I find myself enjoying moments more than I ever did. Simple things, like:
Savoring the taste of a hot Milo; slowly sipping it and letting the mug warm my hands as I hold it.
Those rare and fleeting moments when The Boy and I get to be ourselves, irresponsibly lazing on the couch, too tired to do anything but enjoy each others silent company.
Spontaneous cuddles with my fury companions, and the look of elation on their faces when I sneakily allow them all on the bed when The Boy leaves for work.
And drawing. Ah yes, drawing.
Unable to move due to being a mattress for a sleeping baby (in our home the phrase "do not poke the bear" means to hold ones breath, stay perfectly still and NEVER utter the jinxing words, "aw, he's asleep/happy/cute") I reached for my sketchbook and scribbled a couple of nameless faces.
It's so strange how something that for years was such a big part of me just disappeared for so long. There was a long time that I would never have considered sitting on a couch, catching a train or going to bed without a notepad or scrap of paper close by to graffiti on. And somehow I've survived two years without buying a new canvas or filling a book. But putting ballpoint pen to paper was like, "oh hello, old friend."
I don't want to forget it again.
Savoring the taste of a hot Milo; slowly sipping it and letting the mug warm my hands as I hold it.
Those rare and fleeting moments when The Boy and I get to be ourselves, irresponsibly lazing on the couch, too tired to do anything but enjoy each others silent company.
Spontaneous cuddles with my fury companions, and the look of elation on their faces when I sneakily allow them all on the bed when The Boy leaves for work.
And drawing. Ah yes, drawing.
Unable to move due to being a mattress for a sleeping baby (in our home the phrase "do not poke the bear" means to hold ones breath, stay perfectly still and NEVER utter the jinxing words, "aw, he's asleep/happy/cute") I reached for my sketchbook and scribbled a couple of nameless faces.
It's so strange how something that for years was such a big part of me just disappeared for so long. There was a long time that I would never have considered sitting on a couch, catching a train or going to bed without a notepad or scrap of paper close by to graffiti on. And somehow I've survived two years without buying a new canvas or filling a book. But putting ballpoint pen to paper was like, "oh hello, old friend."
I don't want to forget it again.
