I planned a late evening of writing tonight. After the kids were in bed and Mark was home I would pour a glass of wine and really write until the words swirling in my head emptied out a bit.
Because I had grand plans, it is now well past bedtime and I am balancing my laptop aside a five year-old trying to sound of the word T-O-R-N-A-D-O that flashes in front of the word W-A-R-N-I-N-G on our television screen while my husband searches the iPad for a compromise between Batman and Barbie and I talk my teenager down from the disappointment that her soccer season is over. I can’t remember any of the words I had big plans for or what those plans even were. Maybe I will remember them tomorrow or maybe the next little thing will fall on top of the next big thing and roll away with my day once again and one of these days we will all talk about that night everyone stayed up really really late just in case a tornado came by our new house (but it didn’t touch our house because tornadoes don’t come to new houses).
Lucky for my brain, I was able to get a few words out earlier at Still Standing Magazine about talking children through their grief and also at Mamalode where they shared the piece that has always been closest to my heart on their brand new, shiny site.
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