November 27, 2014


For my squishy pillow aka swillow, that I stuff under my head the first thing in the morning.

For the pinky color of the sunset.

For the warmth of Big Daddy’s body and the way his skin feels under my fingers when I curl up next to him.

For the gleeful chirp of Littlebit’s voice as she sings “Good morning, Mama” with her chocolate brown eyes wide and bright.

For Baby Bee’s mussed hair and half closed eyes as she worms her way until the middle. For the feel of her little bird bones under my fingers.

For the way the Princess has to check in, stumbling into our room with her eyes bleary, an act of reassurance and confirmation, things that grow rare as she grows older.

For the cat climbing on top of me and yelling at me until I rub her head.

For the warm duvet.

For the clarity and understanding that I’ve earned over the last 38 years. For being able to be humble and grateful. For realizing that no one does it alone.

For the people in my life; alive and dead, near and far, friend and foe. They’ve taught me and loved me and made me the person I’ve become.

For letting go of some (but not all) of the fear I hold within me. Of having hope that I can let go of more and more as years go by.

For health and love. Things you cannot buy with anything.

For the way Baby Bee climbs up behind me and curls up the nest made by my bent knees.

For Littlebit’s love notes.

For the Princess’s voice as she sings her way through tasks.

For raising my eyes and finding Big Daddy’s eyes already looking at me.

To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go.Victor Hugo

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