Soon. Soon love will fill this corner of the bedroom.
The wee hours of the morning. That delicate span of time when either you’ve stayed up very late, or gotten up very early. My husband is the latter. He leans to kiss me in bed, my hour tousled unattractively against my pillow. I tell him I love him, words spoken through my lisp-inducing mouthpiece used to prevent nighttime teeth grinding. Baggy black sweats with holes in ever-increasing places sit across my hips, purchased when I was 10 weeks pregnant with my first baby. They’ve served me well. I wear a soft-because-it’s-old faded gray t-shirt, screen print of a sporting goods store cracked and disappearing on the front. It’s his. Just like this squirming life inside me.
I’m 36 weeks pregnant with our fifth child. Two are in heaven, …
“Thwack!!”
My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sound. Had something hit the window? A bird, maybe? No, not a bird. A mirror. The driver’s side mirror to be exact. It had popped loose from its frame and had swung by its wire up to the window, giving it a loud smack. Thump. Thump. Thump. It bounced off the door as I rattled down the washboard road. I could hear my oldest daughter’s voice, although she wasn’t in the truck with me yet. “Mom, someone needs to fix this road!” They sure did. But it still served its purpose. Busted, not broken. Unlike the mirror, which hung like a eyeball from a socket, unable to see. But it wasn’t the bumpy road that caused the mirror to come loose. It was a …
You’ve probably seen it circulating online. The love letter Brad Pitt supposedly wrote his wife, Angelina Jolie when they were on the brink of divorce. Scores of people (mostly women) have shared it on Facebook and Twitter, often with the comment, “This is so sweet!” Here’s a snippet of the letter, which can be found in its entirety here.
You won’t believe it, but she blossomed. She became even better than before. She gained weight, was no longer nervous and she loved me even more than ever. I had no clue that she CAN love that much. And then I realized one thing: The woman is the reflection of her man. If you love her to the point of madness, she will become it.
Okay, first of all, it’s a total load …
I see him as a whole, real person, with a whole, real family.
As I brought my car to a stop, pressing my foot down on the brake pad, I looked up to the opposite corner of the intersection, and my heart began to race. There stood what appeared to be a young man, in a flowing black cape with a hood over his head. My left turn signal indicator kept a steady rhythm while my mind raced with possibilities. What was he doing there? Promoting some local store? Just a pedestrian with a unique style? Something about his presence unnerved me, and I wasn’t immediately sure why.
With a swift motion, he began pacing back and forth, pivoting quickly to produce a Batman-like silhouette with his cape. Then, he crouched down and let the wind whip …
A grainy cell phone picture captured a piece of this memory.
My ears throb. My throat aches. My head swims. A sinus and ear infection has rendered momma weak. I flop onto the couch. Dressed in a t-shirt, my husband’s mesh shorts, and an oversize lavender fleece robe, I am a picture of motherly frump. I feel tired. And while my sweet husband cooks a hearty breakfast and brings me a hot cup of coffee (fixed just how I like it), I can’t help but pout a little. I have so much to get done this weekend. Laundry, oh, the laundry. And mopping and scrubbing and well, more laundry. And there are fun things, too, like a friend’s bachelorette party.
But right now, I just sit. Head leaned back into our soft, paisley-pattern couch, legs relaxed, arms …
Snapping the handmade afghan, a gift from our wedding, up in the air, bits of stale popcorn flew up like confetti. There were eight blankets spread on the living room floor, their smell a combination of dribbled milk, kettle corn, cracker crumbs, Labrador, house cat and…my family. Here is where we made our bed two nights ago. Here is where we hunkered down during a blizzard, the second in five days, only this time, the power didn’t stay on. The lights flickered, and then, just didn’t come back on. We’d all just settled down in the living room for a “popcorn picnic” and a movie. The four of us, ready to weather this storm together, but not before we enjoyed the luxuries of outlets that were alive. We were only several minutes into Chicken Little, when …