Twenty-four Hours

Days aren’t as long as they used to be. Back when our two children were feisty toddlers and my 

Husband worked revolving shifts, twenty-four hours lasted twenty-four years and nobody

Cared that I was drowning in every single second. Nurturing was a foreign concept peddled

By well-meaning matrons and judgemental church ladies. What in hell was wrong with me 

That I didn’t gush over every milestone, each budding tooth, too exhausted to care that my babies 

Wouldn’t be babies forever and that someday twenty-four hours would feel like twenty-four 

Minutes, and a year reduced to a week and my babies grown and out on their own. Too soon.

My daughter celebrates her 36th birthday today. Even though I love her fiercely I wasn’t a patient mommy. The days of her infancy passed as slowly as liquid concrete, and I wish with all my heart we could have a do-over. 

But she’s grown into an amazing, beautiful woman, and I’m so very proud of my Ashley. I love her, like her, care about her. Every day.

Peace, people.

Making Memories

Someone should have told me all those years ago

When fevered toddlers ruled the day and all they said was no!

That too soon would they be grown and gone 

And the tasks we hastened through all done

Memories were being made yet I grumbled, griped, and whined

About their childish faults and the endless daily grind.

I had no idea that second chances were not guaranteed

That time would pass by in a flash and my regrets would only feed

On recollections of opportunities lost, never to be regained

My heart aches for the past and the memories we should have made.


Peace, people