Le Jour de Merci Donnant

Marcel just woke up in this photo.

He is so smushy vulnerable cuddley then.

So often I picture them at thirteen and ten and feel wildly appreciative of moments like these. When they want to cuddle. When I am still the one who knows what I am talking about. When the outside world hasn't taken over as the giver of the truth. When a hurt is still curable with a kiss.

Yesterday when I was fixing lunch and the boys were watching the trees being pruned right outside the window, Sam looked at Marcel and said; "You know what Marcel?"

"What Sam?" his adoring companion asked.

"I really love you."

"I really love you too beautiful Sam."

I am writing more then I ever have, and it is still not enough.

I am making connections with something I can now call- my readers-something I dreamed about saying once. I go about my day as a writer who is observing, and not the observer who might write about this one day. 

I feel more patience with them, and me.

I am thriving in my commitment to parent two children of color

with a hope born more deeply this day then the day before it-that my conscientiousness is purposeful. That my purpose is changing things for the better.

We are surrounded by so much love and support.

My eyes are closing as I write, but I couldn't go to sleep tonight without saying thank you for joining me here between the chaos and the consistency.