She is warm and beautiful. As the colours change and the trees lose the coverings that came in the Spring the crispness is a promise of something new in the loss.

She is the month of my birth and the birth of my first babe as she watched me become a mother. She has been a month of great sadness and fantastic joy. She defines me in so many ways. She is where I find myself and where I find my strength. It is funny to say that about a month, thirty days in three hundred and sixty five, but they are my favourite thirty. They are the days that I feel most at home with myself and in the world.

I am always happy to say hello to September, and always somewhat reluctant to say goodbye.

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CW Challenge : Day 8


Remember me and smile, for it’s better to forget than to remember me and cry. — Dr. Seuss

at the risk of sounding cynical or morbid, i do not believe i am meant for what most would call a long life. it’s just a feeling, and it’s not something i dwell on, ever, and i may be completely wrong.

there is never enough time though. never enough. for anyone. but i don’t dwell on that either.

if it were up to me, there would be no headstone. there would be no body. grieving would be optional and personal. no judgement.

i seek no legacy or lasting global imprint. i hope to be remembered in letters i write to my children. in blogs or journals or notes that are happened across in meaningful moments. i hope that my mistakes are remembered and forgiven. i hope i am enough for my children and they do even better with theirs.

i hope my boys remember the love i have for them. that i was fun and that they made me proud.

they will remember terrible handwriting, loud music and books. maybe it will encourage them to write, sing and read.

when you think of me know that it’s ok. you are ok, i am ok and it will be ok. as it should be.

and know that there wasn’t enough time, but we did our best with what we had and it meant something. and remember with peace and when you are remembering, let the moment envelope you with feeling and know that i remember too.


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CW Challenge : Day 7


It’s dark and its foggy and sticky and sad
It digs in its heels and it makes you so mad
It’s that voice that you hear when you’re told, ‘not today’
It’s the strength that you find when you push them away
It’s that thing that turns heads when you enter a room
It brightens the stars and it combats the gloom
It’s a lift in your step when the journey is far
It’s hope in your pocket and light in a jar
Consider the things that it happens to be
When it’s different for you and it’s different for me
It means so much more when it’s not understood
But the purpose is filled and the ending is good


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CW Challenge : Day 6


I am who I am today because of the choices I made yesterday — Eleanor Roosevelt


my biggest boy shuns sleep. always has. this is one of the few ways he mirrors his mother, as i was in childhood. it was nearing midnight. i was awake because i am in the midst of this cough that is causing great havoc during the time i like to reserve to sleep. i was returning to bed to continue to try to sleep when I met Jack, he was headed towards the kitchen. i tilted my head and looked at him. he tried to ignore me. i stepped sideways and draped my arm over his shoulder and asked him what he was doing.

my little boy had not yet fallen asleep yet. he was starting to become bored.

he was on his way to the fridge. he wanted a freezie. at midnight.

i swept him around in a circle and sent him back to bed. he smiled at me. he knew. but he was bored. so he thought he’d try. truth is, his plan was only foiled because i was dealing with a coughing fit.

how could it have went?

i could have squeezed his shoulder and accompanied him to the kitchen, grabbed two frozen bits of flavour and spent an extra five minutes with my biggest boy. he is quickly approaching eight and a midnight freezie will most likely soon be the least of my worries. i didn’t even consider this option until prompted by this challenge in creativity today.

would today be different? i would have had a midnight snack that i don’t particularly enjoy. my little boy would have hung out with his mom when he should have been sleeping. but essentially, today would be the same.

it could have been a lovely moment, added to the many other lovely moments the two of us share. it could have turned into a request for more freezies. where would it have ended? a lovely moment could have turned difficult.

it was a moment of a smile and a little plan foiled. it could have been more or less or better or worse. it was what it was and it was something i will remember for a long time. it was a story he was giggling about with his brother this morning. it was just as it was meant to be.


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CW Challenge : Day 5


life-goes-on-dockone of the most difficult things that life teaches us (or at least tries to so often) is that it goes on. it waits for no one and no thing. and as long as we are willing, able, forced or reluctant to, the road is under our feet.

sometimes it’s paved and the journey is easy.
sometimes it’s dirt and the journey is dusty and fogged.
sometimes it’s steep and the journey takes our breath from us.
sometimes it’s gravel and the journey hurts our feet.
sometimes it’s sand and we can look back and see where we’ve been with ease.
sometimes it’s pot-holed and dangerous and the journey is a treacherous maze of obstacles and we hardly make it out in one piece.

as long as we are here, the road is available for us to travel on. there are no benches. no real rest stops. and when we cease to walk upon it, it continues for everyone else left behind. it matters not how reluctant they are to put one foot in front of the other, they must, for the road goes ever on.


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CW Challenge: Day 4


Growing up happens when you start having things you look back on and wish you could change. — Cassandra Clare (City of Ashes)

growing up is often synonymous with growing older.

‘oh grow up!’ is dramatically spoken when the frustrated sayer is looking for more maturity, or for a change in behaviour, opinion or essentially, way of being from the sounding board.

so when we’re trying to figure out growing up, it gets confusing and the lines get blurred. are we physically changing, mentally moving forward or adjusting to our environments at defining moments?

i grew up in a house sitting on twelve and a half acres in the country. it was spacious and cozy and smelled like my mother. the windows were open. i shared a room with my sister. it was pink. she moved to the basement after many years and then it was blue. there were dogs.

i made my bed every day.

i went to small schools and played outside. i am the oldest of three girls, and was cared for by both my parents, with consistent influence of one set of grandparents. there was care and love and safety. there was travel and knowledge and competition.

this was the place of my growth from age five until essentially nineteen. i still returned for summers for another couple years, but wasn’t really there all that much.

my dad and my maternal grandmother still live there. there are still two dogs. i have only returned there a handful of times in the last decade.  the place where i learned to read, and swim, and drive, and be has become foreign. although the memories remain, they no longer feel like they happened there. they are not tied to a place.

i am no longer sentimental, i don’t know if i ever really was.

when i drive by the house, or even the road that leads to the house there is a feeling of unease, loss and sadness that envelopes me. on the few occasions that i have travelled up the driveway (it’s a long one) i am uncomfortable and detached. it doesn’t feel like going home. it doesn’t feel like the place I grew up. it doesn’t feel like i belong there at all.

the knowledge that my own boys wouldn’t learn things there, wouldn’t feel love there, wouldn’t be enveloped in the smell of my mom — those thoughts used to torture me. time has helped with that. growing up has helped with that.

the emotional and mental growing up happened much later. it’s still happening. it will always happen. there is much to learn. there is much to understand.

people perplex me. i think they always will. my growth does not guarantee the growth of anyone else. this understanding has been part of my growing up too.

the place i grew up lives in my memories. there is nothing that can erase those memories. as cliché as it comes, you can never go home again. and i can’t. but as i secretly wish that my babies never grow up, i know better. and when they do their growing, and wherever that growth takes them, i hope they always come home again.


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CW Challenge: Day 3


live out of your imagination, not your history. — Stephen Covey

the world wept. there was a blanket of pain and sorrow that swept with the seas and covered the land with sorrow. and there was a pause that followed. it was heavy and brief. and in the days that followed, there was a sigh and a carrying on. for that is what the moments do to us – they let us use them up and they hand us off to the conveyer tugging towards later. the moments do not last. the moments do not change. they change us, perhaps, they even change the world. they join us or they force us apart. they end with a period, if we are lucky with a comma or a bracket, but they end.

they matter most to those who are closest to them. for the rest of us who wept, the details may get fuzzy, they may fade. if the moment brought enough power with it when it sauntered through, it will be celebrated or memorialized, but it will never feel exactly the same. moments never do.

the moments in our past need not define us. be they wonderful or the opposite, that history should not become everything. our accomplishments demand sharing or further pursuit. our failures deserve some contemplation and closure. the moments of our history deserve our feelings and deserve our attention but do not deserve our life. there are too many yet to come.


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CW Challenge : Day 2


if you don’t feel it, flee from it. go where you are celebrated, not merely tolerated. — Paul F. Davis

i wish i were so much, so many, so more, much less, and enough.

but we wish we were... too much. we try to keep up with these imaginary check points and these people. these people who will always have more, or less. who will always be better or worse. there is always someone or somehow to wish to be.

we are who we are and wishing to be someone else is like wishing for a weight we need not carry. but alas, we sink our shoulders, brace our knees and carry on.

my wish is that we find contentment. that it is not old age when it saunters in, but sooner. that it is not as we become elderly when we find comfort in the skin that houses us, but we realize that perhaps we do the very best we can in the moment we find ourselves in. that we are the best we can be when we are mindful and present.

and perhaps most importantly, that we are able to find the strength and endurance to persevere. to change when it is needed and to accept the good, always. to seek and be surrounded by those who appreciate our set-backs and our things that we stopped wishing away and decided to hold tight to. and i am hopeful that we are that person to others – the one who celebrates that what is and sees the good and pushes on, and realizes that it is ok and that the wishes of what we were are not usually as important as the endurance of what we are.

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CW Challenge : Day 1


Nobody can bring you peace but yourself. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

i prefer the outskirts. the moments of observation rather than the throws of participation. i love that place you find yourself when the light is perfect and you turn your head and see your kids being the wonderful little beings they have all the potential to be. and you watch. that place curves my lips, warms my heart and that place can be anywhere.

there’s the end of the messy bed of a little boy who has stayed up too late and has finally succumbed to the night. that place where you can muss hair, straighten sheets and watch. wonder if you’re doing ok. wonder if they are doing ok. feel blessed that another day has been gotten through. that’s a good place too.

a king sized bed is not big enough. flannel sheets and fluffed pillows. the sliver that is mine in the middle of the day. with my back towards the three, my eyes skimming the screen of a book that i should have out-grown and my ears tuned into the little voices i’m sharing the covers with. they are playing minecraft or watching netflix or laughing at a youtube clip. they are bonding, loving, safe. and i am there and in my memory, will always be there, in a wonderful place.

and in a daydream there is a hammock between two trees. and there is a book. a good book, one that has survived the first chapter grilling. and i swing in the breeze. it is peaceful and easy. there is a moment of loss. the loss of responsibility and the tug of the things that should be getting done. there is a book and a sling and a lovely day, and the illusion of nothing else at all.


I was a day late starting the challenge…going to try to play catch up.
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