There’s always something…reminding me that I can’t always have the order I crave…
Author: wordhabit
A mother’s dreams
It’s hardest when I’m the driver. I hear her desperate little voice ask, “Hand?” So I reach back, even though a shoulder/neck kink is sure to follow, and I hold her hand. I do it because her toddler heart and mind can’t push through whatever current frustration is making hand-holding essential. She shouldn’t have to…
over it.
It’s as if short snippets are all I’ve ever known. The daily “I should post that” thought is killing me–figuratively, of course. There was a time when long prose pieces were my thing. I didn’t just want to write; I wrote and I wrote a lot. I wrote poems. I wrote about my day. I wrote a…
Again…m#2
I showed up prepared to pray for others and ended up praying for myself, too. Even got to pray twice because the Rabbi wasn’t there. Not sure what happened to him but God used his absence to feed my soul, work away at my heart, remind me of His presence…that it is even with me. I…
She stood in her crib, legs anxiously shuffling as she let out frustrated cries and signed vigorously. In the darkness, I could feel her hands on my cheek as I bent down and held her in place, rubbing her back and gently saying, “No milk, baby. No milk.” It felt as if we were growing…
i don’t promise eloquence, just words.
There’s so much in my little world that currently has something to do with race, race relations, and racism (nothing against me, that I know of, but involving people/entities that I know and/or am impacted by). It’s easy to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all, to wonder what to say or if to even…
Hair today…
(This was written on Feb 6, 2016.) She watched me wash my hair the other day. I felt as if it were a black history moment because she’ll never know what it’s like to sit in between my knees and have her hair detangled. It’s not looking likely, anyhow. Her hair has big wispy curls…