But I want to - no need to write again. I need to write just like I need a dog, like I needed to grow something last spring, like I need to touch people to connect with them, like I need the outside.
I've been thinking for months about what I can write about and if I want to start a new blog. New life, new blog, right? But I'm still me and Mary Oliver reminds us that we only get to have "one wild and precious life." I might change the name. I'll probably archive some posts, but I can't be anything but me and I can't, and don't want to erase my past.
So what I can write about? Well the same things as before - just different. My adventures; the food I'm cooking, eating, growing; what I'm reading; and my kids. My wonderful, beautiful, complicated, messy, aggravating, lovable teens.
So I'll start with something tiny.
A few months ago, by accident, I watched both of them sleeping. The girl sleeping in the car on the way back from homecoming dress shopping. The boy asleep next to me in the library while we read and waited for his sister's dance class to be over.
Both times a well of tenderness and emotion shot through me and tears welled up in my eyes. Not necessarily because they were older, although that's part of it. But because they're beautiful and because when I watch them sleep I remember all the times I've watched them before. The soft newborn sleep with hands above their heads. The sweaty toddler sleep with a blanket clutched tight in their fist. The kindergarten sleep two minutes after crawling into the car on the way home - completely exhausted. The travel sleep - curled up next to each other in camper or tent. Every memory rich. Every memory a blessing.
So I'll never tire of this... this gift of watching them sleep. It will fill my heart forever.
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