Yes, I really didn’t know what the hell I was going to write about this week.
The night before I write and share my latest post.
The light was off as I jettisoned my clothes and softly pulled back the duvet on my side
Time, distance and limits no longer meant anything, or dimensions even.
I had been here forever but was just a fleeting blip in time.
Or was my whole existence just an imagining?
On to the next stage of my lifecycle.
Was I awake or was I asleep?
Safe enough to drift off into blameless childhood sleep.
Like I said, I don’t know what to write.
Now they are teenagers and things are much more complicated.
I am not free to write what I want when it comes to my family life.
Complicated actually doesn’t begin to cover it.
Besides I am writing to be read and lo and behold, some people read these musings.
And some of them know us. Like, to see – and there are those who know our kids, and us.
But not enough for family members to be always easy about what I do write.
Like, for example, I wrote before Christmas about our son’s efforts to find a new football team.
But it’s not really on.
Deep down, I know she is a great kid. Bright and interesting and talented. Beautiful.
And we, her parents will forgive and forget the bad stuff and move on.
Like all parents and their adult children do, apparently.
Not this week anyway.
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Tales From Mamaville