About Widow

Large Handbag Collector. Obscenely Expensive Shoe & Handbag Lover. Blonde. Redhead. Brunette. Breastfeeder. Pug-fox terrier belly scratcher. Drunken Break Dancer. Bartender of the stars. Semi Conscious Writer. Earth loving. Tori Amos Listening. Loud Mouth. Chef Loving Lady...

Inspired by OhMommy over at Classy Chaos, I have decided to start my own 365 Project. My camera is a piece but I am going to take a picture of my minis every day for the next year. Here are the first two:

1

2

363 more to go…

Prologue

Introduction

Plot

Epilogue

Sometimes the simplest moments can change your life.  Tonight I watched my children play in the rain.  They had not a care in the world except to see how many puddles they could jump in. The adults watched in awe. How simple life can be for the young.  If we only took 5 minutes of our day to play in the rain and let go of all of it, I think the world could be a better place.  As I watched them dance and yell and run I was brought back in time for only a moment.  I was 7 yrs old again and I was jumping in the creek behind our house.  My brother was catching water crickets and the raindrops started getting bigger and bigger.  We ran up to our house sliding through the mud, dancing the entire way.  I was alive then and my children gave me that moment all over again as I watched their tiny bodies get soaked, and listened as their laughs got larger and louder.

I am strangely sad over the news of Michael Jackson’s death.  I heard the news via Twitter before it was actually confirmed and knew it was true.  My heart hurt for a moment.  It was so weird. I felt like I lost someone who I had been close with my entire life.  I was though.  Close with him.   As were you.  We all were.  How could we not be.  His life was a real life Truman Show.  He grew up on film.  He lived on a film.  He died on film.

I think that my heart hurt because Michael Jackson never stood a chance.  I know he was odd.  He dyed his face for chrissake.  Something must have happened in your past to physically alter your skin color. Besides the point. From that moment his mean daddy put him on that stage, his life had ended.  A shell of a man was born.  A man who we will never know the intricacies of.  We will never know if he was as fucked up as he seemed.  But we shouldn’t know.  He is not our brother.  He was not our friend.  Even though we were told  he was by the media’s our obsession with his life from child to man.

I am sad for his family.  I am sad that my kids will never see his concert live like I did.  But that sadness only lasts a moment, for as I turn on the soundtrack of my childhood and dance with my own children, the sadness fades.  Michael Jackson taught us that music can do that. It can make the hard times a little bit easier simply by dancing to the music.

Louisiana shocked me yesterday when she started Moonwalking during our MJ Tribute Dance Party

Catcher has some serious moves. Thinking of selling him to Michael Flately.

By these cherubs.  What do we think my little Louisiana could possibly be thinking at that very second?

My Heart

I am a nervous wreck right now.  Tomorrow I go to work.  Tomorrow I leave my children with a girl named Sam.  She’s a nice girl.  She’s everything I wasn’t in college.  A student.  A cheerleader.  A sorority girl.  She is smart and thoughtful and played with my children as though she’d known them for years.

I’m a mess.  I have cleaned my house from top to bottom today in nervous anticipation of what a college girl will think of my home.  I have hugged, squeezed, and practically made out with my children today.  Each second.  Of every minute.  

I am drinking wine now.  And I am reflecting.  I am making myself  guilty with each sip.  I made a choice when I found out I was having the boy.  And I stuck with it.  I chose to stay home.  I chose to be his mother.  I nurtured him.  I watched him grow.  I influenced him.  I taught him words.  I love you.  Mommy you’re my best friend.  We lived our lives together and created new lives each day.  And then she came along.  My girl, my biggie, my blue eyed love.  The choice was still mine.  I would be with them both.  I would breathe each breath alongside theirs and I would have no regrets.  I would stand by their sides each day, every day.  I never liked working that much anyways.

And then I realized that I was working.  Everyday.  While they were at home.  While they were awake.  The TV became my go to.  And I realized it wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair to what I had promised them as their mother with my choice to stay home.  But I couldn’t change it.  The chef needed more and more help and my writing become somewhat of a reality. Something had to change.

I had to physically go to work.

Tomorrow I go to work.  I become a part of my husband’s dream.  And I will cry.  Hell, I am crying right now.  I will cry for him.  I will cry for them.  Shit I will cry for myself.

I am scared shitless and I feel like backing out.  But I can’t.  I made a choice to stay at home with them.  And this will enable me to.  Going to work part time at our family’s restaurant will allow me to devote all of my time (not at work) to my children.  My babies.  My life.  My loves.

The cold black thing in my chest has melted….

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