No soccer saturday.

I never anticipated finishing the soccer season. Not that I played. I just paid. Sierra's team took the cup..again this year. I just knew we'd move before that. We didn't. Never mind the moving.

Today I'm thinking about here. Something beautiful. Something here. I blame the team's success on the coach.

One of the best people I've ever met. Fair, passionate, loving, kind...he held those kids in the palm of his hand. They would do and did everything and anything for him.



Last year I sat on the sideline and cried I was so happy to see him take Sierra under his proverbial wing and help her. Coach her. Give her the confidence to play a game she'd hadn't played since she was 5. He didn't have to do that. He could have focused on the good players. The fast. The accurate. The bold.

Instead he told her she was good. Every single game and practice. Over and over again. Until she believed it. Until after two years it was a reality.



I don't think soccer is going to be her life's passion. But the lessons she learned from her team, from her coach. Were worth it. Worth every harried Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Worth every snack and drink.

So I wake up on a Saturday with no soccer and I'm a little bit sad to see it end.


Next year we'll have a new coach. (Unless we're still here and in that case I will have been committed to a lovely institution with padded walls and I won't be attending any soccer games.)

Almost as good as kissing.

I'm kind of on a roll with the kissing posts here.

I really wanted to leave that photo of me and Dan smooching up for a while. Maybe forever. Now that I think about it I am going to have it framed. Back on topic.

Kissing. Almost as good as kissing. So close to a caress. Mmmmm. I can taste it.

What you ask? Ahhh. Wait I have to go get something to make sure I get this right.

Ok, sweet blueberry, smooth pecan, silky chocolate all wrapped up in the best duck egg cookie I've ever made. My lips, my tongue, my mouth...all very very satisfied right now. Tastes like this. Looks like this:

I wanted it. I needed it. The cookies tonight were pretty much my version of Prozac. Because...

Wyatt is still coughing up a lung. I took him to therapy anyway. He did the best in 6 months on his Wh questions. I have to make these decisions every day. How much to push? I never feel like I get it right. Today. I got it right. For once. Now I just have to remember to put the pro-biotics powder in his juice tonight.

Ivy is still cranky and needy. There isn't enough of me to go around. Have another cookie. It will help. I promise.

Sierra brought home her report card. Not good. I feel like a failure. For some reason she doesn't think she failed. She blames the teacher. The teacher blames her. I am back to blaming myself. If only I'd spent those extra 3 hours going over each and ever detail of her homework with her, instead of doing laundry, cooking dinner, and running myself to rags chasing my always smiling 2-year-old. She smiles and cries at the same time. THE SAME TIME! How can I be aggravated at a smiling child? I don't know. I can. I am.

I edited 20 pages today. Reliving this book is INTENSE. You read the kiss. It's all like that and I have to get in there and drown in the emotion to write it, re-write it. Not good when I come up for air and I'm buried by an avalanche of real life. I'll go back to drowning again, thank you.

I spent 15 minutes finding the instructions to rebuilt a droid mini-walker (legos). Then spent 30 more finding the 47 pieces we needed to build it in the box of at least a thousand (maybe I'm exaggerating here) legos. His report card was perfect. Sometimes he's so easy he doesn't get his fair share. Fair? I think I need to eliminated that word from my vocabulary. I saw the priceless moments with my son for what they were. Then I sprinted to the next task.

There was more to this day that won't end. I can't remember. Laundry? Vacuuming the van? An hour at the gym? I loved it. I lived it. I want it to end. I'm tired.

(P.S. I forgot to turn the comments off...they you commented and I didn't have the heart to take it away again. I am weak. But I guess 5 days is almost a week. A work week anyway. I am a marshmallow.)

The kissing scene.

I finally spent a few hours on my book today. 12 pages edited. I love stepping into my novel and living the scenes I've created. Tasting the food...seeing the sunset...kissing the leading man. I love the kissing scene.

I thought I'd share the first kiss.

The windshield wipers worked overtime, as Audrey gave directions and Carter drove.

The dark field was glowing red with runway lights. The clouds overhead soaked in the plane lights as they appeared one by one to land.

“Uh, we’re at the airport?” Carter hesitated.

“Not quite, we’re behind the airport.”

The rain slowed to a drizzle and Audrey got out, Carter joined her next to the tall chain link fence that separated them from airport property.

“I used to come here with my sister and my dad. We would watch the airplanes come in ...” A huge jet roared overhead cutting Audrey off.

Before she could wonder if he was ever going to kisser her Carter leaned in and brushed his lips with hers. Soft. Hesitant. A question.

YES. Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh please do it again. She stepped forward and the space between them disappeared.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head with his hand.

His mouth covered hers. Liquid fire flooded her body. Something deep inside her recognized the man holding her. Nothing else mattered. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breath. His thumb brushed the crease under her chin as he pulled his hands and then his lips away.

.“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You were waiting? Why? What guy waits?!” Audrey was hungry for more and angry she only had a few more minutes with Carter. He’s going to leave and I’m never going to feel that again. The thought ripped her.

“I thought you didn’t…weren’t…” Carter looked confused.

She stood on her toes and kissed him again, pushing her fingers into his thick hair.
She didn’t want to stop. But he pulled away again.

Audrey shook her head, this was… she couldn’t define it, couldn’t describe it, even to herself. A memory of giggling girls in braces surfaced. She was 11, at a slumber party. Wendy Stilton was telling them about her sister kissing her boyfriend. How it was all slobbery. One of the other girls had said French kissing was soul kissing.

Carter hadn’t even French kissed her but somehow it felt like her soul, the very essence of herself had surged from deep inside her and kissed Carter back. A soul kiss. The fire was kindled again in her belly just thinking about it and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” Carter asked.

“No, I am…very warm.” Audrey looked at the pattern of shadow the chain link fence made on her shoes.

What.
Is.
This?

“That was…have you ever?...I mean they said…can I…” Carter leaned forward and his question was ended. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice said, this is really going to hurt when he leaves. The heat seeped away and icy doubt chilled her. This time she broke the kiss.


Dan is the reason I can write kisses like this. For me they are not just fiction. Now you know why I can't sleep at night when he's gone. It's just too cold.

(I'm kind of dying to know the comments on this one, but I will be strong. Comments are coming back on Sunday.)

A conversation and a kiss

I am not getting any writing done. I keep having conversation with various people both in person and in writing. Then I stare at my beautiful soap some more.

Then there's the dog. She keeps walking on the keyboard and kissing me. See how fast her nose is moving? That tongue is lightning fast.

I am cleaning. I am doing without comments so that my house can be cleaner. Not as fun by a long shot.

On Hold.

This is the label for the soap I made...am making...am going to make. I dusted of the old computer and my design software. (Once upon a time I used to know how to design things. My skills are stiff and rusted shut.) Three batches so far. Some better than others. More on the way.

I am distracted. In love. Obsessed with. Soap.

Soap? That necessity of life that never works quite the way you want it to. Yes. Soap.

I used a single bar of my home made goat's milk soap in the shower this morning. From my toes to the top of my head. Even my so-sensitive-it-breaks-out-without-even-the-slightest-provocation face. Growing up I used to get hives every time I took a shower. Every time.

Shampoo, conditioner, body soap, face soap...I usually use a minimum of four products in the shower sometimes five or six. (Scrubs of various kinds...etc.)

Today. One bar. Hair and everything. I didn't know you could wash your hair with a bar of soap. You can. I didn't even need conditioner. WOW!!! Soft. Wonderful. Hair.

My face didn't even scream for moisturizer like it usually does after washing. I only felt a tiny tightness, a polite request if you will.

Guess what. I'm not selling this soap. Just when you knew for sure this was an ad. Nope. (Not yet anyway.) It is for Christmas. If you want to buy goat's milk soap you'll have to go see Pricilla. She's a goat. She knows so much more about making soap than I do. If you ask her nicely she'll sell you some. The link is over on the side too.

My soap is for those lucky enough to be family and friends who get Christmas presents from me. Sorry to spoil the surprise. You are all getting soap. No toys. No ties. No tools. Just soap. Lucky lucky you.

Maybe if I'm feeling generous I'll throw in some duck egg cookies...the good chocolate, dried blueberries, almonds...mmmm. I need to pause here and go bake for an hour.

Y. U. M. M. Y. Licking my lips. I'm back. Soooooo good.

Now that the doggie is here I needed new drama to fill my unquenchable thirst. Yep. Wash my mouth out with soap and I still want more.

I have to channel all of this. 'The buyers' are holding a loaded gun. At any moment they could pull the trigger and I'd have 30 days to find a house, find a mortgage, move out, move in, changes schools, jaklsdfia, ofdnglk, erjowajskdlf (the list turns into gibberish if I think about it too long) Any moment. That gun could go off and I will have to mobilize all the nervous energy into action. I just know it's going to happen right before Christmas. I just know it.

Until that moment. I am pacing back and forth in my gate. Waiting. Making soap. Adopting dogs. Refinishing furniture. Waiting. Cleaning. Doing laundry. Snuggling a sick Wyatt. Waiting. Designing a soap label I don't really need. Reading bizarre books I don't really like. Waiting. Making new friends. Waiting.

On hold. In constant motion. A contradiction. A contraction.

I am going to go take a hot bath now. With a nice new bar of soap.

(I'm also going to turn off my comments for a bit. I am too addicted to your words. If you must speak you'll have to email me. I am trying to motivate myself to work on my book. Finish the thing. So I can start on the next one. 'The Raven's Mistress' great title right? Just have to get 'Fixed' um...fixed. Finish what I start. I won't be commenting either. I will still be reading. I never stop reading. Just not commenting. I doubt I'll be able to stop blogging. I've tried before. It doesn't work. So let's just start with the comments shall we? A week. I can do anything for a week right Erin?)

The first moonlight.

When I used to hear the name Victoria I think of queens and wall paper and turrets.

Now I see her name pop up in my in box and I can't wait to click. Nothing at all to do with wall paper. Victoria is bright and beautiful and bold. She is witty and wise and can whip up a fantastic feast for her seven (yes seven) children.



Plus she's a grandma. Seriously. A grandma. I know. She does not look that old. I know.

She is nothing like you'd expect a mother of seven to be. I've met mothers of large families before and many times they look like a old towel that's worn through and lost it's color.

Victoria is color. Rose lips. Azure eyes. Dark hair. Color.

Sometimes I hesitate to read her comments on my posts, because that line or two most times outshines the pages above.

She outshines the moonlight.

Then there's more. Yes more. Don't hate her because she's amazing...just love. Love.

Her music.

When she wrote a song for me. (Yes wrote a song for me!) I became her devoted fan forever. The title was 'Sea Glass.' Now, we have the same favorite color. If she were a rock star I would be her groupie. (Luckily being a blog groupie doesn't involve traveling around the country on a smelly bus.)

I lost my train of thought there. Back to music and moonlight. Her music is subtle and lovely and mirrors a piece of her that is all Rembrandt and Renoir rather than Picasso.

She just finished her first CD.

She is my idol. She raised (and is still raising) an amazing family. Then there was enough left over to give birth to melodies and messages that soothe and stir the soul.

I love blogging. I love Victoria. It still floors me that I can find people to connect to who live 3,000 miles away. But I am closer to them than the cat lady who lives next door. (Not that I have anything against cat ladies.)

There you have it. My first moonlight. I wonder who will be the second.

Art deco dreams.

I woke up with the image of a bright pink art deco cornice burned into my brain. I remember trying to decide what color I wanted to re-paint it.

I dream of decorating challenges. I remember the lay out of the impossible room with the lineolium floor in the huge closet. I was in a dream and dreaming of how the new room would look. The bathroom I would put in with glass tile and claw foot tub. The closet with cedar parquet flooring.

The carved bed custom made to echo the soon to be white cornice. The night stand with the perfect reading lamp and a little shelf to hold the 17 books I'm currently reading/devouring/tasting/trying to coke down.

Then Tommy whined to get under the covers and the night stand evaporated. He was cold. Just as my dream world started to mist into being behind my eyelids Jax pitter pattered up to the edge of my bed and crawled in. Ivy cried and I stumbled to get her out of her crib.



A dog at my feet a toddler on my right and a first-grader on my left. The delicious love shined into my grey lit room. I didn't mind waking up 15 minutes earlier than normal, even though we could have slept in.



I snuggle deep in the covers surrounded by weath beyond measure. I have no nightstand or lamp. My mattress has sat on the floor for the last 8 months since our frame broke.

I guess I dream of trivial things because in real life I have everyting I could ever want.

(Photos by La La...pretty much everything I've posted lately.)