Now Alive

My son, now seven, and I where sitting in the hall clipping his toe nails.  I was explaining how the middle toenail has wrapped around the tip of his toe and he had to careful to cut it off before it became and ingrown nail.  I showed him how to clip his own nails be careful not to clip to short.  I added a simple detail that we were clipping them on Sunday evening in the hall because I was about to vacuum.  You know, teaching him some easy housekeeping tips while we are at it.  If you do that, you remember to once a week and don't have nails all over the house, easy.

He looked up at me with those deep chocolate puppy eyes.  "Why are you telling me all this."

I might not always be around to help you care for yourself.  It is my job to teach you these things.

"Why do I have to learn it now?"

You are old enough to do these things and I may not be here sooner then we'd like.  My time here with you is coming to an end faster then we like.  And, I may not be able to teach you these things next year.

"So, don't you have to get all old and grey first?"

Yes, that is what is supposed to happen but my body got sick.  I have cancer, you know we have talked about this.  It keeps trying to take me away from you.  We don't know when this will happen so I want to teach you all I know now.

Son touches my hair, sits up, really inspects it.  "May that is why your hair turned grey this time.  It,,Mom, I think it looks a little brownish underneath.  Maybe it will come in brown soon then you won't be old."

On the day someone tells you that options are running out, it could be a year, or next month, you are left with a huge whole in your sole.  I know, because I have done it three times.  I have sat across my oncologist as he nervously shifts in on his stool trying not to look down at the floor and says, "Sara, I have to be honest with you.  There are so many people right now on your side fighting this.  But, we maybe getting towards the end of what we can do."  I suppose it makes it harder when you have become good friends.  I just wanted to ask how his vacation went and change the subject.  But, this time, there is a reality that lay heavy in the room like never before.

The cloud left with when my mom and exited the exam room.  I went to the bathroom to collect myself.  I decided to shake it off for the day.  What else is there to do?  I wasn't dead today.  I am not dying tomorrow.  The thing I wanted to do most was laugh.  So I trot down to the nurses in the infusion room smiling.  Of course, they are no idiots knowing this office visit was not a planned one. It was my regular routine to come in between infusions that occur every three weeks.  One of the nurses hugs me and asks, "So what does he say?"

I explain a few details using code as to now upset other patients.  They hug me and rock me a minute.  I stifle the tears the best I can.  After gaining my composure, I ask them if they seen the article yet.  I rush around looking for the Cure Today.  They are excited.  I was interviewed about exercising during treatment and recovery after treatment.  The interview was two months ago, about six months after full brain radiation and my third treatment for my bitch cancer.  The last quote says:

A little more than six months after whole-brain radiation, Brown is back to running. “Cancer tried to take away my physical body three times, but I kicked it in the behind and kept moving,” she says.

The evening after the appointment was hard.  I felt torn between crawling in a little ball and giving up, start throwing away everything I owned I didn't want people to have to deal with when I am gone, and buying a ticket for the south of France.  What I really wanted to do was just make dinner.  I petted my stinky kid's hair, kissed it, sniffled, choked back my tears and showed Daughter how to use dice to figure out her multiplication tables.  Son busled around me while I was in the kitchen having notyet learned how to self-entertain himself.  He's frustrated about something.  He may explode here in a minute.  Oh, he doesn't like the food I am making.  Okay, then don't it it, your choice.  This is my life.

Husband comes home all pimped in a suit.  Four days in a new corporate job.  Huge life change.  My heart sinks.  He knows what is going gist of the situation, not the details.  I will tell him later.  Actually, I will have my mom just e-mail the notes.  She is good at that.  Right now, this moment it is dinner time.  we laugh, whine, complain about the food, laugh some more, review spelling, and share our days.  Well, not all of my day other then I started a painting.

We, six doctors, my parents, my husband, my sister and her husband, my brother-in-law who is nurse to one of the doctors, everyone, are sorting it all out.  Some tests need to be done this week to see if my body is clear of disease; if this is the only site of issue.  Then we move forward.  The area in my brain that was originally cyber-knife radiated and then whole brain radiated last year is swelling.  It sits like an ice cream on top of a cone on my brain stem.  So you can imagine this could cause some more issues.  one option, of course, is to do nothing as it is in such a sensitive area. we can maintain it, but it will continue to do its thing.  It maybe a course of a year as my body slowly stops functioning properly.  I already feel a bit weak at times and loose my balance so I can imagine this would be a horrific fate. 

So the hope is this is the only area of disease and the specialists will carve a whole in my brain and dig it out.  Sounds. perfect, right?  Just get it out whether it is malignant or just dead brain cells.  Remember the area of concern is on my brain stem.  I could very likely not come home.  That is heavy.  Even if I survived the surgery, how would I be changed?  Would I ever paint again.

So yes, what do you do when you are taking all this in and waiting to know when you are going to die, you just live.  Friday, the day after the appointment, I went for a short run, ran errands, picked up the house, and painted most of the afternoon as the kids were at school.  I kept looking at the clock to make sure I didn't get too involved and forget the kids like usual.  But, the clock had slowed down.  time slowed down.  Paint, yoga, clean the house, make dinner, read books, cuddle.  What do you do on the day you realize you may not be here next year or even Christmas?  Well, you live.

Loving Life

I capital L, capital O, capitol V, capitol E, LOVE where I live.  A sweet September day sat at my feet this morning as I roused the kiddos. It is a bit chilly, grab a sweater.  Take off sweater as the temp climbs from 44 to 67.  Look, kids, it is nearly seventy.  The wind is gentle.  They scoot and I walk.  Running now as they ramble on ahead.  Sun.  Happy morning.  School.  Bell rings.  Scoot. Scoot scoot.  Kiss in hand for youngest Chester (if you have kids, you know the book reference here.). Dash off across lawn to eldest to remind her of her homework folder she has forgotten for two days.  She pretends to not hear then spins around, "I've got it Mom.". A bit sassy, don't you think?  Skulks over for a hug.  A quick chat with the Playground Moms and it is off for a run.  New path west of the school.  Running towards the Peaks.  She is majestic, Long's Peak.  She is mother.  Her children play under her ultramarine skirt.  They shimmer in spots of gold.  The aspens.  The air is thick.  A fire in Wyomning.  Geese overhead.  They smell it too.  It is coming early this year.  My bones know.  New path and new tunes in my ears.  Round the loop.  Not long enough.  Loop around, have to walk a bit.  Neck hurting.  I fell off my bike three days ago; face plant, minimal damage, slight whip lash, purple shins. I am alright, just walk now,take earbuds out.  Grasshopers, they are everywhere.  The sound.  The sound smells of autumn.  Sweet...oh, one crashed into my leg.  Ouch that sort of stung.  Bunny, red wing black bird, hear a chickadee, squirrel, he's mad, wave hi to kid in stroller, junior high PE class learning flag football, teacher yelling, tiny girl day dreaming off on the side praying the teacher won't call her in, that was me.  Old path.  Mud swallows.  Grasshoppers everywhere.  Around towards home.  Breeze at back, trees in site.  Leaves changing. Home.
      As I sit on the porch, drinking water, planning my day, I hear the children play.  They are in the school yard not so far away.  Screams of utter joy.  Tag, you are it, I imagine.  Yes, today, I will work on my porch under the shade of the purple ash.  Dim.  The clouds roll in.  Bright, they roll out. Geese.  More geese.  An airplane.  High, it is slowing, jumpers at the airport.  The wind picks up; I'm chilled.  Yes, it is coming.  From the north, I think.
    Before long, too short of a moment, I will trot out to get the kids.  A half mile at most.  We will all go there.  Some on bikes.  Some on feet.  Three with strollers, two waiting for their preschooler, and
one on her son's scooter.  We will fly like the geese to gather our goslings.  Home.  But, not without a chat.  Did you understand yesterday's homework?  How are you feeling today?  Will you help me out on Thursday?  Coffee Friday?   Yah, sounds good.  Great.  See ya.  Okay okay.  I am coming.  Go on ahead, I need another moment.  More geese.  A plane.  Flying high.  Slowing.  Jumpers.  One, two, six.  Hot now.  Breeze picks up.  They promised an Alaskan front.  I can smell it.  Was that a rain drop?  Oh, the change.  Breath it in.  Exhale until empty.  Fill up with loving life.  

Quilt painting class

Boy, I sure had fun making art all week.  Even though I was exhausted when I got home, it was quite w thrill to spend a seven hour day, minus lunch hour with a bunch of ladies making art.  Oh, they crack me up.  And surely there was a few tears at one point when the conversation on Reiki got just a little too deep about the spirit world.  I learned a lot and am inspired to work on some new projects.  Well, of course, I will get this one done first.  It is beautiful, if I do say so myself.  Technique uses hand painted fabric.  Our first two days we just created fabric bits, some for fun and some with our image in mind.  The third day we started making.  I got the distant areas done and discovered my dupyed pieces were not intense enough.  So the fourth day, I rushed around dying in the morning.  After lunch break, the pieces were dry enough to heat set.  And pow!  Awesome!  Exactly right. So I snipped and snipped completely most of the image.  This morning, I set in a few shadows and highlights for drama and sat at my machine tacking the aplique pieces down in netween instructional talks.  I am excited for the results.  And, I can't wait to finish it soon.  Thanks for Denise.  Thanks for Cheryl, the studio hostess and giver of a beautiful quilt....ask me the story sometime.  She just gave it to me and my mother because we liked it.  Now to find someplace to hang it on my two walls in this house.  Oh, above my bed!  I always wanted to decorate my room.  Anyhoo, thanks to my mom for invitng me to go.  and lastly, the garage sale shoppers for buying my junk so I could pay the three hundred without dipping into my budget.  And, I must not forget to thank Dad for taking the kids to school and picking them up afterwards.  Otherwise, I would have missed about two hours of class.

Man of the House

     Monday, I rolled Home tired from a day of dying fabrics and learning in a town thirty minutes away.  The kids are eating dinner.  My dad had volunteered to take the kids to school in the morning and walk them home in the afternoon so I could attend this fabric dying and quilting class with Denise Laberdie.  As I sat on the porch rocker watching the kids climb the tree after finishing a meal I did not have to plan, make, nor clean up, I imagimed for a moment that I was the man of the house.        
      After enjoying a few minutes watching the kids, I would go inside.  Yes, inside to the air condition.  I would plop off my shoes in the middle of the family room floor.  I'd sit on the couch and turn on the boob tube.  (Wait, I wouldn't call it a boob tube if I was a man, would I?). Seinfeld would be on; I've seen this one a couple of times.  Still funny.  I would play Scrabble on my iPad.  Spouse would wrangle with the kids.  Once things settle down upstairs, I would wonder up.  I'd finish my game and wait until Spouse has finished homework with one or the other kid.  A short check in, "How was your day?  Did you learn anything new?". Okay, good night.  And it is off to bed to. Watch some online episodes I missed or read a book.
      Well, that is not exactly what happened in the real world.  Rsther, I had a small snapshot of what a full time working mother must feel like.  Luckily, my dinmer was made and kids fed.  Left overs were in the fridge (I actually prepared that the day before)  But, once Dad stepped out, it was all me.  Somewhaere between homework, baths, and teeth brushing, I cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms and dusted the master bed room.  Since I squeezed in vaccumming the upstairs and mopping the downstairs between church and going to the Bay for one last swim in an outdoor pool, I comsidered House "clean enough" for the week.  Man, I was tired.  May legs were actually shaking and muscles cramping from standing all day during the class and cleaning.  Yet, I swam through the evening 
getting homework completed, e-mailing teacher questions about said homework, sending son back to 
brush teeth a second time, clipping kids' finger nails, painting mine, talking with absent Spouse on the phone, cleaning up kitchen, changing the water in the fish bowl, feeding the hermit crabs, picking up books in the middle of the hall, getting ready to cater dinner for the women in the quilt class the next 
 day, replying to select e-mails, and probably a gadzillion other little things I fogot.  The kids were 
 tucked into bed.  First chapter of Book Club selection was cut short as I fall asleep.  
       This afternoon, day two of full day class, I get another view of a full time working Parent.  The 
kids are well care for, fed, dressed, and run to ballet (Daughter, Son plays his Nitendo DS) by dear 
Papa-Nanny.  I am happy to meet the kids at the door.  Homework wasn't done before practice.  So 
straight upstairs...what?  Your hungry?  Snack.  Then baths for two stinky kids, books, homework, it 
is past the 8:00 pm cut off.  I am putting in over time.  I don't get the math.  How am I supposed to do this!  Oh, I get it.  Done.  No Daughter, go to bed now, I am clocking out.  Son, what are you doing 
up?  We woke you?  Okay, good night.  
      Downstairs, I am rinsing the containers from the lunch boxes and reflecting.  I am thankful that 
Husband and I decided that I would not return to full time work.  In a normal life time, being a full 
time teacher and full time mom would be a challenge.  I know I would figure it out and muster 
through only doing each job at 80 some odd percent.  And, the art, my life line, would fall through 
the cracks in the railway.  But, we would survive.  With our reality now, with a body that functions 
like I am fifty-seven instead of thirty-seven due to commplications from my surgeries and side-
effects from my drugs, I could not make it in a full time position.  Around two o'clock, I want to pass 
out.  Today, imfact, I fell asleep in the sewing room while my peers were bustling around the wet-
studio.  I fell asleep in the car on the way home too.  No, silly, I was carpooling with my mom.  Over 
time, I might build up stamina.  My mom's doctor who replaced her ankle a year ago told her she only has so many steps in that ankle.  It is up to her how she wants to spend them.  Would she rather park 
a far distance and walk the parking lot or park in the handicap and save those steps for something 
amazing?  Husband stated during our conversation about me returning to work now I had cancer, "It 
all depends on where you want to spend your precious time."  Our reality is my time is shorter than 
most of yours.  That is our reality.  Tonight, after just two full days of being on my feet, I have 
confirmed that I physically could not teach all day, five days a week.  Oh yes, I miss it emensely.  
But, I am more glad to not miss wqtching my kids grow up first hand, even when they are arguing.  
Oh, I need to read the poem I wrote them three years ago.
       Point of Reflection:  Are you doing what you should be doing in your life?  Even if what you are doing is a challenge, are you making the best of each moment?  Have you heard your calling?  Did you choose to listen?  Could you do one thing towrds making that change tomorrow?  Would you?

How to have a garage sale.

Prelude:  A hummingbird flew into my garage the day before the sale.  He linger for a moment on a red item am then swooped away.  I didn't know we could get them down here.  Maybe I ought to get a feeder.
         Before I devolge harbourred secrets of a sucessful garage sale, let me start with a story of ill representation of humanity.  So it is the first day, Friday, sometime early in the sale.  A woman mills aroung slowly.  She is slowly evaluation everything.  She picks up a few loose items.  She asks about the dining table.  We walk over to it and the six chairs.  "It is Dutch Modern, and we are decorating with Mission," I explain.  She shakes the table.  I explaing that we only quickly screwed on the legs this morning and it is not wigglely if the nuts are screwed on with a wrench.  She talks about looking for something for her daughter.  She says she will think about it and asks the price.  Sevety five for the set.  That, by the way, was my purchase price ten years ago from my neighbor's sale.   She wonders to the other table, asks if it has chairs, is told no, and says she will think about.  Meanwhile someone is intested in the Burley double stroller and bike trolley so I go over there.  In a few minutes the table woman calls me over.  We talk about how it needs to be buffed and maybe varnished.  She says something about it is for her daughter and womders if I will take forty.  I say sixty.  Big story of her daughter not haing a lot.  She asks fifty.  With hesitation, okay.  It is for her daughter's new home and somewhere in there someone has cancer or something blah lah blah.   Later in the day, she comes pick it up.  Maybe this is when she talks about being ill or something as she is climbing up into the truck with a step stool.  She is friendly, we, my mom and I, laugh with her as we help load.  I was a good moment feeling like we'd really helped her out.
    Flash forwrd to today, the close of the sale.  I had packed up the loose itms I thought I could consign or sell to the flea market.  The kids and I drove around running things here and there.  At Front Range Merchantile, they gladly bought a few antique dresser scarves.  After making the exchange, Daughter wants to go look for Bsrbies.  I turn around to approach the first aisle and there it is, my table.  $257.95.  I couldn't believe it.  The vary next day after I shared my geuine soul and caring to this woman, she flips it for a huge profit.   It isn't the fact she buffed it up and resold it in one day, it is the fact that I felt totally taken advantage of.  After all, I ran downstairs where it was stored to look for a missing cap on one of the chair legs.  When I couldn't find it, I asked for her number so I could look harder later and call her if I found it.  After all, she was going to give it to her daughter, right?  She played the cancer empathy card, and I ate right of her hand.  Seriously, fifteen   dollars?  I hope karma catches up with you, Honey.  Just be honest, geesh.
       Okay, I will step off of my soap box now.  How about those tips?
-Get a friend to help, preferably one who will bring you beakfast and watch the sale so you can run to the store, Thamks Mom.
-Advertise specialty items like crafts, children's clothing, specific furniture, etc. by doing all caps in the article.  We emphasized crafters and furniture and that is who came.
-Be aware that when you say the sale starts at 8 am, they will come at 7:15.
-Resalers come on Fridays.
-Families come on Saturdays.
-Resalers will clear you out of big items like furniture, will try to get it super cheap, may make you feel a bit insecure, and will be your best customers.
-Have jobs in mind for children helpers.
-be clear that anything in the sale is not to reenter the house.
-Bend a little because their puppy dog faces are too cute and let them have something from the sale but only in exchange for a toy of equal value.
-Send kids on missions like bugging their friend around the block who is having her own sale.
-Put things of interest out near the street to entice the drive-bys to park and take a better look.
-Label what you can that isn't one dollar.  Anything without a label is one dollar.
-Put out bins.  One for small items for a quarter.   The if you have a lot of children's clothing, sort by size and gender in bins.
-Offer bulk purchase prices for similar items.
-Make lunch, a sandwhich or a wrap, the night before.
-Get out breakfast bowls and cold cereal the night before and set for kids to serve themselves.
-Put fives and tens in your left pocket and dollars in your right pocket.  If you are left handed, switch that.
- Play light music to take the edge off  the day.
-Call the thrift store, DAV or ARC are dependible, to schedule a pick up after the sale.
-Smile a lot and say hi to all customers.  Your kindness will motivate sales.
-Have a friend help...wait I said that already.
- Schedule a massage...oh wait...yah, well, okay...at least plan an easy dinner or delivery, have kids bath early, and watch a movie.  Don't do anything but cuddle your kids on the couch and go to bed early.
-And last but not least, give away at least ten percent to charity.  Offer out your bounty and gifts will flow in trifold.

The Choice Factor

In light of one public figure, Mr. Akin, who is completely misguided, I am going to write a story tonight that may be a little difficult to read.
      It was October.  I was eighteen, a freshman at the University.  My friend Shana needed a date for her boyfriend's best friend.  She asked me.  I was excited because I had not been to a semi-formal event yet.  I had to borrow a dress.  It was black with little pastel colored roses on it.  The size was one up from my petite frame so it hung to the floor if I took of my pumps.  Being used to tops being too big, I carefully pinned the deep V-neck so it wasn't too revealing.
    After puffing out our hair, it was the early nineties after all, we walked over to the fraternity house.  The air was cool and fresh.  The anticipation of the first snow, real Colorado snow, hung in the air.  We passed through the guest list line and up the steps.  The house was warm and loud.  Music pumped from every room.  People were smashed against walls until we squeezed towards the back of the house where the catering was.  I met my date.  He was tall and okay looking.  He had course brown hair and wore a plaid shirt.  Attractive, I guess.  He definitely wore his ego on his shirt sleeves, and I felt really small.  It was too loud for much conversation as the four of us danced a bit in the front room.  Then we went back to the back room where this guy, they called him Duckie, gave me a glass of wine.  This was a wine and cheese party.  I didn't like it so I just took little sips.  Duckie spent most of his time chatting up anyone who walked by.  Apparently he was very popular.  Or, at least e thought he was.  He noticed I wasn't drinking and took my glass.  He returned with another glass.  It was better tasting.
   So the night progressed.  We danced with our friends.  They eventually disappeared.  It was late.  I wanted to go home.  I was feeling a little fuzzy.  Duckie wanted to show me a CD or something in his room.  I wanted to find my friend.  He told me that since Shana's boyfriend was his roommate, I would find her down the hall.  I followed.  We got into the room.  He put on the song.  He grabbed my waist and started slow dancing.  It was nice.  Then we started kissing.  It was really nice.
     Now, I will save you the details, but you can guess what happened next.  I have gone through it many a times and not knowing if I could have stopped it.  It wasn't violent.  It wasn't what I wanted to do.  I wasn't asked.  Did a kiss mean yes?  Not when you are fuzzy in the head and pinned to the couch.  It hurt.  I cried.  I heard my friend's voice in the hall.  He quickly dressed and went out of the room.  I sat there feeling sick and dizzy.  What had just happened?  I wanted to go home.  I was embarrassed.  My dress was still on.  It was ripped where I pinned it.  Smoothing down my hair, I waited until the voices in the hall to die down and snuck out of the house.  It was cold outside.
     Back at the dorms, I showered and went to bed.  The next morning, Shana calls wondering where I went the night before.  I can't remember what I told her.  I remember I dressed in the baggiest overalls I could find in my closet.  I wanted to hide.  He took away my virginity without even asking.  I felt confused.  Was it my fault?  I shouldn't have drank that wine.  I didn't have but a few sips because it tasted so gross.  In the hall, I joined the girls to walk to the cafeteria for breakfast.  Allie was going on and on about her wild night filled with love escapades with her Marice.  They were the most beautiful couple in the dorm.  He was a dark Mediterranean Ken, and she was an green eyed, freckled, Irish Audrey Hepburn.  As I listened to her excitement over his romance, I asked myself, was this what it was supposed to be like?  The girls roared and snickered at their previous night's love affairs.  I felt sick.  I went to the restroom.  I felt weird down there.  I looked in the toilet after going, and there was the condom.  Apparently, it got stuck when he quickly exited.  I was horrified.  What if it leaked?!  What if I was pregnant with this horrible person?  I couldn't believe this was happening to me.
     The next couple of weeks I waited for that blessed drop of blood.  It came.  I prayed great gratitude.  During the wait, I ran all the scenarios through my head.  Would I keep it?  Could I keep it?  I don't think I could.  I would hate it.  Could I carry it and give it away?  One time.  One ugly time and all my plans for my life could...snap...be gone.  I never quite answered these questions.  All I knew is that I was glad I could choose.  I had a choice.
     A month later, not pregnant, not a virgin, and getting over the profound burden of all that, the dreams stopped.  My friend talked me into going to a party at the same fraternity.  I told her to promise to stick with me this time and I would go.  We walked up to the front and guess who was at the table with the guest list?  He looked up and said, "Oh, let me guess.  Heather, right?".  My heart sunk so low in my belly that I wasn't sure it was still beating.  My head got hot.
   "No, it is Sara, and I am on the list," I say stomping up the stairs behind my friend.  The music was louder.  The dancing great.  Shana kept feeding me red jungle juice.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  I was confused.  So I drank it.  Stupid, I know.   A male friend from my psychology class offered to walk me home.  I felt even sicker then that night it happened.  Outside, it was snowing.  I didn't have a coat.  It was slippery.  I was crying.  I couldn't see the lines on the street.  They were jumping.  Josh carried me across the street.  I walked the rest of the way to the dorm.  Amy down the hall was home and agreed to help me.  So he left and the night proceeded as expected.  I got so sick that I thought I was bleeding.  It was red from the juice.  It burned because of the Everclear.
     In the end, I found some really good friends who I am still friends with today.  Several of the girls have the same story to tell.  They were given drinks, started making out, enjoyed that, but then it went too far before they could figure out what had happened.  Needless to say, it was legitimate rape.  There, I said it.  I lost my virginity to a rapist.  It was all horribly unpleasant.  It was an act of violence.  But, the fact is I did not want to have sex.  I was given too much to drink, pinned down and never asked.  The point is that my story, and those of my girl friends, are fact.  They are truth and legitimate.  I am so glad I had a choice if I became pregnant through this act.  I was never the same after this and have never truly gotten over the experience even though I am married and have two lovely kids.
     Well, every good story has to have a happy ending.  These new girls I met through Amy from down the hall formed a sisterhood that became our survival through those fun, although trying, years.  We had one girl out of the five who was Designated Mom for the weekend.  As designated mom, your tray was cleared for you at meals, your room cleaned, and basically you were treated like a queen.  In return, you couldn't drink more the one beer.  Your job was to make sure all the other girls were behaving themselves, hold their hair back if they didn't, make sure no one got cornered in a room by boy, and everyone made it home safely.  Designated Moms is the absolute number one tip for a young lady. So make a smart choice when you are way from mom and designate someone to be your DM and get you home in one piece.
     The best choice is freedom to choose.  Just put yourself in my shoes.  Play the scenarios in your mind.  What would you do?  Se there, you made a choice.

110 minutes, 109, 108, ...

Tick tock goes the clock.  The kids sleep.  They may rest their nervous heads for thirty three mor minutes.  I, Mom, am awake.  Head is racing.  First, yoga at 9:30.  Arrive early.  Meditate.  Linger in savasana as long as desired.  Meander home.  Stop by Micheals for canvases and King Soopers for dinner on way.  Home. Shower. Eat huge ham and cheese sandwich  with pickle and tomatoe from garden.  ....
  Oh, dear, she is up.  She is doing her hair.  Smile.  Okay, okay....so then finish something.  Finish anything.  Get it done.  Yeah!   Oh she is so pretty in her new outfit.  Gymboree of course.  Brown mini-skort with sunflower florals and sunflower yellow top.  I know, not what I thought she would pick out.  "Mommmm,, you are writing about my outfit...". Caught.
   Well, here it goes.  A third grader.  This fact makes me a bit sad and proud.  A first grader.  Both kids in school.  Smart, beautiful, funny kids.  I will miss your company as I take a nap when I feel tired.  I will miss your input as I wonder the grocery store aisles smiling at toddlers in the carts screaming for a fruit snack.  You grow and grow.  Yes, I am excited to get in to my studio; it has been too long.  Yes, I am so excited to go to am yoga class.  Yet, I am torn with emotion over your being away all day.  It only means one year closer to you leaving my nest.  Good luck today.