When I was in high school, I was one of those girls who would spend hours pouring my heart out onto pages and pages of notebook paper. Whether it be a story, a poem, or a note to my best friend (who didn't need all those pages to know my heart, but patiently read them anyway), the only way I felt I could reveal my true self was through writing. Declaring a love, breaking a heart, being honest just came easier when I sat down and picked up a pen. It was my sword and my shield. It was my security blanket. It was my gift.
In so many ways, I am still that girl. I just don't pick up my sword as often these days, so the words in my heart pretty much stay locked up inside, safe and sound. That's not always a good thing.
As I type this, I am sitting in a very quiet hotel room listening to Mary Beth Maziarz (my new favorite singer. Never heard of her before? Me neither. But she's fabulous.) and nursing a cup of coffee. I may read a book for a few hours after this. I had a productive day in a training seminar today, a pretty decent mani-pedi this afternoon, and a relaxing dinner this evening. The only way I can do this is because my husband is willing to stay home and take care of our babies. Without complaint.
Did I mention he had a cold?
Did I mention both kids have colds?
Yet, when I talked to him tonight, he said they were all fine. They would all be fine until I got home. I'm hoping "fine" isn't the same code in man-speech as it is in girl-speech. I'm pretty sure it's not.
I've always said my husband is my hero. Today is one reason why. The other 364 days of the year that he puts up with me are the other ones.
I love you babe.
13 January 2009
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