On Forgetting: Niagra Falls

Today I am linking up with The Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Fridays. Today's topic is:

On Forgetting

Got five minutes? Here’s a great way to spend them.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat without editing your voice.
2. Link back to the Gypsy Mama and invite others to join in.
3. Pony up the comment love for the five minuter who linked up before you.

GO.

 They give me the blank stare. I cannot convince them they DO remember that one time when....

And I dream that today will not be one of those times. I spun those very thoughts around in my mind when I pulled the billowing plastic rain coats over their heads and over their clothes. I was sharply aware that this dressing might slip their memories one day.

Will they remember that I grabbed the Middle Man by the wrist and charged him down the twisting path, across and over the foot bridge, and through the trees to the ticket booth, with Grandma huffing behind? She was clutching the Big Guy's wrist, as I breathlessly bought the very last tickets to the very last boat that day just minutes ahead.

Will they remember the way the birds dotted the shore and the rainbow bent in reverence in front of Niagra Falls? Will they remember the way our shoes were soaked past our socks, and the way that we arched backward to stare quietly at the cascading water? Will they remember the broken silence by happy screams, showering under heart dropping sprays from the plunging white throttles?

STOP.
Pictures from the day:

MY Cupcake Wars

Do you know I love the show Cupcake Wars? I DO. And I am about to have my own WAR. The vlog is in HD, so go ahead and pop it out full screen.



No really, it was true.This was my plate.

We sat with the mother of the bride, and I told her I believed Jesus fed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish. I assured her we had enough desserts.

Okay, so I shared the plate with three other people.

Next, we stalked the photo booth. Woo wee...this is my camera man, and my Dr. Romance.

 

Have I mentioned today is my birthday? And that Dr. Romance is the doctor of romance for a reason. Look what he surprised me with!!!! Cupcakes from the new Mad Batter Cupcake Cafe in town!!! They just opened a few weeks ago.

No Cupcake Wars here. And YES, I shared.

Deep Breaths

***

The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:

Write your heart out for 5 minutes flat.

Today’s topic is Deep Breaths.


GO.

I have been a swimmer nearly all my life. I have no fear of pools or the ocean. I was raised in San Diego, with a pool in my backyard and the ocean minutes away. My parents claim the YMCA taught me to dive for rings at 14 months in three feet of water. They even have pictures.

I drew deep breaths. The air filled my lungs. The deeper I inhaled, the deeper I swam, and the longer I swam. Swimming lengths underwater was a welcome challenge in my childhood.

As a newlywed I was a certified Advanced Diver. Plunging to depths of 120 feet I relied on my regulator, all the while drawing deep calming breaths.

This all should transfer to every day life. It does not. I just ate two cookies after I realized Blogger swallowed comments from yesterday's vlog. So, if you have less than two minutes, encourage me to take more deep breaths and eat less cookies.

STOP.

***I am really upset over the deletion of some of the comments on yesterday's vlog. One was from my sister, and she never comments. A few others were from close friends that live far away. Deep breaths. Less cookies. Enjoy my vlog from yesterday. Comment if you are so led.

Quick Bathroom Confession at the Prom

Maybe I Am Part Tulip Magnolia

Now I understand my parents' Spring bull sessions.

Every spring for as long as forever, my parents have the same talkathon. It never changes. My mom stands her ground that my dad has spent an obscene amount of money on flowers, plants, and trees. He has. She is right. She sees in black and white, the money woman, an accountant by trade. My father sees only color, and no numbers. They are quite the pair.

Once all the life is laid in the ground of their yard, a reverence falls over new flamboyant life. The talkathon ends.

This year I missed their San Diego talkathon. But I witnessed the earth wake up in Massachusetts. Many days I wondered when Spring was our turn.

I have been pruned, cut back. I lived a six month winter.

And then one day in May, I saw the earth wake up. It was my turn for Spring. It was my turn to see emerald green life shoot from muddy brown earth.

It was my turn to see petals dust where my feet pounded.

It was my turn to see God paint the corollas on the trees. And it is not beyond me to believe He painted them for me. Certainly it is not beyond Him.

I can vouch for the blooms of the tulip magnolia trees. They do not bloom before the tree is 20 to 30 years old. Just maybe I am part tulip magnolia. Pruned first to grow, and then to bloom.

The splendor of color surrounds me. The flowers are the refrain of His song. Winters are not forever. Seasons of slumber pass, though they weigh thick. And one day the earth wakes and it is as if winter never was.

Birth. Bloom. Beauty.






















Life lived loudly.

Bold. Brilliant. Blooms without hesitation.

I marvel that I am right here, right now.

Wife to my man. Mother to my three little men.

I am living.

I am breathing.

I am blooming.

I paint the Earth.

Motherhood Should Come With Matches

***

The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:

Write your heart out for 5 minutes flat.

Today’s topic is Motherhood Should Come With....



Write your heart out for five minutes flat.  

Go.

Motherhood should come with matches that ignite flames in your heart.

Some flames flicker like birthday candles, gently, side to side, with a sense of reverence. I know these flames when I hear my children learn to pray.

Some flames are lit like a beach bonfire, a warmth that beckons laughing and friendship. Those are the moments of night time tickles and sharing desserts and riding roller coasters together.

Some flames glow like the romance of an irresistible candlelight dinner. Those are the days that I held my sleeping newborns ever long, long after I could have laid them in their cribs.

Some flames of motherhood burn with a roar of a house fire, even if they are deep within my heart, held tightly inside the pit of my stomach by pursed lips. That fire is the roar in my heart when anyone comments on the "problem with boys" and overtly apologizes for my "situation" with THREE boys. Really, I could consume them like a fire rather than listen to their rambles. They do not understand how much I love my all boy world.

STOP.