So, EVERYONE'S an author...

Ok, heregoes. Momma says, "If 'everyone' jumped off a bridge..." you know the rest. Well, the answer is obvious. "How high is the bridge?" "Where is the bridge located?" "Are there emergency crews nearby 'just in case'?" In my reality, there are so many questions to answer before you can give the definitive "yes" or "no". My children (specifically my 7 year old) have taught me that. Truth be told, I have jumped from a bridge before. In fact, everyone was doing it. It was not high. It was just dangerous enough. I am glad I did it. Am I fit to write? Eh. I am doing it like I do everything else, the only way to do things that count, WITH GUSTO. I am capable of several thoughts at once. Some of them I get out of my head, the majority stay within the confines of my GIANT cranium. So, again, heregoes.

Welcome to a few of the thousands of thoughts that flood my mind daily. I will try and type them as quickly as I think them so as not to confuse, or lose anything in translation. Who knows where we'll go with this, or how we'll get there. God help me, it's like Bob Dylan. Did I really just do that? I do not like Bob Dylan, his writing or his whining. I spend so much of my effort trying to keep little people from doing what he's famous, and no doubt wealthy, for doing. Ugh, whining.

Even with the crazy noises, my children are my world. Now, I say "crazy" noises... I mean to say "gross, disgusting, amazing, entrancing, LOUD, smelly, hilarious, kind, sweet, loving, and sometimes even scary" noises. The smelly little buggers absolutely enthrall me. They are asleep right now. So, so beautiful. Not in the romantic way that people talk about watching their beautiful angels sleep (though, mine are the sweetest). No, it's beautiful in the way that no one is fighting, crying, fussing, Bob Dylan-ing, pooping, snotting, or spitting. And that's just since my husband laid down. ONLY KIDDING. Not funny Mommy. (DISCLAIMER: My husband is an amazing person. He's my soul mate, my best friend. He puts up with my craziness on a daily basis and I am truly blessed that he comes home to me every day!-- I love you Sweetie.)

When they are awake, I find my favorite parts of the day are spent trying to figure them out. Which of course, is not possible. Since I've become a "grown up", I no longer enjoy the world in the same euphoric way as children do. Do you remember staring at your hand for what seemed like hours on end and just flexing those fingers to see what they could do? Remember playing make believe and not having any rules in doing so? How about dancing? Ever just break it down? Or singing. I still sing songs that aren't. I make up lyrics and melodies all day long. I get onto my kids for making these "noises" because it's annoying after the same chorus is sung over and over and over... but who are they modeling? If I am in the middle of a melt down over dinner being messed up, I re-heated the wrong casserole as they weren't marked clearly (my mistake- THE WORST) in the freezer (where I planned to keep my convenient concoctions so as to eliminate chaos in my evenings with pre-prepared food) I've just broken another dinner plate, and I stepped on the glass while the baby was crying and making his way over to try and sort through shards... (OBVIOUSLY I intercept and precisely why I now have broken glass lodged into my bare feet) I am about to lose it and just start really crying. One of my girls will sashay in, wearing bright red lipstick and daddy's flip flops and sing something like "Hear this: SISTER SUFFRAGETTE, So cast off the shackles of yesterday..." THIS is what I live for. It sounds like a country song. It may BE a country song. I am making up the words and melody as I type.

This is why I drag my "sleepy-headed-Mommadon'twannawakeup" body out of bed every day. This is why I am getting up tomorrow to run. These little people, and the man with whom I am raising them are my reason. For everything. I want what's best for them. Which means what's best for me. Because I have to stay alive to keep them alive. Not just with a pulse. But like, REALLY alive. So, I'm going to pray. I am going to drink the "Green Monsters" my girlfriend suggests. I am going to run (or at very least WALK BRISKLY) as often as I can. I am going to laugh. I am going to sing. I am going to dance. I am going to live each day like every second counts, Jack Bauer-style. Because it's over too quickly, children model your behavior and I don't want to teach my children to be grumpy old people. I want to learn from my children how to be spirited and young at heart.

So, this tell-all has become my therapy. Everyone's an author.