse me?! Are you serious? You can't possibly be serious? I can't bake mini cupcakes with confetti birthday sprinkles for my sons damn birthday celebration? Oh...but I can go to the local fucking rat race in the depths of hell known as Walmart where all the toothless, stained wife beater wearing, check out lanes backed up to layaway lines in the back of the damn store and buy cupcakes or treats that were made God knows where... Really!?

I don't harp on the teachers or the school (yet-I have a few choice words I'm still continually trying to revise in a stern yet proper letter to both) for lacking in their responsibilities of their JOB. It is my job to make certain my child has what he needs/wants every single second of every single day. He wanted homemade chocolate and vanilla mini cupcakes with icing and confetti sprinkles and by golly that's exactly what I made.

The world used to operate differently. Not everything was bought in a damn package, made in some factory using products we can't even pronounce. There was a time when mothers stayed home with their children, they baked goods and passed them out to the neighbors or the classmates, they fully participated in the goodness of life that exists. They greeted people with a smile, they welcomed new families to the neighborhood and invited them in, they accepted handmade Christmas gifts showing our appreciation for dealing with our little heathens on a daily basis with a smile and a goddamn handwritten thank you note.

Am I too old fashioned? Do such values and morals still exist?

I am so disgusted that I am seriously thinking of yet again changing schools. We have made our house into a home and we are still trying to fit into the community, although I refuse to change who I am or how I was brought up to lower myself to their lack of overall social standards. I'm beginning to think private schools may be the way to go. The teachers and staff are paid a bit more considering the tuition that is paid by each parent for each student. This may give them more incentive in doing their job proficiently. There is room in the budget to have separate subjects; where kids can learn to read music in an actual music class and not just reiterate songs back to a machine being broadcast from an xbox 360 kinect and dance along to Just Dance 4. (I'm not kidding..this is real life education here. Tax dollars being put to good use huh?) Yeah, it's fun for kids, maybe every Friday. However, children that can read music are proven to be better in Math and have a higher IQ. My child hasn't even brought home a library book. I ask him, "Why not?" "Because we didn't have time to go to the library today mom." Not enough time?! What do you  do all damned day? Suck your thumbs and rock yourself in a corner somewhere?

I don't know. I'm frustrated. I don't want to change schools again but maybe this one just isn't the right choice for my son. Maybe the private school will be the reason why my son someday ends up a pychiatrist and says, "I think it all went wrong when my mom changed my schools and then changed my school again to a private school where I didn't fit in at all and hated my life." Or maybe it will be the reason why he decided to get his Masters degree in Math and become some engineer working at a military defense company programming the radar for the stealth bomber that protects our freedom and rights as Americans. Or do I stick it out, hope for the best and do my absolute most to ensure that I fully push the rights and responsibilities on my child himself, regardless of the institution? Who knows what's the right answer?!

I feel my duty as his mother is to know the right answers, to know in my heart the right decisions and to instill the confidence and happiness within my child. However, I don't. I question myself daily, try my absolute hardest, pray to God, and still find myself scratching my head.

Maybe I'll flip a quarter (2 out of 3) and hope for the best! Iowa is a gambling state anyway. (Casion dollars supposedly paying for the educational institutions...ha) Maybe I should learn to do things the way they seem to do them. Take a chance and hope for a big win. Maybe I'll just vent to the worldwide web, take a nap, dream some, and wake up in a different life somewhere else where I needn't bother myself with any of this. Maybe the real underlying problem is not trusting myself enough to make these decisions. Maybe it's not the school or the community or anything else. Maybe it's me and my lack of confidence to parent these children right and not completely fuck them up. Maybe that's the real problem.

We'll take the winter break, time away from school. We'll bake whatever the hell we please, read books while we're cuddled up together, play some XBox 360 and kick everyone's asses out of frustration because we can't do it in real life. And...we'll take a recess any goddamn time we please and nobody will say a thing about it.

And I'm off...we got some puzzles to assemble and cookies to bake. We ain't got all day!









 

aBoUt Me

Let's see...

I am a happy go lucky kind of girl - Willing to try anything once and probably have - I have a wild streak that rears its ugly face more often than I'd like to admit.

I am a perfectionist and have a hard time realizing that everything is not going to be perfect - I struggle with that one daily - I like things done a certain way and will often redo it if I think I can do it better.

I am in love with the simplest things in life. Possibly because I want my life to be as simple as possible and run as smoothly as it can. I have high hopes and even higher expectations. Not only of myself...but of everyone.

I am my toughest critic. I am extremely hard on myself. I am sure people have thought awful, nasty things of me at some point or another but chances are I have thought those same things of myself many many times before...so get in line.

I don't try to be something I'm not, and neither should you. Yes I’m ADD…and OCD. There just aren’t enough words to describe me. And yes I’m Manic…and sometimes depressed. I am at times just one big fucking mess.

I'm a walking contradiction. Everything I say is lost in a massive bipolar rage. I'm everything you anticipate me to be, and nothing you'd expect. I'm nothing short of a thrill ride. I walk railroad tracks like I'm walking the road to failure and success. Life is a game and determination is how you play it out. You live, you lose, you learn.

I'll be your biggest mistake, yet by far your best investment. I give up on things easily, not because I'm weak, but because I'm strong enough to let go. My sanity is nothing but a madness put to good use. I know how to lose and I know how to win. I know how to deceive and I know how to be real. I'm misused and I make mistakes.

I live on lies that come out of your mouth, so I can last two seconds on my knees, because pleading for your forgiveness is what I’m good at...shoving it right back in your face is what I’m best at. I lose my breath when he speaks, and I kill myself every time I let another make me weak. The city lights are my guide into the night...the midnight woods are the only place my footsteps feel right.

I'm my own addiction, I'm the drug that feeds the frenzy. You won’t let me go because I’m nothing you need and everything you can’t control. I'm most likely very different then you think I am, so don't judge me. Getting attached is my weakness. I've been cheated on, lied to and deceived. Trusting people isn't something I'm good at.

Lucky is something I'm most definitely not. I've become accustom to people walking out on me. Call me a hypocrite, but not a liar. I lack both tolerance and patience. I deal with the fact that I've forgotten the worst. I feel that my social behavior may seem somewhat unrehearsed. Another page, get rid of some built-up rage...and I'll be back to my normal self. I drive to the edge of my considerate plain. I apologize to the people I hurt on the way. I wipe the slate clean...I kick the daydream... And I remain independently happy.

"Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration..I don't think you can go wrong."

Over-Thinking Ruins You

Sometimes it's best to just "let things be", to not get wrapped up the dramatic sense of it all, let it steep in the hotness until the cool air drifts over and settles; to take a time out and find the inner goodness that lives within; to not let anger and fear consume your thoughts which would later result in an even bigger mess than the worry itself. 

"Am I doing this right? Could I be doing more? How can I make a better impact on all around me?" These deep underlying feelings, these lumps in the back of our throats that we contain within by swallowing down to the pit of our stomachs as to not escape into the reality; these feelings bring out panic attacks and it's been weeks since I've had an attack; been since July since I've had my first attack that gave me the exact definition of a panic attack. It flashed fear into my body like electricity racing through my veins where blood once resided and left a lasting impression; scar that leave me constantly treading on thin ice, not wanting for something to break and fall through. We wake up and examine our body for evidence. Do I feel shaky? How's my breathing? Do I feel the tight pain in my neck that at any slight movement can leave me constricted to zombie like movements? I lay awake with my thoughts running around in circles, trying to talk myself out of the anxiety; only, the more I fight it, the bigger it gets and pretty soon I'm paralyzed by a fear that I'm losing control of my own mind. 

I can be a mess at times; stuck in an OCD loop of fear and anxiety about the littlest fragmented things of my little insignificant life, racing thoughts and being afraid that I might panic...at any given moment; which in turn causes more panic and brings about episodes of even more panicky panic pathetic panics. 

((((and breathing))))

I've searched deep within and also in a Sherlock Holmes(esque) manner; I've managed to find things that bring on such bouts of panic. 

*Heat and Humidity---Rule of Thumb: I do not go outside in the heat/humidity if it's like 95* and I'm in any sort of clothing whatsoever. At the lake in a bikini?! That seems to be fine but then I'd most likely want to reach for a cold drink to partake in the festivities but again, fuel to the fire. No bueno. So I avoid it at all costs. 

*My own negative thoughts and perfectionist OCD qualities that consume me---Rule of Thumb: The world is NOT out to get you. This can be the hardest one to pinpoint. Upon getting passed my past, it's easy for me to be my toughest critic; being stuck in the habit of thinking someone or something is looking down on me, their pointer finger a-pointing and scolding my every move. 

*and Money (or lack thereof)--- Rule of Thumb: like blood, it circulates. Somedays I have more than I should and somedays I have less than I want. However, neither my children or I go without ANYTHING. Even Santa Claus himself was like "Wow! If you can't think of anything for the list then I'd say you're sitting pretty well." It's just easy to overwhelm ourselves with the lack thereof when we check the mail and it's bills/bills/bills. What happened to handwritten notes and Christmas Cards? Lol! 

It's safe to say that it's still all new to me. I find that if I'm in a position that I feel uncomfortable or that any sort of conflict may result, it's best for me to just shut down and let it steep, like a tea bag in a mug of scolding hot water (which sounds perfect right about now). I shut down. I need to give myself a time out to think about the situation or circumstance before reacting. Work on being proactive. 

Every woman should have a sanctuary located somewhere within their happy and healthy home. It's a place where your thoughts are laid to rest, where you surround yourself with all your favorite things be it pictures of the kids, fresh flowers, a hot cup of tea, some scented candles to light, some ticket stubs to a concert you attended in Central Park with some of your nearest and dearest, a scarf that you knitted that you can wrap up in and the whole world melts away around you. 

In my new home, I haven't created a corner or nook to confine myself within. I haven't created a select place where a shrine lives where I can escape on my time outs and just focus on my breathing. I place myself upon my perfectly made bed, full of fluffy pillows, the sun shining through the curtains that creates the perfect glow of warmth and home. I have cards from those I love sitting on the nightstand next to the bed along with books I love to read all cozied up next to my man; a carnival glass dish in the perfect opulent orange shade I place all my accessories in as I get undressed and redressed in cozy pajamas. A framed poem of the 1: Corinthians and a lamp to shed some light on any subject. In the top drawer?..all my favorite things, my hidden treasures; dark chocolate with sea salt, peppermint foot balm, my grape skin moisturizer that my mother brought back from a vineyard in Napa, Lavender and Orange lip balm; a pair of slippers for any midnight runs outside of the bed, and some other things that needn't be mentioned but make for a romantic night within arms reach :)

And hanging upon the wall is a shrine that has accumulated a massive amount of my treasures throughout the years. Having everything tucked in neatly and not to neatly; holding on tightly to some of my most memorable items. 

*A menu from the White Star bar in SoHo NYC from my birthdate in 2008 where I travelled and attended an art gallery opening. I drank sparkling champagne with cubes of brown sugar and absynthe dropped onto spoonfuls of  white cubed sugar while I hid behind dark sunglasses under the bright light of the audience. They all knew I was a tourist. I hailed for a cab and headed back to the condo where I was staying. I felt soooo very small and alone in that instant; in that extremely large city; knowing nobody, not knowing my way around. How I wanted to be so carefree and breathe in the sights and the sounds of the city and when I thought I had escaped my own self; I wanted nothing more than to find her again; in an area I knew my way around, in my comfy clothes and without hiding behind dark glasses.

*All of my JM concert badges given to me over the many many tours I had a friend working on. I was lucky enough to work at a concert/club lighting company and we had the JM contract and he was the LD on the tour. So...I got much wanted JM swag and I've saved it all. Well...because I'm the just biggest JM fan EVER!

*JM ticket stubs for each and every time I've had the pleasure of seeing him live, boarding passes from my trips all around the country, a trail map for the slopes from my time spent in Aspen, postcards from around the globe, a letter I wrote to Jaxon when he was still in the womb, various pictures of my son and set beside it in a vase is a single black faux feather I rec'd from a hairdresser the night of a Goth Gala I attended at Nico many many moons ago. 

All of these things remind me of the lovely life I've had up to this point. They put a smile on my face where worry resides most days. I'm certainly still trying to figure out what has triggered these attacks and can only hope to prevent them as I gather more intel. However, until then, I take deep breaths, I count my many blessings and I drink up the sights and sounds of the happy and healthy home in which I share with all my favorite people. 

There really isn't need to worry, I know this. It sounds so simple. Everything will be fine. Give time to time. It will heal all. 

And as the year comes to a close and I prepare gifts for under the tree and anticipate the smiles that will take over the faces of the little ones in my home; I am so incredibly happy that I have a certain someone to share my life with; the good, the bad, sickness (ha), health, and many memories we work on making daily. I wish he could see how much he does for each and every one of us; how happy he makes us; and how fortunate we are to have him in our lives. I am so happy he doesn't cause me more stress than I can handle, drops things that need to be dropped and doesn't push when there needn't be pushing. Somewhere; past all of the worry and stress and panic; we somehow know that all will be well in the world and we needn't attack the issue further. It's so incredible to know someone has your back fully. Even in a state of panic; they're there to step in and take over with such ease. 

Panic Less-Love More

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic. 

Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation. 

Wrap up the Weekend

Sudsy water sitting in the sink, full of dishes needing washed; washing machine thudding into gear, ridding the garments of the dirt and crud accumulated over the past few days; throw pillows flung about, no longer placed neatly on the sofa and chairs, now being used as lily pad type pillars projecting out of the ground as I watch my child jump about from one to the next. "Don't touch the carpet Ma! It's hot lava!" And he means business. I have slippers on, as usual and nothing (not even molten lava) can come close to slowing me down. I've got stuff to do! But I accept and appreciate the imagination and I hop along from brown striped to teal with brown circles to the flowered suede and onto the ceramic tile in the kitchen.

"How about the tile?," I say, looking back over my shoulder. "Is the tile fair game?" Asking him for permission as I'm uncertain of the specific rules in this Dungeon-Dragons(esque) reality we are faced with. "Tile is good mom! Just Please!, be careful!"

I'm hovering over the dish water, submerged to my elbows in Dawn dish soap and sippy cups; carelessly daydreaming out the fogged over window looking out the back of the house into the night that is lit by the orangish light that resides by the street, thinking of my own imagination and how I could make this chore more of a game; like I would if I were still a kid; not taking things so seriously. But can't come up with anything interesting enough to play, embarrassed to ask my son for input.

Baby is in her crib, Tangled playing on her tiny baby flat screen and she's muttering something. I can barely make it out over the running of the water into the stainless sink as I rinse all the small parts of every Disney Princess character no-spill cup we seem to have in every shape and size and color and character. I can hear her sweet little voice rising as she grows impatient. "Listen here bitch! I've been in here almost 4 solid minutes and although I'm into EVERYTHING and you deem it necessary to cage me up to recollect your thoughts, even if only for an instant, I want to be in the midst of the molten lava that is taking place where my big brother with the imagination is going down!" (I'm certain that's exactly what she'd say if she could speak with such accuracy.)

The buzzer from the dryer blares into the air, startling me out of my daydream. "I'll get to that," I think. Today .. Tomorrow .. Ugh!

"Jaxon! Can you get your sister out of her crib, please?"
He flies down the hallway! "Like your knight in shining armor my princess, I release you!", as he throws her onto his back and they hop .. hop ..hop from stone pillar pillow to stone pillar pillow back to the living room; which could be mistaken as a rec room of a daycare center.

I glance back to see my daughter, hanging on for dear life on the back of her brother, throwing her head back, smiling from ear to ear. "Be careful with her, will ya?"

"She won't break mom! I've tried!" Well, her spirit anyway, that's certain.

Exactly 43 minutes later, both children have been bathed of the daily impurities, swam with some action figures and a few Hot Wheels, tracked water all through the bathroom and trails down the hall, placed into pajamas, teeth combed, hair brushed errr...yeah, tucked snuggly into beds. 2 chapters of Robinson Crusoe read to the eldest and "You are my sunshine" hummed to the littlest, kisses and hugs, tucked in and extra tugs. They're snug as bugs in rugs.

I glance about the disaster area that once resembled my house. "It's well lived in" plays through my head in the voice of my cousin and one of my bestest friends, Zobeda. She always says her house in not messy, it's well lived in. This must be the exact definition, the portrait she was trying to paint with those said words. If ever a house were lived in, this must be it.

I place a stiff hand on each side of each eye as to form blinders like the horses have to wear. I steer myself directly to the bedroom and pretend I noticed nothing.

We flip through the Netflix, we won't agree on anything. He isn't into the reality tv crap I watch, although I want nothing more than to watch the newest episode of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" to see what the ladies are up to this week. He wants to watch something only long enough to fall asleep anyhow. I give it 10 minutes, tops! Our legs intertwine below the sheets, window open blowing a cool breeze through the curtains swaying in the room (just like he likes it). We canoodle, skin on skin, exhaling the day away; together.

Everything is as it should be... And all is right in the world. Needing nor wanting nothing more, nothing less. Completely content to the core.

Happy moments shall be praised, shouted from rooftops, spoken about and appreciated. In a whirlwind world that can be consumed with anger and regret and jealousy... all blessings should be given kudos. And in my world, they should be written about, filed away, and pulled out on a rainy day to serve as a reminder that the clouds will lift and if I look about, life is pretty ding dang dong dandy! :)