In the heaviness of this world, I work to remind myself of first. Of how unnecessary my pointer finger is for clicking and how important my eyes are for collecting the captured. My heart bundles the broken just as much as the bliss.
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- This is me. No make up. Rattle trap hair. And on the way to the public library with my boys.
- I'm also re-wearing these pants unwashed AGAIN tonight to Kenny's ball game.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-BOOM! Cuffs, scallops & patent leather for the win. Just so we're clear for all the newbies, I live, teach, create and write all out of my home. Thus, my attire is anything Fergie-esque. It's more of a Richard Simmons-meets-Nike middle aged mom vibe.
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Basked in moo-moos with brilliant floral printed flare. I dig you, Mrs. Roper. You eeked jewelry large. Draped & bobbled about you. You were svelte in the Santa Monica sweltering humidity. Flamboyant in your ways dealing with Stanley, better yet, Chrissy. Animated & alert for nothing more than life. In cahoots half the time for the next big scene of hilarious adventure. You, Mrs. Roper, are where it's at.
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To push. Past places where insecurities sit and where hush feels better. To expose the magical God put in my chest. Bones & heart, Meg. Bleeding comes from both. And the healing that will happen will be so much bigger than just your letters pressed.
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