Rambling and Mothering Day

So, I have stuff I ought to be doing--scrapbooking, making tags, cuddling my baby, sleeping--and yet, here I am drawn inexplicably back to this window, trying perhaps to reconnect with the world outside that hasnt heard much from me for a bit. Its hard to get back in the groove of writing. To think my own thoughts about random things and feel okay about using my time to collect them in a little basket and set them down here for all to see.

Yes, its like getting sea legs or riding a bicycle. A bit rusty, a little squeaky and perhaps irritatingly slow to those who breeze past. But since there is no quick solution for this except to drum on and ploddingly write drivel and nonsense until my senses return to me, i type on. Stream of conciousnesss writing is never a pretty sight and I am guessing that I have no readers here anymore anyway so it matters very little how boring this must be to read. Because as I type on, I can feel my fingers quicken and my sense heighten. I can ignore the grumbing in my belly and the strains of Dora's theme song has faded into the background of my periphery sense. The thrum of the computer's fan drives my breath and I feel a bit exhilerated at having said nothing and yet accomplished a lot.

Today was a wonderful day. It was my Mother's Day. My lovey brought me home and a card with a beautiful pot of cyclamen flowers awaited me on the table. And more good news--he was accepted into the apprenticeship program at the college and so will get into the trade that he wanted (Electrical!) and it makes me so relieved that things are finally coming together. Dinner--baby back ribs, garlic mashed potatoes and garlic toast and a tall frosty glass of peach slushie--and quality alone time with my husband and suddenly I was ready to pick my children up fromtheir dayhome and plunge back into it all.