Morning Musings

It is 6:53 AM on an overcast Saturday morning in scenic Madison, North Carolina. Baby LeBron* is sleeping peacefully in his Carolina bed and I am listening to the sound of birds chirping in the backyard while floating lazily in a river of Gratitude. Grateful for the return of Spring, grateful for the stretch of "normal" we have been experiencing lately, grateful for all of the adventure that lies ahead. I am delighted to be awake, alone and writing. During the activity of "normal" life I lose touch with the stillness and thought that my writing voice requires. Fleeting worries will dance through my mind while I am driving the kids to school or washing dishes....do I have anything of value to say today? When will my "voice" return? Will my voice return? Oh shit...did I just MISS MY TURN? Isn't it ironic how my artistic voice speaks to me in italics but my oh-shit voice screams at me in capital letters?

I view writing as a gift given to me by the Universe so that my head and heart will not explode from carrying around the lessons of my life. Truly, my life internal expresses itself solely at the times and places of its' choosing. Otherwise, why would I be up at 6:53 on a Saturday morning when the Early Riser is at a sleepover and the SleepyHead is still asleep? Undoubtedly, I am in the employ of the creative flow and not vice versa. But honestly, I feel deeply blessed when the life internal calls me to do her bidding.

For the majority of my life I have submitted my thoughts, feelings, anxieties and hopes to the Great Beyond by detailing them on lined paper in journals of every sort. I have amassed boxes of composition books and themed hard covers that I kept inconsistently since I was eleven years old. Putting the chaos on paper has provided me with the structure, perspective and mental storage space to keep moving through my experiences. And there are two trusted individuals who know where the boxes are kept in the event of my untimely demise. Although if I were to expire on a timely schedule I suppose these two would also know what to do. When I am gone the journals will either be publishable or perishable...but that won't be my decision as I will have moved on to my next form and I will either be helping or haunting some one else, depending upon the situation.

I have had a few folks wondering what I have been doing since the last post and the Mother of one Rowdy in particular seemed to be quite worried about my emotional state. As is typical for me, periods of calm follow my periods of storminess. The last week has been filled with dentist appointments, custody mediations, basketball practices and worries about fitting into my clothes from last spring and summer. There have been many productive conversations about an upcoming wedding ceremony, a Kentucky Derby fundraiser, Spring Break travel plans, budget cuts and soccer sign-ups. We have made the A Honor Roll for fourth grade, the A/B Honor Roll for third grade and been told that we are now "just friends" with a certain pink-haired girl. To overuse a Hallmark phrase, it has been Blissfully Normal. And to paraphrase The Carpenters, there is still "so much of Life ahead."

So we have "found a place where there's room to grow." Which, for those of you who don't speak in phrases from 1970's love songs, means that we are going to be moving to a bigger house with a fenced in backyard and room for the boys to ride bikes. And each one of them will have their own bedroom which will exponentially increase the potential for World Peace. We moved to our Happy Little House (less than 1000 square feet!) over five years ago when their family was in transition and it has been perfect for us...cozy, comforting, convenient and manageable...all dire necessities during times of transition. But their families with each of their parents have now been reincarnated and we need a space that will take them in the next phases of their lives...where their friends can spend the night, they can have a basketball goal for shooting hoops and more than one person can pee at a time. As often happens, the new house fell into our laps at the most opportune moment. And while I was once was a person who declared that "the next time I move, they will be putting me in the crazy house or a hole in the ground", I now view "home" as wherever the people I love gather and rest their heads. During the last five years I have traded trying to establish enduring traditions for doing what works  best for most of us at any given time....a lesson I have painstakingly and repeatedly been taught by my three male companions. (Don't panic....I mean my husband and my sons...I am no longer allowed/required to have multiple male companions!)

So, between now and June 1st there are two Buffett concerts, the Harlem Globetrotters, a family wedding, End-of-Grade tests, Spring Break, Derby Days and we are moving. Oh yeah, and I will turn 46 in the midst of all that. In case you are interested, I have decided to have a Pink Pirate theme this year...if you know me at all, you know that I relish the day set aside to Celebrate Me and I will eagerly embrace any excuse to eat store-bought cake slathered with Crisco-powdered sugar icing! For those of you planning ahead, there are only 46 shopping days left!  But, I digress....Suffice it to say, that life is going to be busy. And that is just the stuff I know about so far! I have lived long enough to know that when you are cruising along on the "normal" road, Fate will throw a few unexpected curves and detours at you just to teach you flexibility while you travel. But as of this morning, Spring is starting to unwind,  and the Sun is preparing for her grand return. As Karen and Richard would say, "We've only just begun...to live..." Again!

* Braeden has secretly nicknamed himself, "Baby LeBron" for his basketball prowess. I have learned from two unpleasant experiences that I am not allowed to refer to him that way in public. And someday he will learn the hard way that when your Mom blogs, no one's secrets are safe! For now, shhhh....it is our little secret and he is asleep!