Detour Mom Blog Writing

I have some blog topics I’d like to write about. But my boys can smell productivity. If I’m drinking coffee and sitting in the sun, they will play nicely together and be the awesome. If I open my lap top in that same lawn chair, they smell blood. Smudgy starts screaming in the gate play pen. Throwing a shit fit that is so loud and dramatic you would think that he was Leo in Man in the Iron mask. Somebody give that baby an Oscar. While I tend to Smudge, Ben senses my weakness and runs over and grabs my pen and notebook that I left on the chair. He will be two in July so his behavior is hilarious and infuriating. Good thing his face looks like a little piece of heaven. Because I didn’t LOVE when I set my coffee

PAUSE. Stop writing. Babies awake from his morning nap. Change him, make him bottle, then necessary snuggling for at least 15 mins because he’s so warm and smells like a baby who just took a nap. You know what I mean! Get him set up with some toys and sit back down at your table to finish this paragraph. So where were we? Oh yes. This morning.

I set my coffee on the railing of the deck so I could put the back into the gated in area. Ben was trying to jump and grab my coffee off the railing. I say no no ect. So I set my coffee on the deck. Don’t worry everyone, it’s cold at this point. No toddlers will be burned in the making of this blog. I pick the baby back up and said toddler walks straight over to my cup. Looks directly into my eyes and goes.. “kick!” Applauds himself. Looks up at me like, “Uh, lady. How about a little applause? Did you see me just identify the motion I performed?” Ahh… Always so pleased with himself. Hmm. Where could he have ever gotten that quality? Juries still out.



PAUSE. Alright I have to go to work later. So I’ll throw on some music for the boys. Stretch and hang with them for an hour before I FINISH my blog and then clean the house then go to work. Okay go.

Trying to put my feet up on the wall. Ben thinks this is the only place he could possibly stand to watch Mickey Mouse. Yes, on my stomach. I say, “Hey you want to get off and go watch in your chair.” He looks down and smiles and says “Oh Hi Mama.” At one year old, we speak different versions of English.

Alright well I’ll try and finish this blog.

Swim fan wants to do everything with me. He’s not great with a MAC.

So I forfit for today. Gotta go love my kids. But I’ll leave you with this.

The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
 if you have been opened by life’s betrayals, or have become shriveled
and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own;
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true,
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty every day,
 and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you are, or how you came to be here-
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied
 I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
 I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep
 in the empty moments.
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