Well-Timed Moments

So when your kids ask about your blog, you listen.

Your ears perk up. You blush with feigned humility. You feel special.

I mean, come on... if the kids think I must write, well then-
It is for the children, after all.



Yeah. I'll shut up already, but seriously, two out of three really did ask. With that in mind, we'll make this a test run and see if either one of them have any questions, comments, or otherwise. It should make a good story anyway.

We live in a house of somewhere around twelve hundred square feet. With one kid out of his teenage years (I need to update that blurb on my bio) and the other two kids well into the teenage life, it mostly feels like we are five adults sharing a sometimes very crowded space. Throw into the mix only one television (and antenna tv at that), and there are only so many places to hide when you would rather not face the world. So, when one is having a difficulty of sorts, we all know about it and we all share the pain. Last night when the pain for one became all too evident, a pow wow ensued with grievances aired, pep talks offered, and affirmations given. In the end, three kids celebrated their God-given sibling bond with a late night trip to the meeting place of all meeting places, Walmart.

And I have yet to figure out the allure of that.

At any rate, I found myself in my usual spot on the couch, book in hand, and settled in for the evening. The husband succumbed to the pull of online video gaming/you tube searching/mindless jump surfing and tuned out the world. The tv was off. The house quiet.

And Vince Gill began to sing.

I looked up from the glow of my nook book to see the husband looking at me. Granted, I had to put on my glasses to be certain he was looking my way, but when the blurriness adjusted to 20/20 vision, he had indeed pulled the jack on the headphones and motioned me to the dance floor, otherwise known as the living room floor rug.

While the kids walked the aisles of Walmart, the parents danced to bona fide country music. At one point I looked at my worn, pink fuzzy socks and chuckled at the sight we must have been to the cats who looked lazily on from their vantage point by the fire.

Now, twenty-four hours later, I sit in the same spot on the couch, the same worn, pink fuzzy socks on my feet, and the television on for a change. Before me is the husband, his back to me, an virtual mafia/swat team contest in the heat of battle capturing his attention. The Dick Van Dyke show has taken over what was a Wonder Woman movie and from time to time a kid wanders through the living room.

And all I'm thinking is,

Shouldn't you people be at Walmart?

I Think You Dreamed That

Look, I don't know what to tell you.

Maybe it's the season. You could blame it on homesickness.
Or the weather or the fact that I've been sick.

I know that last post said I was done. Finished. Signing off. Believe me, it was with every purest intention within me that I wrote those words. I knew what I was doing. No hesitation in the least.

And yet here I am.

I have absolutely no idea what I am doing.



There's nothing new under the sun, is there?

The End

I am officially bringing this blog to a close.

Thanks to all who have read and wondered and accepted. If my life were a book, it would have been over a long time ago. Save your bookmark for another story. There's always another one on the bookshelf.

Thanks again,
Angela