I mend it with the broken pieces.

When my heart was broken

When my heart was broken

and lay shattered at my feet

I saved the parts I could

though there wasn’t much to keep

~

I put some pieces in my pocket

in case I needed them someday

the rest I used to build a road

so I could walk away

~

I built a bridge with what was left

and crossed the river of my tears

it carried me past heartache

kept me safe from all my fears

~

With every step I took

my heart began to mend

better than it was before

it grew strong enough to bend

~

Every now and then

when I feel it might just shatter

those pieces in my pocket

remind me of what matters

~

And when it happens like it does

and I find a little crack

those pieces in my pocket

are the pieces I put back

~

Crystal R. Cook

Mother of the Year in one picture.

Oops.

 

 

 

 

This is photographic evidence of the day I earned my first Mother of the Year award. No wait, I think I had already been awarded two by the time this little munchkin mishap occurred.

I have a collection of them.

You’d think the kind stranger who snapped the photo for us would have said something. He didn’t. No worries, the chubby little troll sliding from his ride was unscathed.

 

LET ME FEED YOU SPOKEN WORD

qwietpleez:

Lizzi is a weaver of words figuratively, creatively, and when you listen you will see she does it quite literally.

I fell in love with her ability to make magic with her thoughts, then I found out she was a little bit of magic herself, the not afraid to do the trick even if you aren’t sure it will work kind of magic. It always works.

It isn’t the pseudo magic of grand illusion people gather in audiences to see, knowing none of it is real but pretending it is to justify the cost of admission. Her magic is free and better than what the man in the cape who hides his secrets behind the curtain offers . . . Her magic is quite real and raw and you know it is magic when you see it.

I’ve listened to her voice in black and white, printed on pages, shining up at me from a screen, but now, I have heard it for realsies and it is just as lovely as I imagined it would be and that makes the magic sparkle even more.

Originally posted on hastywords:

I get to showcase two incredibly talented people today.  Lizzi with Considerings and Samara with SamaraSpeaks.  Samara is showcased in this post in a round-a-bout way but I am crossing my fingers that one day she will write something for this blog directly.  However, in the meantime you will see a glimpse of her as Lizzi has written a beautiful post about the power of inspiration.

When Lizzi writes her words are living characters that take shape and form real acrobatic expressions on a page.  If you have texted with her then you know what I mean.

BUT she also has an amazing speaking voice, not just because she has an English accent but because it is soothing and gentle.  I imagine Mother Goose sounding just like Lizzi…reading all the children in the world into a peaceful dream filled slumber.  Many times just hearing her voice will cut through…

View original 1,269 more words

Morning Desire, sort of.

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I awoke this morning with the strangest, and I do mean strangest desire. The feeling was foreign and unusual, it was weird, at least for me.

People do it all the time, I just don’t much care for it. My husband does it almost every morning, he’s on his own though, I never seem to have enough energy. He says it’s invigorating, the best way to start a new day. I’ve done it in the past out of necessity, but there was never any actual enjoyment in the act.

It doesn’t seem natural to me, but this morning, I took a deep breath and I did it. Truthfully, it felt pretty damn good. I don’t think I’ll make a habit of it, but I suppose if the mood strikes, like it did today, I won’t fight it.

Do you do it? Get out of bed right away in the morning? I fight the waking up and getting out of bed part of my day with fervor, I stay tucked in and cozy as long as I possibly can.

I am going to admit something, this doesn’t mean I will be rising and shining with the breaking of each new day, but I am enjoying the quiet an early morning offers. The coffee my loving hubby brought me before he left for work is still hot and the birds are happily singing a morning song to me. I didn’t even cover my ears and wish them to fly away and take their symphonic cacophony with them like I generally do.

Still, there is a part of me that wants to lay back and snuggle in, but a shower should cure that. Good morning, quite a good morning indeed.

Crystal R. Cook

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If We Were Having Coffee – You would wonder who invited me.

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If we were having coffee you would probably wonder who the heck I am. I would smile and ask you to pass the cream and the sugar and sit in awkward silence while I stirred a little wooden stick in my cup.

After a sip or two I might attempt to introduce myself, hopefully you would initiate the conversation though. I can be the teensiest bit socially reserved and ever so slightly shy. I’m not really shy, the sometimes awkwardly reserved part just gets in the way — at first.

I would tell you having company with my coffee is new, I typically sit by myself, but lately I am intrigued by the company I could be keeping, so I’ve decided to step outside of my bubble and join you.

Thank you for not switching tables.

If we were having coffee I would tell you all about the people I’m certain you already know, and if you don’t you should, who quite unknowingly reached inside my bubble and gently pulled me out. It all started with Lizzi. She kind of rocked my world some time ago and changed it by engaging me in conversation, by unconditionally offering her friendship. I kind of love her for that.

By now, I would be ordering another cuppa coffee and prattling on about life, love, writing, my children and the amazing happenstance that brought me here, #1000speak, you’ve heard of it, right? Of course you have, but if you hadn’t I would wait while you looked it up.

I would tell you I’m not much of a joiner, at least I haven’t been, but this whole voices for compassion movement moved me and now I am becoming a joiner. I would tell you I became a reluctant Twitterer, I joined a couple of blogging groups and I came out for coffee, with you.

You might not think these are very big things, but believe me they are bigger than I am accustomed to.

So Lizzi led me to #1000Speak, which led me to Twitter where GeneO the Sourcerer gave me a shout out and now, here I sit, having coffee with you.

If we were having coffee I would tell you it’s been one heck of a week full of new people I feel rather blessed to have found . . .

Crystal R. Cook

My Badge of Honor – Still Wearing It With Pride

Badge of honor . . .

 

I am at that stage in parenting when most, or at least many, mothers are trying to decide what to do with all the space in their emptying nests. Maybe they’re gathering stacks of books they’ve put off reading, turning a now empty bedroom into a home gym, or my personal dream, a library. Maybe they’re thinking about taking up knitting or skydiving or writing the novel they’ve always wanted to write . . . I don’t know, my nest is still quite full and my little birdies are currently inhabiting any spaces that could one day become my library.

Three of my offspring are now what the world technically refer to as adults, and the youngest is mere months away from the legality of this reality, but as of yet, only one of them have spread their wings and flown away. I’m not ashamed to say I am content and okay with my nest being slightly more crowded than perhaps it should be at this point, but still, I very much want to see the beauty of them soaring one day.

It’s sometimes hard to believe I have children old enough to be considered all grown up. I remember when I thought if I heard *Mommy* being shouted throughout the house, the store, or the playground one more time I was going to change my name. I remember so clearly . . . mostly because it was yesterday. Literally. With the exception of the playground, it was in actuality, yesterday. You should see the looks I sometimes command at the supermarket.

Yep, my grown up kiddos still call me Mommy. They are bigger than me, bigger than their father, and they call us Mommy and Daddy. They likely always will and to be honest, I love that. I love it so much. I wear that name like a badge of honor.

Sure, we get odd glances and some behind the back comments every now and then, but it never bothers me, it never has. Maybe if people knew why these giant creatures we created call us mommy and daddy they wouldn’t snicker so much, maybe they would think it’s as precious as I do.

The oldest two of my former house trolls are bright, brilliant, and beautiful young men who came into this world with a few challenges. Those challenges have gone by many names over the years: developmental delays, speech delay, sensory integration dysfunction, ADD, learning disabled, PDD, OCD, ODD — the list is long. They were both eventually and properly diagnosed with autism and many of the extras which often accompany it. The younger of the two has an additional diagnosis of bipolar just for fun. It’s not really that fun.

Those boys are my heroes, without a doubt, truer than true heroes in my book. I used to think I would one day have children and I would teach them all about life and love, but it turned out they were the ones who taught me about those things. My children, all of them, have taught me more than I ever imagined possible.

I was abundantly blessed to have these amazing children who have grown into these amazing people, who strangely to some, still call me Mommy. You see, speech came late for those first two boys of mine, and when it came, they called me Mommy and they have called me Mommy every day since. To them, it is my name, it is who they first came to understand I was and they saw and still see no reason to change that. Their younger sister and brother followed their lead and I am blessed with the honor of being called Mommy.

While I do long for that someday library, I am happily okay with waiting for their wings to grow strong enough to carry them.

Crystal R. Cook

Trying to figure out Bloglovin

<a href=”http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/12780975/?claim=49f2kk7rz9p”>Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

They said to paste a code so I have . . . I am so computer lost right now. Trying to Twitter and adding things to my blog. I really should have asked my offspring for help!