…how to love …..



December 13th 2013

There’s something like a line of gold thread running through a man’s words when he talks to his daughter,

and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands

and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~~

John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994

Thirteen years on and it still feels raw, an ache that builds , a lump in the throat that doesn’t subside.

A Smile and a nod, when asked how you are because you can’t trust yourself to speak without crying.

Every year, a broken promise that it will get better.


For ages now I have wanted quiet time. Silence so that I can reflect and “think” . Great and profound thoughts would come to me through the ether if only the air was not filled with noise.

I was wrong. There is now silence, no one is bothering me and I hate it . I miss the requests to read and color. To help put on and take off dress up clothes, to adjudicate over who pushed whom, and whose turn it is on the computer.

Sitting in my local bookshop I am not anymore enlightened, maybe just more aware of what is important to me. My children are happy and healthy and now, as they move on, so do I .

It is time to collect the twins from their first day of preschool. We will have lunch and wait for Brother to get home.

Baby steps to a different chapter. Tomorrow I will welcome the peace and start planning ahead, right now I’m taking a moment to look back at how far we’ve come.

Not so average morning

Today looks like it’s going to be a good day.  Oldest came down, showered and dressed ready for breakfast. Off to school on time, homework done and excited for the day.

Twins are sitting together ‘reading’ , “I have this little sister Lola, she is small and very funny…”

OH sent to work with a kiss and a smile.

Mornings like this make me feel that we are not doing too bad of a job.


Today is Mothers Day. I awake to the sounds of hurried footsteps and frantic shuffling.  Waiting for me are three hand-made cards, each uniquely representative of the child that made it  . Simple and colorful, no pretensions or hyperbole, just crayons and glitter, smiles and balloons. Life is good.