Ordinary (five minute prompt)

Ordinary (Five minute prompt from Lisa Jo Baker)

A red radio flyer tricycle, plastic, not metal like those from my childhood.

A small girl, dark bob flying behind her

Shoulders hunched, legs circling wildly, laughter flowing

Hands grasping handles and holding tightly,

Wheel moving haphazardly, carelessly

Occasionally raising her legs into the air, screaming with laughter

At her wild and adventurous ways

“That is so cute.” an older man says one day

And smiles.  I am sure he is remembering days with his own young children.

An ordinary tricycle made extraordinary by a raven haired four year old

No inhibitions.  No pretentions.  

No knowledge of flaws or of an audience watching her.

Captivated by her free spirit and lack of concern for others impressions of her.

A cherry red tricycle, symbol of childhood and a growing girl.

One who can make an ordinary object become extraordinary.

Belong (five minute post)

Belong

Chubby fists, not quite a toddler, yet not quite big girl.  Still small enough to hold.  She turns my face to hers and whispers in my ear, “I belong with you.  You belong with me in my sweet heart.”  She nuzzles her button nose into my cheek and says, “Now say it to me, mom.”  And so, I do.  “I belong with you. You belong with me.  In my sweet heart.”  Her sweet innocence is one of her greatest qualities.  My round faced, raven haired, sweetheart.  She is a riddle and an open book.  You will know when she is angry, but still more when she is happy.  

She is young and innocent and wants to sing this song most nights and asks for it continuously in the car.  And she sings it in her own words, not the correct words, but her own words.  Which makes it all the better.  Because I know I will never regret whispering a sweet song to my Brooke and I won’t regret taking the time to let her whisper it to me.  Her little girl arms hugging my neck and spreading happiness and love to anyone who will accept it.  

Broken (five minute prompt)

Broken

I use a faded, holey, torn and well worn patchwork quilt to sleep with each night.  Ever since June 15sh, 2002, when Blake and I got married.  My best friend since 4th grade’s parents gave it to us for a wedding gift.  It is blue and white with stars throughout.  It is no longer my style, but I can’t seem to let it go.  It hardly covers, definitely doesn’t warm.  In the winter, I have to use two blankets, my holey patchwork and another less important blanket.  

I have never had a blanket attachment.  My sister did and I never could understand it, but I can now.  My mother in law tried to convince me to get rid of it when she came to visit and saw it’s condition, but I stood up for myself and for the broken blanket.  I couldn’t let it go.  It was the smell, the feel, the worn blanket I had slept with for 11 years.  I had grown accustomed to it.  Then my husband tried to convince me to get rid of it.  “Every time you move, it rips.  I wake up at night to a ripping blanket.”  But I still can’t do it.  It’s my security blanket, if you will.  

Now, Hailey has grown attached to it as well.  I was going through things in her room and found a piece of the patchwork.  I was bout to throw it in the garbage, when she grabbed it and said she slept with it at night.  I will hang on to this blanket until there is nothing left to it.  It will shrivel and shrink to a size that might not even be useable anymore, but I am using it and that is all the matters.

Write (5 minute Friday)

This is my prompt from Lisa Jo Baker.  Write.

Write

Writing makes me a person.  My world is constantly constant, meaning I have four small children and one great husband, but I am a very needed person.  I am rushing and running and doing and cleaning and washing, like so many others out there.  I am frazzled, exhausted, frustrated, happy, excited, and so many more emotions.  

But when I am writing, I am an idea or a thought.  I have duties beyond the day to day.  I have  duty to share what I think and feel.  I have a still mind, spewing out words quicker than I can write them.  My mind clears and I understand myself.  My emotions are allowed to come out without consequence, without stopping.  I am not cluttered.  I asked a friend what he thought of my writing and he said, “You seem still.”  

I have been writing for years, since college and before that.  It has always been a place of tranquility and peace for me.  A place to commune with myself and with my Heavenly Father.  A place where I can say what I need to, without judgment, without anger, without retribution.  It is a safe and happy place.  It is a peaceful place.  One I enjoy going to.

Lonely (take 2)

Lonely (take 2)

I originally wrote my five minute prompt on “lonely” here, but when I got to the end, I realized that I had found my truly loneliest time in life, so going to write that now.  Although, it is hard to write about this!  So many emotions and feelings and really, a very sad, yet growing time in life for me.  I have always wanted to write about it, but am overwhelmed with it all. This post might make Blake look like a bum, but he was so great and very involved and this was all part of my growing experience. Here we go.

Waiting in a hospital room with my new baby, William, happy and healthy and a wonderful blessing.  Blake is nearby, resting, but who can rest with a new baby to love?  

I look out the window, a rainy gray day in Iowa.  I don’t even know where I am really.  I have only lived in Iowa for two weeks.  We went to the wrong hospital for the delivery! I couldn't find my way home if I tried. Yet, we found our way and here we are.  

No regular traditions this time.  No grandparents with a birthday cake for the new baby.  No friends to come meet him.  Texting and calling just isn't the same.  No In N Out, a tradition we started in Las Vegas, when I was so starving after delivering that I could eat a whole meal AND the chocolate shake. Nobody to share this new spirit with.

The rain is sad.  The moment is a bit tainted by loneliness and I cry.  I usually cry because of the joy of the baby, the fear of the baby, the excitement and feeling of success!  But this time, it is a pitiful cry of loneliness and wondering, how am I going to do this?  How am I so alone in the stark, sterile hospital.  

Yet, I know I am not alone.  I have never felt so carried in my life.  Never have I felt the presence of Heavenly Father guiding me so much, carrying me, guarding me.  I am lifted and honestly carried.  Given the strength to do this hard thing.  And knowing, but not knowing that I am doing this.  I am doing a very scary thing for me.  But I am not doing it alone.  Without my God, I would surely be alone.

And this is my lesson, I am supposed to feel this loneliness so I will know that I am not alone. I have never felt true loneliness, because I have always had my Heavenly Father to help me.  And He, who created my spirit, knows me perfectly and knows just how to calm me and help me to grow.  Growth, a painful state, but necessary to reach full potential.  And I am grateful for that time, because without it, I wouldn’t know my own strength or the strength of my God.

Story (5 minute prompt)

Story

story

My first story and one I love the most is one of

friendship, shared by two young girls

in the depths of fear, in the depths of trust.

A short story, around 100 pages

yet, so much information fills those pages.

Reread so many times and opened a door for me,

A door that could not be closed.

Learning about the Holocaust and first feeling:

How could something like this happen?

Then feeling:

The triumph of the human spirit.

The saviors, the rescuers, the risk takers

And the believers.  

Those who helped out of love, not out of glory.

Those who helped because they knew it was the

right thing.  Then I wonder: What would I do?

Would I help or ignore or pretend?

Would I put my safety on the line knowing,

Knowing that my life could be at stake

Knowing that my family’s life could be at stake.

Knowing that this story must continue to be shared.

To avoid repetition.  To avoid closed minds.  

To share it with my 8 year old daughter, but thinking

I don’t want this ugly world to taint her mind.

But knowing that sometimes ugly things have to be told

To help the world to heal, to help the soul to rise up.

To teach my children to think:

What would I do? Would I help or hide?

And what kind of legacy will I leave?

Number the Stars by Lois Lowry

Lonely (five minute prompt)

Lonely

Lonely is standing alone in 7th grade because your two friends are gone from school.  7th grade was a lonely year.

Lonely is a heartless 2nd grade boy (who will remain nameless) reading aloud a love letter you wrote him for Valentine’s Day to the whole class.

Lonely is finding out that the boy  you really liked asked a different girl to a school dance.  And because he is your friend, he gives you a picture of him and the girl at the dance.

Lonely is being completely surrounded by upset children.  You are never alone, yet you feel very alone sometimes.

Lonely is hearing about a party that your kids weren’t invited to but everyone else was.

Lonely is showing up at a playgroup in a new area, but nobody knows you, so nobody talks to you.

Lonely is looking out at the rain of the hospital window with your newborn baby, 24 hours away from any family.  And knowing that nobody will be coming to see the new baby at the hospital.

Lonely is recognizing who you are and what you are about.  That you are a strong and independent person.  That you realize that you don’t need anyone else’s approval or other people to hold you up.  Lonely teaches you that you will never make those same mistakes that have made to make you feel so alone.  Lonely equals strength.