o is for...

I am sharing a few words from my friend Eileen (thanks lady)

"After all the lessons, all the shouting matches, all the creativity and showing them how to make choices...there comes a time when we just have to sit back and let them do things themselves. 

When we observe, we see their first steps, the unsolicited hugs they have for their friends and siblings, their problem solving, their confidence on the playground, and their choices.

When we observe, we see our children's true personality and character. The moment when we see as a parent that our babies do listen to us. And do want to make us proud."

Que the waterfall of tears when I read Eileen's words in response to an O word for this series. I really couldn't say it better so I hope she does not mind my overstep. 

Observe.

I love it. I need to do it more. I used to.

When I was younger, still growing up, (still am) I watched a lot. I wrote a lot. I retreated a lot. And when I did actually speak up, I realized (most of the time) people listened. It was a strange experience for me to see anyone perk up at what I had to say. I started speaking more but that's a story for another post ;-)

I still prefer to sit back, to watch and wait for what is supposed to happen. I was never the child that ran for the pinata when it broke. Even though I love candy. I was a tad timid but strong enough to know what I did or did not want. 

I try to imagine myself through my parents eyes. I wonder what they observed about me, how they watched me change and grow, struggle and triumph. I watch my own child on the playground, adrift in his own world, running with a hula hoop imagining who knows what, and I wonder where he will go.

I need to remember to do this more, getting to the school a few minutes early to observe him, slipping into his room at night to admire his little face just one more time before I go to sleep, letting him wander while we walk and just watching where he wants to go...

I always wanted to create. I always wanted to tell stories. This is a part of my fabric, it's what makes me, me. When my child tells me who he is I want to listen and enjoy the beauty of watching what is supposed to happen. I know he will make me, so, so proud. He already does. 

why I write...

Why I Write.

I write because I don’t have a choice. It’s a part of me. I write about little girls growing up into women and all of the adventure, sadness, joy and drama that exists in between. I write to let go of my past and to hope and dream about everything my future can be. I write because it's easy and I write because it's the most difficult thing ever. I write when I want to cry. I write to blow out the candle always burning in the back of my brain. I write to quiet the buzzing and to see through the blur. I write because I like myself when I see my words. I write to stop the hate. I write to show my anger. I write so I don't have to say it to your face. I write to forget you. I write to distract myself and to distract you from me. I write to avoid sleep. I write out of guilt and because of pain. I write to stay young. I write so I can pretend I know more than I do. I write for my child. I write for alternate lives I could have lived. I write to learn to love myself. I write so you remember me. I write to make myself miserable. I write when I'm afraid to paint. I write when paint inspires me. I write to avoid everything. I write because it makes me feel pretty. I write when I want to scream. I write to hang on. I write to keep my eyes wide open. I write when I smell funnel cake and cotton candy. I write when the fruit is ripe and gorgeous and it needs to be said. I write to feel the ocean. I write to celebrate your life. I write to bury you deep inside the earth. I write for the future of other little girls who run to books to help them understand their ever evolving worlds. I write when I feel like hiding. I write because the world is ending and there is no way other way to stop it.  I write to smell the night air and lose myself in the dusk. I write because there is no point. I write because the moon is ablaze, then it blinks and its gone. I write because I want to fly away. I write to try to understand if there is god or something like it and what that means. I write because I don't believe. I write because I want to believe something. The truth is buried deep down and it's a relief to break through the tangled mess of words woven throughout time. I write to live forever. 

I write to heal the broken and I write to break the strong. 

If you write...why do you?


If you don't write...why don't you start?