My makeup is my art.
I can go for 3 days in a row with a bare face and freckled nose.
My words are sweet and warm, like maple syrup.
They are hard and sharp, like broken shards of ice.
My heart is open to love, and waits to soak it up like a sponge.
And then I slam the door shut.
I want everything to stay the same.
But I crave transformation.
You won’t find God in church. He lives inside of you.
I am raising my children in the Catholic faith.
I got married when I was 18. Best decision I ever made.
Dear daughter, I don’t want you thinking about marriage until you are 30.
Dear sons, I want you to always use your words. They are more powerful than fists.
Sweetheart, if he does that again, you bust that kid up.
Give me a day alone, in silence.
Why has no one called me?
I love living in a ranch-style house in town with neighbors who smile and nod.
And I long for a farm-house with old woodwork and a gravel road and fields to tiptoe across in my pajamas and bare feet.
I love our busy family, and how everyone fits together like a Christmas Eve Puzzle.
My arms feel empty; and ready to hold another baby; to see who she resembles.
I want to wake up early and run, like the other hot mammas in my ‘hood.
If only I could sleep until noon, like my college days…when I was hot without trying.
I want to forget everything that makes me homesick for my childhood home.
Help me remember every detail.