I’ve watched the cursor blinking on a blank, white page a few times recently. Something I’ve wanted to say right on the cusp but the “maybe tomorrow” winning over. It’s nothing big, just the little voice that tugs at me. Write. You know you want to.
Lines of “Someday Stories” trickle in pairs and paragraphs while my head’s on a pillow, during a commercial break, on the rare occasion I can take a long shower. Sometimes I make a note in my phone. Sometimes I let them flow and then wash away like the water down the drain — haunted by the perfect words that got away.
But then you call me back to the present and the collection of moments that make up our day. I string them together, little plastic beads on a piece of yarn.
Little baby legs running down the hall to hide behind doors or under chairs.
Little baby arms wrapped around me, melting in for cuddles.
Weeks of neatly folded clothes that are put away still warm.
Weeks of clean but rumpled, homeless clothes.
The dog covered in dead grass with a gumball and a brown leaf stuck to his rear.
The dog chewing on sticks and the girl laughing uncontrollably.
Long, peaceful naps.
Long, restless nights.
Sharing and blocks and sunshine.
Storm clouds and tears over sharing slides.
Days spent in mismatch disarray, no makeup, and hair wrapped in a bun.
Days of adventure and got it togetherness.
Sometimes there is no making sense of the day we had. Moments of all colors, in no particular order threaded together.
I only hope that as I pass off each finished strand you find beauty, not because it looks perfect, but because it was strung together with love.
Someday I hope you see your entire life is a love story.