I'll Look After You

The song by "The Fray" has been playing again and again in my head today. The line "you've begun to feel like home..." resonates in my heart and in my soul. Jody is moving to Chicago next week. I haven't cried until today. Today, I can't stop crying. I had a dream about lost friendship last night that has settled deeply into me today. I know it was just a dream, but the feeling it left behind is real. It is an empty, aching feeling, and all my girls are too far away today. Stacy is in Mexico, Jody is in Chicago, Andi is in New York. Sometimes I take my friends for granted, but I know that if I ever lost them, I would be lost. When they are away, my world is not right. Chris doesn't understand--and I don't expect him to. There is something between women that I don't think men necessarily share. I love my girls like I love no one else. I need them like I need no one else. It doesn't lessen or negate my love for my children, my husband, my family. It is a different kind of love. No one knows my soul like they do. No one understands my needs and my neuroses like they do.

I'm having surgery on Wednesday. It's not a major surgery, but I still have to have general anesthesia. My underlying and unspoken fear, however unfounded, is not waking up. What a sadness it would be to miss out on what life has left to offer. Stacy, Andi, and I often joke about outliving our husbands and moving to Boca Raton as old, sassy, crochety women together. We know that we'll bicker and fight and probably have too many cats, but we'll love each other with a ferocity that outweighs anything else. My dear friends, "you've begun to feel like home."

What (Not) Blogging Has Taught Me

I've blogged ten times since I began blogging. In the beginning, I had ambitions of blogging once a day. Ha! Here's what this experience has taught me: it's hard to write. The actual writing part isn't hard for me--it's the sitting down to write part that gets me every time. Once I'm here, I love to spew all my thoughts, ideas, and opinions. I think all the time about what I'd like to write. I just can't seem to get to my desk to do it. With four kids and all their activities, a husband who is working on his doctorate and who works all the time, a dog, two hamsters, a fish (named John), a house, never-ending laundry, and a part time job with full time hours, it seems that writing often ends up on the back burner. When the kids go to bed at 8:30, I have a choice to make. Should I start some laundry? Should I read a novel? Should I organize the paperwork that's taking over my kitchen? Should I read a book about improving my writing style? Should I scrapbook a few pages? Should I organize my scrapbooking area? Should I write some overdue thank you notes? Should I eat Oreos and watch mindless TV? Should I blog? Should I work on my own novel? Should I curl up in my bed and find some glorious shut eye? Too often, the Oreos and sleep win the debate. That's why I'm overweight and under-published. My life is not really suited to writing, but my soul needs to write like my body needs water. It's definitely a conundrum. I'd like to write about it more, but I need to go paint my daughter's newly refurbished vanity. And I need to hang her border. And I need to start some laundry...