Participation

 I am annoyed by the lack of participation at my work during this "bring your child to work day." Of the eight people who could have brought their children in today, only one did. What possible reason could you have for not bringing your child to work on this day! The one day of the year when its fine to have them with you at your job. If my kids were here they would be with me. Would they learn anything special from seeing me work, probably not. Would I work as hard as I normally do, probably not. Would I be overjoyed at the fact that I get to spend an entire day with my kids, a privilege usually only reserved for weekends or holidays, absolutely. It may be selfish, but what other reason do you need to bring your children with you, to be able to see them in a place where you can only think about them.

 I am sure that it is only because my kids are not here that this is bothering me so much, but when they were here my son came with me and I had a great day at work. I never enjoyed work so much as when he was here messing things up. It really makes me angry that all these people can so easily dismiss a chance to be with their children, using excuses like school or not thinking anyone else would do it. Who cares if anyone else does it. Why are you worried about what someone else does when you should be thinking of all the things you can show your child, or things to interest them while you work. Just having them near me as I worked would make me so happy.

 I hope they realize, before its too late, how few and far between chances like these really are. Because, in the end, it is not a lack of participation of this event that really bothers me, but a willing lack of participation in the lives of our children.

no help

I am missing you my little ones. You are so far from me, and I can do nothing but hope for your well being. It is such a helpless feeling, because I can't be there for you. If you fall down and scrape your knee I cannot kiss it or get you a band-aid. There are so many moments in your lives I'm missing out on and when I stop and think of them it is too much, a crushing weight in my heart. I listen to music, to alleviate the pain, the sounds and lyrics washing away the painful thoughts that threaten to overwhelm me. But today the music is against me. Each song brings you to mind. Each chorus seems like a tiny dagger piercing me. I'm fighting these saddening, maddening feelings as best I can, but I am drowning in them, barely treading water, the fill my lungs, weigh me down, clog my mind, Im pushing and pushing, and still I go under. The darkness of my thoughts envelopes me and I am lost to the world, to the smiling people around me, to the questions and banter of my coworkers. I am deaf and blind and numb to the world. The only feelings I have now are on the inside, and they are painful.

It was made for this

I think of you and my heart beats fast.

I dream of you and my heart aches.

I see you and my heart stops.

I touch you and my heart rejoices.

I love you and my heart knows what it was made to do.

Art Sense

  As we lay together on the bed, I on my back and you pressed in close to my side with your head on my chest, I can feel your breath against my skin  as we talk, and every shift as you move your body against mine.

  The darkness is almost total, as if I were struck blind. I rely instead on feel and hearing, listening to our hearts beating, to your voice as we whisper to each other, and feeling your skin as I touch you gently with my hands, then feeling your hands on my stomach, caressing at first, then slowly you begin to draw images. You draw, and I guess.

  The sensation and intimacy of your hands distracts me at first, but slowly I begin to see the images you draw on my skin. Then you turn over, and it is my turn. Lifting your shirt, I trace silly things at first, snow men, pine trees, an easter egg, a house. You are very good at this game, guessing sometimes before I have even finished. A heart, then an “I love u”, a smiling face.

  But then you are stumped, I try again and again. It’s a word, four letters, over and over I draw it. Finally you give up and I tell you. The word is kiss. The issue, how I draw my “K” of all things. We laugh at my second grade handwriting and then you ask what I would have done next. So I spell it on your back, and you turn and bring your lips to mine.

  The game is over, we are too busy holding each other. You turn on your side and I fit my body to yours, my hand around your waist, and your cold feet against my hot skin cooling me down and warming you up. We fall asleep like this, close together, happy and, I like to think, smiling.