If anyone else is following along here (besides you, my dear and my other dears), I'm thinking they must tire of reading my patient rants for you. It's not that I want you to have more freak outs, but sometimes the sweetness is overwhelming. What am I saying? It's great -- give me more! I just wonder if the repetition sheds any new light.
As I come to the end of my month of writing every day, I've learned a few things. First, I enjoy writing every day. And feeling the pressure to do it adds to the interest, at least for me. Second, I've realized how much I haven't written down in the past. Some of it may seem redundant, but I know I won't regret it in the future. I have felt some sadness for my lack of paper journal writing; in the basement lies boxes of my unfinished books. Third, I think I do appreciate you more. I take a breath and sort out our moments.
Today I found out that the father of our good friend passed away. And there is a shadow of more bad medical news coming down the pike. You are too young to fully understand this now, what it all means -- this life and death stuff. There's a part of me that wants to shelter you from it, but I know it's not possible, or even advisable.
Today your biggest sadness was when I didn't understand how you wanted to eat Gorilla Munch cereal. I finally figured out that you wanted to sit on my lap and eat a bowl with me, which you've never asked for. As we sat at the table together, enjoying something so simple, I realized I'd never eaten cold cereal this mindfully before. Thank you for this practice.