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My Box of 8

A year and a half ago writing to me meant I was writing a report.  Sentences were a string of words put together with a subject and a predicate.  Writing was done simply to communicate.   My box of crayons was nothing but a box of 8.  Black, gray and white got the most use.

Then I started blogging (thank you Shirley).  Through link ups, twitter, getting to know other bloggers, writing for and with other blogger my writing started to change.  Writing was no longer to just communicate information.  It became about painting a picture.  I started to pick up a color or two here and there to add to my box.

I read, I watched, I learned and I started to push myself out of my comfort zone.  I started to write from places in my heart that had not been tuned into in too long.  I began to write about parts of my life and memories that hurt.  I began to heal.  Suddenly by box of colors began to overflow.  Each color gathered from giving a piece of myself to my writing,  healing parts of my heart that had been in pain or from crafting my voice.

New friends came into my life and suddenly my collection changed.  Each amazing person I meet and friend I made brought with them a color to share with me.  These are the most unique, dazzling and radiant colors of all.

Today I am a box of 8 overflowing with colors laying all over the desk.  Some of the crayons I have earned.  Some of them I have collected.  Some have been left as gifts.

As I sprinkle, color, and paint my words with these colors each time I write, I have a desk of crayons that I could not even have begun to imagine I’d ever possess.  Radiant colors, the ones that dazzle, primary colors are solid and reliable, earth tones that depth and layers and my black, white and gray create foundation and strength.  And what a collection it is!

What kind of box of crayons are you?

This piece was inspired by Kirsten from The Kir Corner:                                                                   Her space is one of my most favorite spaces to visit.  I visit frequently.  Her ability to weave and knit words together not only leave me amazed at her infinite talent but on more then one occasion have left me absolutely

Last week Kirsten at The Kir Corner wrote a post titled: I’m Every Color.  She shared a piece of an email a friend had written to her.inspired!  And if you are lucky enough to have her visit your space you are sue to be the recipient of the most amazingly sweet and touching comments.

“I think of people as boxes of crayons. Most men/women  are a box of 8, 16 if they are lucky.  They couldn’t possibly conceive of ideas drawn by someone with a box with more crayons – they don’t have the palette.  I’m lucky – I may be a box of 64 with the built-in sharpener, but I married a designer.  He’s at least a box of 32! 

You, my beautiful girl, are a limited edition box of 128 with the built in drawing table and collectors case.  You can’t conceive of others not being able to understand what you see.“

It was Kirsten’s awww and disbelief of her own box of crayons and the realization she came to at the end of her post that inspired this. I hope that it might inspire you to share what box of crayons you are too!

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I Listened

I sat on the floor, my legs crossed indian style.  My thoughts weighed on me and heart ached.  An unfamiliar inner voice whispered to me.  It nagged at me.  It spoke to me in a dream.

“Don’t you love me?” it spoke.

I twisted the solitare diamond ring on my left finger as I stared at the floor.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  The air in my chest held me up and fueled my courage.    I looked up at him from the floor.

“I can’t marry you,” I said as the breath that held my courage left me.

My heart was crushed.  What had I done?  Was I crazy to listen to the whisper?

Days of crying,  unable to comprehend what would happen next and what life would be like now led to sessions with a therapist.   Sitting in our chairs we talked.  Her presence comforted me.   Patient in her methods she questioned and spoke.  In time I healed and a new me was discovered.  I discovered I was strong.  I was resiliant.  I was an amazing person.  I deserved more.  I was more.  I had more to give and so much more to be.  Most of all I discovered that I had learned to listen to the inner me.

The dream that I had was not just any dream.  It was an introduction.  The inner voice that had been so unfamiliar had finally introduced itself to me.   It was that moment I discovered my inner voice.  A wise and loving voice who revealed herself exactly when she needed to be found.  It was that day, the day I listened,  the day I made one of the hardest decisions of my life that my life, my path and I were changed.

 

 

 

 

Today I am linking up with the beautiful group of woman at JustBeEnough.  There is no other group of woman I would feel brave enough to share this story of: A Path Not Taken 

 

 

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Does She Know?

The girls splashed and played in the spray of the waterspouts springing up around them.  Their giggles filled the air as streams of water surprised them from the ground.  As I watched them play.  The fun and joy they experiencing made me smile.  “This was a good idea,” I thought.

A little boy in a white with blue and green Hawaiian flower decorated board shorts caught my eye.   He stood in the center of the spray park mesmorized by the spray of the yellow fountains spout.  “That’s cute,” I thought.  Minutes passed and he caught my eye again.  Still standing in the same spot.  Still staring.  A nagging voice in my head whispers, “That’s and awfully long time to watch a fountain.”  I scan the park wondering who his mom was, simply wanting to connect parent with child.  My girls run to me still giggling in happiness and looking for snacks to reenergize them.

Time passes and the same crew cut little boy continues to grab my attention.  He moves from standing and watching to playing in and interacting with the water.  He giggles in excitement as the water splashes him.  The touch of the cool water causes him to sqweel at the sky and express his happiness shaking his hands, jumping and smiling to himself. My mind pauses and I have to snap myself out of a long stare.

“What is it about this little boy?” I ask myself.

“He has Autism,” the nagging voice whispers.

I scan the spray park for the mom again.  I find her.  Beautiful in her black bathing suit and brunette hair pulled back into the perfect ponytail.

“Does she know?”

“Am I right?”

“Does she know?”

A lump grows in my throat.

“Does she know?”

Does she know she is not alone? Does she know there are supportive, caring, wonderful supports and groups out there to embrace her and let her know she is not alone?

As my mind races an other thought pops in my head…

Shit! Sunday Stilwell needs a business card!

I can not remember the first time I “met”  Sunday.  When I think back to the first moment, the very first moment, it isn’t a moment I can recall.  It is an emotion.  Sunday is this amazing force.  She is a woman full of sass, humor, passion and an effortless ability to pull you into her community,  fuel your with a desire to be a part of it and make you want to give back.  Sunday makes me want to be a part of something, use my knowledge and skills to reach out and empower others.

While the warmth of the memories I have of Sunday make me smile, tears begin to stream down my cheeks.  I can not help but wonder.  Do you know the extent of your impact? Do you know the effect of your embrace? Others know they are no longer alone.  Others know they have a place to share without fear of judgement or shame.  Do you know you inspire us?  You inspire us to reach out and help others.  To be there, hold each other up and get through the tough together.  Do you know you make us laugh?  Life is serious enough.  Having a disability is serious enough, but beyond the disability are gifts that enrich our lives, teach us things and amaze us with their awe.  Did you know you have shown us how to unwrap it all?  Wrapped up in all of this is the fun life gives us!

Thank  you Sunday!

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It

It has been too long since I have been back to this space.  The space that first supported me unconditionally.  The space that I met and made friendships I never imagined I would cherish so much.  The space that allowed me to trust and open up.  The space that showed me what a true community can mean to a woman.  The space that helped me find my voice (even though Elena would respond psshhhaw… I like to remind her frequently and the others there of their impact on my life).  Today I am linking up with Just Be Enough.

The prompt this week was: What Do You Secretly Like About Yourself

.  .  .  .  .

It carried me through a painful time of loss.

It encouraged avoiding the pain and heartache I should deal with.

It gets things done.

It steels time, frustrates others and causes tunnel vision.

It gives me the confidence to the confidence to see the finish line and charge after it.

It leaves others unprepared for the pace it will be reached.

It shows my girls that anything in life can be accomplished.

It is the core of my strength.  It is why I am survivor.  It is my drive. It makes me fierce. It gets things done.  It is an amazing quality that I cherish.  It was there when I didn’t know what it was called.  It was there before I knew its true strength.  It is a quality I hope my daughters develop.

Diligent

Stubborn

Cohesive

Not easily discouraged

Strong

Obstinate

Tough

Spunky

Tough

Determined

Purposeful

True

I secretly most proud of and deeply cherish the good and the bad, the gifts and the weaknesses of my tenacity.

 

 

 

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We’ll Miss You Long Island

I look into her eyes.  My forehead wrinkles as my lips frown and then begin to quiver.  Tears begin to slowly flow down my cheeks.  In an instant my going to miss you tears change to a stream of wildly flowing tears and my quivering lip changes to full on balling.  The whirl wind three days we spent with my husband’s sister and her family had made unforgettable memories…

our girls very first trip to the ocean

a trip to Time Square

our girls conquering their fears and both taking their first jumps of a diving board and conjuring more courage and blowing our minds as they then took turns going down the slide

These Long Island memories are just the highlights of the memories that rush through my head as my heart is flooded with emotions fueling my tears.

Not only is she a fantastic sister-in-law, she is full of wit, sass, a contagious zest for life, a infinitely generous heart, is loving and has a smile and a sparkle in her eye that lights a room… she is amazing.  She is a part of our life that distance steals from us.  We are going to miss her deeply.  I take one final squeeze before we release each other from our embrace.  I take a deep breath and try to wipe away the flow of tears long enough to say good-bye.  I walk to the car with my family.  I get in and as we wait for our girls to buckle their seatbelts I look at my husband and smile.  I wrap my arms around him and we both start to cry.  No matter how much I will miss her the heartache of having a sister that lives 1000 miles away is crushing and leaves a hole that no amount of phone calls, emails or texts can fill.

“I’m really going to miss her,” he muffles from inside our hug.

“Me too.”

 

 

 

 

 

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You’re Right

An hour into our 1000 mile road trip east, my husband is finally at ease on the road.  While the girls are busy playing with their surprises (a tradition of a new toy waiting for them on their car seats on the day of  a long trip) my husband and I start to chat and catch up.  We talk about all the things that I packed, him quizzing me from his personal list in his head.  Like it would make a difference if something were missing at this point in the trip.   We share the events of the week.  His work related, mine about the girls and getting ready for the trip.  We talk about what lies ahead on our trip.  The conversation changes to a discussion as we run out of things to tell each other about our weeks.

“You know sometimes I wish you would admit that I am right and just let me have that!” he grumpily ends the discussion.

I look at him, smile kindly and say, “You’re right.”

I open my book and begin to read.

The jets soar.  Each passing one leaves the girls covering their ears and our stomachs shaking from their powerful jet engines.  Biplanes zig, zag, twist and turn performing maneuvers that take your breath away and make you giggle in awed delight.  The Thunderbirds make their last fly by, telling us that the air show has come to an end.  We leave the grounds smiling and sharing with each other our favorite part of the show.

“You know what I’d love to do next year?”

“What?” my husband asks.

“Next year we should pack sandwiches and put together a cooler.  You know, bring an umbrella and a blanket.  Have a picnic and watch the planes! I really loved watching the planes.” I say hoping he will be pleased with my embrace of an activity he is so passionate about.

“Oh, I don’t knowwwwwwww.  I really just like the Thunderbirds.”

“It would be fu-un. Sandwiches, drinks, blanket with a big umbrella.  We could sit, eat and enjoy the air show.  I really loved watching the biplanes,” I respond to his whiny tone with the passion of a used car salesman trying to make a sale and give him the smile of a wife who is trying to get something.

“I don’t know.  It is so hot.  All we do is sweat.  It would be like 90 degrees, like today.  I really don’t think being here longer would be any fun.”

Like a child who’s discovered their favorite toy has been broken I lower my head and frown.

“You’re right,” I sweetly reply.

“How come every time you say that lately I get the feeling you really mean  ‘Whatever… you don’t know!’ or ‘OK dumbass’?” he inquires.

Looking over my shoulder from my spot in front of him I smile and say with a shoulder shrug, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

{WINK}

 

 

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Karma+

My head is swimming with ideas.  The words I need to start escape me and are surrounded and distracted by all the things I want to say.  My stomach flutters with anticipation and excitement.  I worry that others will lose their way getting here and my words will go unread.  My heart is pumped by sheer giddiness.  I can barely contain my excitement to share this space.

…and then tears begin to stream down my cheeks.

I had no idea when I started blogging almost two years ago that I would ever have a space like this.  I couldn’t have begun to  fathom the confidence I would have in my own voice, let alone think that I would have found something so very wonderful deep inside of me. I don’t even know where to begin.  Should I thank Shirley for her crazy idea to start blogging?  Should I thank the amazing ladies at JustBeEnough for showing me patience, unconditional love and unwavering support?  Should I thank those of you who so gently nudged me and then held my hand as I made the switch to WordPress?  Or should I thank all the followers, tweets and blogging friends that followed me on my adventures at Kindred Adventures?   As I contemplate how to welcome you all to this new space of mine I am overwhelmed (and still crying) by a enormous weight of gratitude.

I am grateful for being blow away by the woman I meet and the unselfish kindess they show.  I am grateful for all the questions they tirelessly answer, for helping with problems and for the kind words they give without ever expecting anything in return.   My heart is filled with warmth everyday and it continuously leaves me overwhelmed.  This world we share, this blogging world, is a place we share our words and let others peek inside our hearts is more wonderful then even I could have imagined.

So as I enter into this newest adventure I am proposing a revolution…

a Karmic Revolution!

A revolution that ensures others in our blogging and twitter world know the meaning of their action and are recognized for the gifts they give to us.

Today it starts…

Give the hashtag #KarmaPlus or @Karma_Plus to others

and

Let them know their impact on you!

 I can not think of a better way to christen this blog then

to tell others what their words and actions mean to us!

 

 

 

 

 

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Road Trip: Wednesday’s Woman

Today I was asked by the beautiful 
Kimberly over at *Sperk to guest post for her 

I am speechless (that’s hard to do) and 
in awww of being asked to be there.  

So come on and take a trip and 
visit with me over at Kimberly’s space!


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I Sit. I Smile. I Draw.

Olivia sat at the kitchen table.  Her six-year-old hand held a pink Crayola marker.  The marker moved across the paper.  Its strokes brought her imagination to life.  I spied a smile as it curled on her cheek.  

“What are you doing?” I asked her from the living room.
“Nothing mommy,” she teased.
I walked over to her with my own smile.  My index finger poked her just under her ribs, sure to get a giggle.
“Nothing Mommy, nothing Mommy, nothing Mommy,” I mocked. “Seriously, what are you doing?”
“I’m making a Draw Some for you Mommy!” she giggled with a glow of pride.
“Aren’t you a clever girl!”? I replied with giddy surprise.
“You clever, clever girl!!  I know what we can do!” I said with excitement.  “How about I draw a Draw Some everyday and leave it for you.  Then in the morning you can solve it with Grandpa?!” I said with raised eyebrows and a smile looking for agreement. 
“Yes…Yes Mommy!!!!” Olivia answered with joy.
“Me too Mommy!  Me too!!” Francine shouted, sure to not be forgotten. 
“Of course you too silly!  It will be fun.  We will do it until the end of the school year.  It will help us not miss each other too much!” I reply.
So as the days leading up to the end of the school year bring out our annual count down calendar, excited anticipation and potent reminders of how much we miss each other while I am at work…
Each morning
I sit.
I smile.
I draw….

One for each of them to guess.   

One for each for them to think of me while I am at work.  

…and when I get home from work I find drawings left for me.  

One from each of them.  

Each of them drawn as they think of me.

Our very own version of Draw Some.
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Stasha and Her Perspective

I first met Stasha (www.northwestmommy.com) through Listicles.  You see Stasha is the mother of Listicles.  Every Monday bloggers flock to her blog.  They laugh, they have fun, they joke, they share their lists that applies to that weeks theme and it is an absolute blast!  There is something about writing a list, something about joining Stasha and her Listiclers at that space that makes writing fun!


Even with all that fun, it wasn’t until I joined Instagram that I really got to know her…. I had just started out on Instagram.  I followed Stasha’s photos and was amazed by their beauty and Stasha’s ability to capture it with her camera.  Instagram was my first step toward sharing more of the real me.  I wanted to share the real me with more of my twitter and blogging friends but quite frankly I was terrified (long story, irrational, ask Shirley about it, she’ll roll her eyes, shrug her shoulders and sigh… its a long story.  I’m working at it).  I hit the green approved button allowing Stasha to follow me on Instagram.  I was actually giddy with excitement that Stasha the photography goddess (oh, is that only in my mind?!)wanted to follow my pictures.  Still I was terrified.

I rushed to twitter to DM her. I spewed to her my typical ramble,  these pictures are the real me but I am fiercely protective of my anonymity on Twitter and with blogging.  I hope you understand.  Then Stasha did what she does best…. she graciously listened, she was infinitely kind, she shared and she gave me perspective…

Perspective that bridged fear and lead to trust


Perspective that brought whimsy to the ordinary


Perspective that brought me depth


Perspective that gave me strength


Perspective that allowed me to share the real me


Perspective that had more layers then she knew…
My stomach continued to churn and I took several deep breaths. Sharing with this new friend was a huge deal to me.  After several DM’s continuing to explain my concern she simply responded, “I would hope that you would show me, my family and my pictures the same respect I show you.” That moment I learned lesson 1,256 about people I have met through social media… They have so much to teach me.

Stasha taught me. 

 

 

Stashataught me an unexpected and deeply meaningful lesson in perspective.  I am more thankful then she will know for the perspective and trust in others she has shared with me!







I just simply could not talk about Stasha with out sharing with all of you my slight huge crush infatuation for her handsome Newfie Max… 

Ok I swoon for him! 

All photos were used with Stasha’s permission.  
To see more of her work visit her at…

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Whenever…If Ever

Our two-person table was right next to the window.  Exactly the same table we sat at last time we were here.  A purple t-shirt hung framed on the wall above us.  Printed on us was “Help Clare Fight Prostate Cancer 2012”.  A waitress walked by us wearing purple tie-dyed, knee high, athletic socks and the same purple t-shirt.  The Cubs game played on televisions as gray haired regulars around us ordered their weekly fried fish. 
I waited all month day to see her.  Finally we were sitting down at our favorite dive restaurant for our sister’s night.  Drinks were ordered.  We just needed to decide on what to eat. 
I needed to decide if I was going to ask her.
“What do you have a taste for?” she asked.
“I have to have the Southwest Egg rolls. I’ve had a taste for them all week!” I smiled.
“Ok,” she replies. “I think I’ll have the nachos then.”
“OOOOOO that sounds great!  That means we can share.”
We talked and talked.  We had so much to catch up on.  We talked about her job, my kids, my job, friends and life in general.  No matter how long it has been we never seem to miss a beat. 
I had waited so long to ask.
Throughout my sisters 7 year marriage I had never asked her.  The miscarriages I had before we had children left me fully aware of the pain that comes with wanting children and not being able to have them.  The scar it left on my heart and the emotional memories it engrained in me were reminders of what not to ask or say. 
I waited for the right moment. 
Seven years of memories and moments, time spent together, carefully listening for hints of what I wanted to hear and I was still left me needing to know.  I wanted to be respectful of her journey.  I needed to know if she was suffering or if her heart was in pain. 
It was now or never. 
I took a deep breath and hoped my words came out the right way.
“I have never asked because I am sure that you get asked a lot.  I just want to see how you are doing.  So, Are you and Brad thinking of having kids?” I hoped that my words were sensitive and not too direct.
She smiled at me and looked down. 
She took a breath and looked at me with a forced smile, “We are trying but it hasn’t been long enough to be worried or get help.” 
“Oh,” I replied. 
“I hope you don’t mind that I asked.” 
She politely smiled and said, “No its ok.”
I sat and listened as she shared with me.  My eyes focused on just her.  I didn’t want to miss any of her words and needed to connect with how she was feeling.  My heart became heavy and suddenly I was overwhelmed with sadness.  I felt the tears start to well in my eyes.  I kept listening.
In between the Southwest Egg Rolls I savored, laughing until I cried, drinks, long talks and hours of fun spent with my sister I had asked the question.  I asked a question I was afraid to ask and in return I realized something.  I didn’t really want to know the answer to my question (ok, I wanted to know a little bit).  I desperately wanted her to know, to remind her, that I was here for her for anything, whenever and if ever she needed me.

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