NaBloPoMo

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.