I have a book. It's in my head. Sometimes, the book is filled with tons and tons of garbled gobbly gook and I can't get it all straight. Well, that's most of the time. Sometimes, I cannot get it from my head to the paper fast enough. And if I'm lucky, it's all making sense at the time and I can get even more lucky to be somewhat witty with it. Those times are rare and I love when they shine through.
I also have another book. It's halfway written. It's collecting dust and I have a huge fear to finish it. I've talked about this before but the hot air contained in those posts has long grown cold. There's no better time than now. Finish it. I should. I will. He deserves it. Even if I have to pay someone to print it for me. It's all for the love of Lucas. It is. It will be. But when?
I have written another couple of childrens books. They are done. Just sitting. Waiting to be mailed off. To someone. To some publishing company. But who? And when?
So the white butterflies are out in full force. I will try to capture one on film. Hang it by his picture. Some may think I'm obsessed with his loss or little white butterflies but I refuse to be a mom who just moved on quietly with no argument or stomping of the feet. That can't be me. He mattered too much and it was too unfair what he went through. So I'm me and that's that. Quiet acceptance. And while the words jumble through my head and make me crazy sometimes, if only a few make sense from day to day, it's those. I look at the children I have and I think, this was fate, this is it. And I love them like nothing else and there you have it. No blank pages today.
Jenn
You cook, you clean, you go to work, you nourish, you love, you scold, you are professional and yet you hang your hat on every dust particle in your home. You are a woman. Some women are Moms and some are not. You are still a woman. We are all made similarly. We are strong.
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