I Hope You Dance

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I hope you never lose your sense of wonder.
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger.
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean.
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens.
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance.
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking.
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making.
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter.
When you come close to selling out,
Reconsider.
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance.

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.

Time is a real and constant motion always

Rolling us along.
Tell me who
Wants to look back on their youth and wonder
Where those years have gone?

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
Dance.

Lyrics by Leann Womack

Tree Hugger

Me, hugging a Pondy

I hug trees. The ones I love best to hug are giant Ponderosa pines. They have mounds of little puzzle pieces of shed bark around their base. And, when you put your nose into the dark deep crevasses in their bark, it smells just like maple syrup, especially in warm weather.

Happy birthday to my daughter!

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Twenty one years ago, our family was gifted by a perfect little baby girl with a rosebud mouth and golden curls. The only one of the kids born with hair, and it was curled gold. She was the baby girl we had described in our wishes and hopes.

From the beginning, she was soft and sweet and easy to take care of and love. She nursed right away, she quieted at our touch, and she slept through her two and three year old brothers' raucous activity.

I had so many fears during the pregnancy. We had amniocentesis done to make sure she was okay. I had been in a terrible car accident, and had medications and treatment that could have harmed her. I will always remember the tears of joy and relief when I heard the words from the geneticist at the hospital, 'Your baby is a girl, and she's perfect'. And, she is. Perfect.

She has become an elegant, intelligent, independent, beautiful woman poised to set the world on fire. She has compassion, tolerance and the ability to empathize. She is who I would like to be when I grow up.

I have watched as she shouldered the mantle of womanhood this past year, suddenly becoming the strong arms that supported and held me as my tiny dog was euthanized in my arms. She was my support and my guide through the confusing journey these past weeks as my husband struggled for his life. Hers were the cool hands on my flushed tear stained face. She stepped into the role our mothers and grandmothers have been in for as long as there have been people. She became the nurturer, the healer, the medicine woman.

I am honored to know her, blessed to be her mother.

For all you have been to us, for all you are, for all you will become, Emily Anne, we love you. We are excited to share the next decades with you.

Happy birthday, my sweet daughter! Thank you for being mine!

Love,

Momma

A break for a needed smile

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Remembering parenthood and all it's gifts!

10% Per Cent Chance of Death, An Improvement

George is home from the hospital. His chances of dying from his subarachnoid bleed have gone from 45% to 10%, a risk that will remain for the next three to four weeks. That risk is due to the possibility of vasospasm in the brain.

We are rethinking our priorities and our lives. We are thinking that we should work less, play more, and celebrate our friends and family. We are planning more down time to spend together, just us.

We want to reap the joy in life. While it lasts.

Life, reloaded

My husband suffered a subarachnoid bleed last week. He was air lifted by helicopter to a nearby teaching hospital for treatment unavailable in our area. I had spent several sleepless nights helping him cope with his blinding intractable pain. By the time the helicopter lifted off, I was on overload.

I gave myself a few minutes to fall apart, then got in the truck to head the one hundred twenty miles to once again be by his side. Throughout it all, my children and their friends have been my support, my lifeline, my brains. They have taken care of me as I used to take care of them.

I will write more later. For now, I just want to rest and be grateful that I still have a husband.

The power of the mind

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