Site icon lovelovemotherexpletive

January: I remember

Advertisements
  1. I remember the maple in front of the house I grew up in. When I was small, so was it. I climbed it for years, and not after I was 14. I wonder if it missed kids?
  2. I remember the faded and tattered blue yarn bits that were tied all over it. The blue strings tied on when my brother came home from adoption proceedings. He was a tubby six month old, all blue, all tubby.
  3. I remember the realization that I might die, during the birth of my first child, and I remember the realization that it would be okay, as long as the baby was allright. and so it begins. absolutely incredible.
  4. I remember my favorite outfit was a red terrycloth jumper with a white binding at the edge. I wore it til it was indecent. Summer second grade. my daughter has one similiar that I bought just because I WAS COMPELLED TO. She doesn’t love it enough.
  5. I remember my dad’s hands. Pretty clearly. Always warm, and so big. Now and then.
  6. I remember how I used to think I’d be a professor, and someone told me I couldn’t teach kids smarter than me. And I was crushed. But still believe it to be true. And then again, don’t. Thankfully, don’t want that job anymore. Would much prefer preschoolers. So much more joy.
  7. I remember sometimes that I write as a job. Its not a living, by any means, yet. But it could be. and how frucking amazing is that? I actually write, and people pay me. Not here though. This is all free, for all you freeloaders. (cracking up)
  8. I remember hunting for toilet paper. Do you? and then I had enough.
  9. I remember how much I like fires in the woodstove and then I stop to make one.
  10. I remember to appreciate women who work in creating things. (and men, but i only know women currently)
  11. I remember how distractable I can be, and try to tamp down, focus in.
  12. I remember how deeply I feel things that other people don’t seem to notice.
  13. I remember how thankful I am when holiday season finally ends. So very thankful.

love love,

me

Exit mobile version