I am loved

Your love grounds me
When life is dizzy, it holds me steady.
It is always there.
After a dreary day, you hold me close,
hand me a beer and kiss my head.
The day is done, and I am loved.
I sucked at my job, but I am loved.
How can you erase the day with a smile?

Intermission

I hate intermission.
I don't smoke.
My bladder is a steel tank.
I have no desire to eat a whoopie pie between acts of "Much Ado About Nothing."
In fact, there is nothing I desire to do half way through a production.

Still life gives me intermissions, regardless of whether I ask for them.
Sometimes a cold makes you lay in bed for days on end.
Sometimes you have to wait for the things you want.
Sometimes stuff just takes longer than you anticipated.

I'd love to say I learn from these small intermissions,
but my impatience gets in the way.
Still, I think the intermissions are there to force me to slow down.
I have to rest, to drink more water, to get more sleep.

I hate intermission.
But a couple of my friends do smoke,
My sister always has to use the bathroom,
And my husband loves whoopie pies.
Every now and then we need an intermission.

Your Lips

Your lips...

I can't get enough.

Deep messages,
Warm hellos,
Firey goodbyes,
Gentle pinches
Slips of lip,
Slips of tongue,
Mouth nuzzles,
A gentle tease.

Your lips....

I can't get enough.

Worth the risk?

There are no calculated risks when it comes to love.
Even good guys break your heart.
Even sweet girls make mistakes.
Love is never what you think it is,
It is always changing.
All you can do is hold your breathe,
Say a prayer,
And place your bets.

"Love is something like prayer-and cannot be planned.
You just fall into its arms,
because your belief undoes your disbelief."
-Anne Sexton

Resolution

I want to be a much better person than I am.
I want to be a domestic goddess.
I want to be more well read.
I want to go out of my way to be generous.
I want to exercise until I have rock-hard abs again.

As days pass into weeks,
none of my goals are reached.

Time is slipping through my fingers.

My baby,
who was still in my belly last year,
will not be baby very soon.
His birthday is quickly approaching.
Looking back over his first year of life,
it went by so quickly... like a long breath.

There is never enough time.

If I choose one resolution to keep,
it would be to make the most of every hour,
every long breath.
Maybe THAT is enough.

Fighting for Peace

There are so many loose ends in my life. So many projects left incomplete and goals that have not been met. There are people I need to call and favors I need to return. The loose ends that bother me the most are the relationships that have not been defined. What do my old boyfriends think of me? Where do I stand with friends who have simply lost contact? What about that person who never apologized?
Sometimes I want to fight for peace in my relationships. I fight for it in my dreams. I wonder if their good opinion still stands. I wonder if there is anything I can do to change it. Most of all I wonder if it even bothers them, like it bother me.
Part of me wishes I was brave enough to fight for peace.
Part of me thinks I should let sleeping dogs lie.
I know I can't live in the past.
This war (like many) has no clear end in sight.
If there is nothing left there to save, is it worth the battle?
Maybe Peace is found in the words left unspoken.

Thunder Thighs

I have big thighs. They are really the only large and voluptuous part of my body. Some people would say I am pear shaped, but I lovingly refer to them as my thunder thighs. They are strong and large. They jiggle a little when I dance. They are the only place I ever gain or lose weight. One thing I have always hate most about them are three small stretch marks I have on the very top of each thigh. I used to wear shorts over my bikini just to cover them.

My son has big thighs. They are deliciously chubby. He is 8 months old, and his body looks tiny compared to his huge legs. I like to call them Spartan legs. His soft skin folds in strange places over the baby fat. I love them. I love to kiss them. He loves when I pretend I am eating them like corn on the cob. He kicks them excitedly when I make him laugh.

And now my own thighs don't seem so bad. Those three tiny stretch marks are nothing compared to the wrinkly mess my stomach is in after pregnancy. My wide hips are perfect for carrying a baby around. My curves make me feel like a woman. I am glad my son inherited my thunder thighs. He will need strong legs to stand on, in this world.