Monday Night Lights.

I just prayed with my children.

I've never done that before, openly talked to a being with my little ones. 

We're not a God house in the traditional, Christian sense of the word, and so we prayed to Love. 

I asked Love to help us listen to each other, to help us be patient. 

I cried a little bit, and then Osi said, "Why we doin' this?" and I laughed so hard I thought I might pee. 

And then they laughed, a little at first, and then the bed was shaking, all three of us just lost in the ease of each other.


A friend asked me the other night if my life was "as amazingly blessed as it seems to be".  

I started to mentally list the tiny little things that make it feel not quite as perfectly amazing as it could be and then thought, "Why, yes.  Yes it is."

My actual response to her was this: "Things really are blessed and wonderful around here. Anything that doesn't feel that way is typically because I'm being a selfish asshole."


I was at a meeting the other night and the guy who was up there, bravely baring his insides to a room full of strangers, said something like, "The only time I know I'm really going the right way is when I'm doing for others." 

I was turned off a bit.  I mean, how can he possibly get what he needs out of life if he isn't thinking about himself, protecting himself?  

I didn't get it. 

And then I thought, "Oh, shit." 


I've said before that my children are the greatest, most loving, most consistent teachers I've ever had.  They are totally present in themselves, busily writing lesson plans for their Mama: How To Be Present; How To Manage Time; How to Slow Down. 

I thank them for their teachings constantly, and ask for patience as I learn. 

As I drove home from that meeting, I started thinking about Osiah.  I've never met a better teacher than my jovial, spirited, boisterous boy.  

I started thinking about what it might feel like for him to constantly have his big-ness sanded down, shaped into something more smooth, less edges.

I started thinking that I know what it feels like to have one's big-ness sanded down .

I started thinking that really, probably - definitely  - the struggles we've had are due to me looking out for my needs before his.  That even though my Mama Self would clearly walk in front of a bus for him, my Woman Self is terrified of getting lost again, of getting shoved under the bus.

I started thinking, "What if I can just give myself completely to him, in each moment?  Say yes more?  Take the time to really explain things?  Remind him over and over that he's exactly the boy I dreamed of?" 

And I started thinking that maybe Love was in that room, talking through that brave man, right at me.