Apparently I wrote the following on October 8th, 2011 and saved it in a Word document at 11:55pm.

–> The cool spring air hung fresh and light against my skin. I sidestepped the few small patches of snow left on the sidewalk. Not wanting my toes, set free in sexy black sandals, to touch the melting remnants from winter. The two-inch heals clicked against the concrete as we made our way toward Washington Square. Parker’s firm grasp wrapped around my delicate hand, pulling me forward, always several strides ahead. It used to bother me, how he refused to walk with me, beside me, not willing to take the world on together. The desire to rip my hand from his, to stand independent, had faded long ago. It hung limp and defeated, his fingers crushing my spirit, Not that it mattered. He loved me. That was enough.

“Here we go,” he smiled, guiding me through the doorway into the dimly lit restaurant.

“Welcome back, Mr. Evans! Follow me please!” The hostess chimed brightly with false bravado, batting cheap mascara clumped eyelashes Parker’s way, making me ill in the process.  She glanced in my direction briefly acknowledging my existence before leading the way to a private room in the back. The cozy atmosphere closed in on me as people stopped conversations to stare as we passed through the bar and main dining room. The downfall of dating Parker Evans, I hated being on display. <–

What happens? What was I thinking? Where were these characters going? I vaguely remember…

A forbidden love.

An aching desire despite life’s circumstances.

The passion I felt at the time is lost, the memory of why it was important to get this written gone.

I wish this wasn’t forgotten.

Left behind.

Like so many things.

I’m blessed to have found it.

Though I didn’t know it was lost.

It brought a smile to my lips.

It made me believe, briefly perhaps, but believe just the same, that I CAN string words together.

Bring characters to life.

Write.

Something found indeed.

I never pictured myself being at this point of time, heart broken and empty handed.

Over twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger at not being on the same page as my husband when it came to adding another baby to our wonderful family of five.

Twelve more months of being on the same page.

Twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger that finally turned into depression and indifference.

The internet and church, lands of pregnancy and newborn baby minefields, waiting to ambush me and break off another piece of my already weakened heart.

Happiness for friends.

A walled up heart.

Blessed to have my three healthy babies, who are no longer babies.

Trying to come to grips with God’s timing.

Not my timing.

My picture of a complete family may never be realized.

My soul aching to have this month be the end to my waiting and next month be the beginning of someone fresh and new.

But it’s His timing.

It’s been a year of trying.

A year of hoping and praying before that.

A lifetime of yearning.

Number four.

One day.

Soon.

Please?

And into the real world.

Sort of.

This summer is kicking my ass.

I’m either extremely busy, over scheduled, running willy nilly without a moment to catch my breath…

OR

I’m sitting in the recliner, lethargic, reading a chapter or two from the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, switching to some recorded TV where I am 3-7 shows behind or crocheting.

Internet land has taken a back seat, whether I’m high flying or highly unmotivated.

I’m tired of being in observer mode.

Watching and waiting.

Molding myself into what I think others want me to be.

I just want to be myself.

Whoever that is.

Wholly me.

Whether you like me or not.

Haven’t I said this before….

Yes, I fell off the internet.

I think I’m ready to get back on.

Apparently I use “adult” language when speaking with my soon to be three year old.

We were dining at Sunny Side (or is it Street?) Cafe for lunch.

Alex was coloring his kids menu with the traditional red, blue, green and yellow crayons.

I noticed that his blue crayon was going to be snapped in half if he continued to draw the way he was.

My words of wisdom:

“Alex, don’t hold your crayon like that. You are going to break it.”

Alex:

“What?”

Me:

“You’re putting too much pressure on the center of that crayon and you are going to snap it like a twig.”

Alex:

“What?”

My Mom:

“Why do you use words like that with him? He has no idea what you are saying.”

Me:

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it.

Alex:

“What?”

Me:

“Nothing buddy. I like your picture.”

I ooh and ahh over our babies. Call them little pet names and adopt their baby talk words as my own. I still say I’m going “nigh-nigh” and I will forever probably say I need to go “potty” while I’m in the presence of grown adults with no children in sight.

But..

When my children start speaking full sentences I start talking to them like they too are my age. Thankfully my swearing is at a minimum, unless you count “crap” and “pissed off”, I say those phrases A LOT.

I will go into lengthy explanations and sometimes I see their eyes glaze over and know that I’ve “lost” them but it’s almost like I have no clue on how to make it simple and easy.

Am I the only one who speaks in “adult” sentences when speaking to their children?

And how many more “quotation” marks can I use in a post?

At least I took a breather on  the “exclamations”, I know I tend to use an over abundance of those little bats and balls (at least that is what Alex thinks they are!!!!!!!!!