I was thrilled (particularly that Rib had approved the expenditure), and then proceeded to feel for the next three hours that I may vomit.
I'm a middle-aged woman with an embarrassment of riches.
In a way, though, I feel like a real life Clara. I fell in love, braved the obstacles, and enjoyed every fleeting moment of the dream before it evaporated around me.
It’s the safest scary prayer you can pray.
this, as rhymey and juvenile as it may be, happens to encapsulate the core pieces of my learning for the last 17 year
“That ain’t no Etch-a-Sketch. This is one doodle that can’t be undid, Homeskillet.” It’s the same for me. Dancing can't be undid.
They know that even little girls turn into women, but I’m not sure parents can ever fully accept the otherness they become when romance sweeps them away.
it's that tension that holds me together and has been used to make me who I am
I'm climbing through any open window into their minds and hearts.
I want to take my growing children out on more slow, mind-awakening journeys so that I may suck all their youth, beauty and knowledge in return for passing down the skill of taking a good hard look.
I say it with no shame, no embarrassment, no sense that I'm a faker for the first time since I walked out of a professional dance studio for the last time...
I went up to my bedroom and laid on the floor to feel terrible about myself, to feel desperate, to wonder how I will ever survive motherhood, and, the worst part, to seriously question God's wisdom in giving ME these children to raise...