It depends on the moment, but lately there is very little still. We live in cycles of motion, pitching and listing, then swaying and lolling. I cannot say that I prefer one over the other, but I am clearly dazed, unable to really root myself in anything but the anticipation of the next propulsion.

Briar huffing, bossing Avery.
Briar writing, asking, surging ahead.

Avery pouting, lamenting that she is not in school.
Avery gasping for breath between body wracking guffaws, Avery exclaiming, “By. My. Self!”

Finley scaling stairs. Finley exploring outlets.
Finley finding itty bitty bits of plastic. Finley doing and doing.

I watched the numbers on the calender whiz past.

I haven’t written.

It ricocheted off the hampers of clothes waiting to be folded.

My blogs are gathering dust.

It clanged against the dishes in the sink.

I am ashamed by the longing for a moment.

It stared back at me in the mirror as I tried to slip contacts over my bloodshot eyes.

I’ve been dipping my toe back in, back to primping, back to smiling and back here. My writing. My passion.

It is here where I find my footing. Jess called it the season of motherhood. I love that, I really do. And so even as it feels like a marathon that I am sprinting (Thanks for that, Janet) I am slowing to a walk, ambling even, to dash notes here.

My girls, my days, my everything, tucked safely in these words I find as I listen to the rhythm of naptime breathing or the ringing and clattering of doll house playing. My time, now and forever.

Capturing a bit of magic for a rainy day.

Special thanks to my mom for the pictures, all taken during our wondrous visit.