It was in my step and in the air and then like that, all signs of spring had vanished and snow fell cold and wet today. Boo.
This week was good. It started off so bad. But the ending is what matters I suppose. And so, yay.
Yesterday, as I made the sky-dreary drive to my Mommal's house, flashes of beginning lines, paragraphs, chapters kept surging through my mind (and you know how when people say "in my veins" or "in my blood" it's true, I felt it there) - this urgency to get myself somewhere to write... a book. And the shocking thing to me is, that, the book(s) I want to write are (mostly) fiction. Normally this feeling has only arrived in autumn, since I was very little. This is new.
Last night hubs and I saw a play and it was home for me, it was a gift to myself, for so long I put that life away- I have no idea why, like I thought I had to choose between some of the arts I crave and being a mother. Hello, I am seeing the importance of my children seeing me doing something I enjoy. I always ask them what they dream of, what they want to be, what they wish. What if they turn those questions on me?
One of my favorite blogs, Mama Loves Papa just launched a wonderful new weekly feature: Small Style. You know I love this. I occasionally feature "As Seen on Ivy" and finally put a tab at the top of the blog up there, for future reference and such.