the me no one sees...

i hide it well. its all i have ever done. i think 90% of the reason for that is for ME. if i stay in bed i am sicker mentally. if i am in pajamas all day i feel like i am giving up in a way...not fighting. not showing my husband and my babies that they are WORTH fighting for. that our lives will not be defined by Lymes. that my deterioration will not be our future. there is so much more to SEE, so much to look forward to, to bask in. to live out what has been given to us.

i officially...

have a child who talks back.

i have cherished each stage thus far...and i really mean it. even the moments of leaving the groceries behind and being THAT MOM who is pulling her child by their arm out of the store. i have tucked them away in my corners...learned from them, ached, cried, questioned myself, doubted and had days when i was not quite sure why these lives were entrusted to me because surely i was damaging them in ways that no therapy plan could treat.

but i am prepared to say something that in essence makes all those last words a bit cheaper because i think that this most recent stage is about to bring out a side of me that my son has not been introduced to yet. the side that tilts my head downward and lifts my eyes from behind my glasses. the side that is left speechless and the side that realizes being dumbfounded shows him weakness so my default will be "go to your room"...really? are we here? the same little boy who takes my order and makes apple bundt cake made out of everything from cardboard to rocks to baseball bats is the same little boy who is becoming quite quick to repeat what i say in a rather nasty tone.

oh sweet little hudson...i am trying to do the very best i can.

so i take a deep, deep breath.... and know that this to, will be tucked in the corners.

the beginning of something..

i write in my head...all day long. i put sentences and thoughts in different file folders....hoping to pull them out of my achieves and use them as my own version of poetry. i have always loved to write. it is how i make sense of what doesn't. i know that even though it makes perfect sense to me it may not actually make sense to anyone else. i am ok with that. the journeys i go on, the places and emotions revisited...its a present i wrap up with brown packaging paper and twine..i slide it across the table andplace it in front of my torn up heart. my heart that beats for nothing more than for MORE.

so here i am...writing...putting pieces of myself on cyber pages.