Ever since I was very young, people have told me that I’m an “old soul.”

I’ve taken this as a compliment most of the time. Surely it must mean I am wise, that I am mature, that I am somehow above all you young soul people.

And yet, some days I really think this cutesy phrase is code for JESUSKIDAWHOLELOTOFSHITHASHAPPENEDTOYOUANDTHATSUCKS.

Or maybe it’s code for,
HOLYHELLTHEUNIVERSEHASSOMETHINGAGAINSTYOUDOESN’TIT?!

Yup, it’s true.

Sometimes I get SO TIRED of the Universe kicking my ass teaching me lessons about life in a way that is usually life threatening to me, my family, or my friends.

I want to scream back at the Universe, HEY THANKS FOR THE LESSONS BUT I’M ALL SET NOW! YOU CAN LAY OFF THE SWELL TEACHING METHODS NOW!

Did you hear me Universe? I was internet screaming at you.

But no, the Universe is striking again. A friend. And I can’t look this friend in the eye and say “wow, you are so much stronger than this,” because I know I am full of it. They already know how strong they are. They don’t need me to wrap up a cliche and hand it to them, because it only serves to make me feel better – not them. And I know that it’s likely that this friend has also been told they are an “old soul” their whole life, too.

And what old soul really means sometimes, is that the Universe can dish it out, and you’ll take it. And you will kick butt and take names. You won’t crumble.

But that doesn’t make it easy. And it doesn’t make it okay.

But you? You know you are. You got this. And I’ll back you up all the way.

There are moments in my days when I struggle.

When I have to reach into my pockets and pull out pieces of sunshine. My memories.

I curl up in these patches of sunshine stretched out in my hand, much like my dogs do on Sunday afternoons when the sun streams through the kitchen window.

Suddenly I may be flying down the interstate singing loudly to a song, my husband, mother, or best friend sitting next to me. 

I roll around the memories in my hand, savoring them like a piece of dark chocolate. Stolen moments of time that I can access whenever I need to.

Now I might be walking down the aisle on a crisp September morning, my friends and family surrounding me as I marry my soul mate.

The memories roll like a wave through my brain until they are coursing through my blood, calming my body, slowing my breathing, lifting my spirit.

I’m suddenly young again, at my Grandmother’s house weeding the garden as she tells me tales of growing up during the Great Depression.

A smile begins to play at the corner of my mouth, a sparkle returns to my eye.

I am now dancing around my kitchen with Skeeter, singing made up songs as we play, and my husband laughs.

It becomes easier to breathe, as I pull out the pieces that make my world wonderful, the pieces of me that shine brightly in the corners of my mind.

My moments. My memories. My sunshine.

I am with them only for a brief season of time.

We walk together, side by side as I lend an ear, strategy, or perhaps simply hope.

They share with me their energy, their laughter, their pain, their story.

Within what often seems like a brief moment, they are gone.

Their story continues on with me, and mine continues on without them.

But we will never be the same, because for that period of time together, our paths intersected and we grew and changed.

And they always leave something behind.

Often, they leave their words behind.

Sometimes they leave their artwork behind. 

Sometimes a lovingly crafted bracelet, a rock, piece of wood, a tissue paper ghost, or smiley face sand art.

Frequently they leave fond memories of laughter, games played, breakthroughs had.

Sometimes, if I am honest, they leave the empty air of relief behind – because this work, this life isn’t always easy.

But no matter what, they leave a piece of time behind. The moments that we were together, sharing a space, sharing a memory, experiencing a shared moment in separate journeys. 

Together, they make up pieces of the puzzle that has made me the social worker, and the person that is writing this.

Without them, I am not me. Without me, they are not them.

Be careful with your words, be gentle with your actions. They impact the journey of those are around you  – they are what you leave behind.

Welcome, Sunday.

Today Casey and I are going on an adventure. As in we picked a random point on the map, and we’re driving to it, to explore, to be silly, to hopefully go snowshoeing if we can find a place that actually has snow around here.

Last night we went to see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I cannot recommend this enough. The book was amazing too, and I feel that the movie did it justice. You will cry (even me, the Ice Queen, cried).

I also saw One For the Money with my friend Amy this week. We had a Girl’s Night and it was fun! The movie was good, though I still have trouble buying Katherine Heigl as the main character. I feel Sandra Bullock would have been a better choice. Still worth it, though. And read the books first! (Always my recommendation).

The blog lost it’s first follower this week. Punch to the gut. Suddenly the insecurities flow in. What did I say? Are my kid quotes offensive? And then I stopped and kind of laughed to myself. Who cares? It’s a blog, people. It doesn’t exactly define who I am. But I have this complex where I need everyone to like me. WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME? Ahem. Working through it. Someone better follow me today to boost my self-esteem, mmmkay?

I joined February NaBloPoMo (wow, I really missed typing that!) so you’ll see a daily post from us this month! I’m trying to create a link up on Fridays of funny kid quotes, so if you have funny stories/quotes about your kids (or kids you know, kids you work with, etc) please join me on Friday!

In just a few days we’ll be flying out to Philadelphia to spend four days with Sarah and Loni, two fabulous ladies I’ve known since I was 13. Yup. We met online, and several years ago we met in person briefly. Since that they’ve had 5 kids between them! Cannot wait to meet them, their husbands, and enjoy some real time together. SO excited.

Okay, my five minutes are up (yes, I type fast, I know)- but would you humor me and go visit this post by my friend Kenya? It hit me hard this morning and it is so true. I wish I could forward it to all the people I know.

Also, Casey keeps telling me I should let y’all know that the book I helped author with my former professor about homelessness has a home on the web! Go check it out, but you can’t have your own copy until September 😉

Have a wonderful Sunday everyone, go have an adventure!!

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
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This post was inspired by the awesome road trip we had on Tuesday, which only happened because she stepped up to go on a site visit with me so I wouldn’t have to travel alone.  It’s just one of a million things she’s done to make me feel happy and whole over the past 4.08 years.  

Welcome to another edition of Kid Quotes Friday! This is now a linky-linky and I encourage you to grab the button from the sidebar (over there! —>) and link up a post of yours detailing a funny story about your kid, kids you work with, or kids you watch outside. Whatever. Just as long as it’s funny! Thanks for reading, and let’s shoot for THREE people to link up this week. Please? I’m not really above begging, clearly. Now, bring on the funny!

“I really want to listen to my Mom. But sometimes the sound of her voice makes my ears turn RIGHT OFF.” (7 y.o.)

“When I grow up, I’m going to marry a prince. But only so I’ll have someone to make me grilled cheese and do my laundry.” (8 y.o.)

“Is Lady Gaga part girl and part boy? I mean is that why she has the ‘Born this Way’ song?” (11 y.o.)

“Sometimes I get an idea of what to do and my light bulb goes on. Sometimes,  my light bulb is all burned out.” (10 y.o.)

“I think it’d be pretty cool to pump gas when I’m a grown up. My Mom’s always saying it’s dangerous. Well, I LIKE DANGER!” (9 y.o.)

If all goes according to plan this year (and I am hoping FOR ONCE, that it will), we will be moving to North Carolina. And before we settle in to the new life down south (it kills me to think that if we ever get to have kids, they will have southern accents, how adorable!) — we are going to take a road trip.

Casey, my Mom, and I (and 4 dogs) are renting (or potentially, hopefully buying) a RV, and busting out all over the United States. For roughly 2 months we will be traveling.

Here’s where YOU come in. We are in the process of compiling a list of MUST SEE places across the United States, because chances are, we will never get to do this again, so we’ve got to do it up right.

Where do you think we should visit?

What amazing place is there in the state/town YOU live in, that we can’t miss?

And…. can we set up our RV in your backyard?

(Just kidding)….(sort of).

Okay, I can’t wait to hear your suggestions…..GO!!!

Too often I let days slip by, blurring into one another like white lines passing me by on the highway. This year, I am working so hard to do less of this. To be an active participant in my life. To enjoy moments, take opportunities when they come, and accept my current circumstances for what they are.

Some days I succeed with this new motto, and yesterday was one of them. I am pouring my heart out to you today, because joy is spilling out of it. Sometimes I feel guilty when I feel so happy. Because I know that there are people out there who are suffering. Just yesterday I read a blog about woman whose husband had just left her. But I am deciding today, that I will not feel guilty for my happiness. It is mine.

Yesterday, I spontaneously rearranged my schedule to take the day off and accompany Casey on a work trip to Livingston, NY. He was going to have to go alone on a trip that was 5.5 hours each way, and I decided that I could rearrange my day to keep him company. We hit the road early and left a brewing snow storm to head to NY where it was 60 degrees and sunny! We sang LOUDLY most of the way, talked, and laughed.

While  Casey worked (he is so cute wearing his hard hat!) I explored the very small town, took a tour at a local “Ice Factor” …where they really just make ice, and got my haircut (where I met a quirky young woman whose mother-in-law apparently took her shirt off the first time they met. What is the proper response to a story like that? Mine was “oh. wow.”) I have a new appreciation for my mother-in-law! (Thanks, Charlene!)

We had dinner on the way home at Cracker Barrel, and then spent the rest of the drive listening to Bon Jovi, Wilson Phillips, Michael Jackson, and Billy Joel.

The point of this story? Yesterday it felt good to be alive. My heart was happy spending a simple day road trip with my husband. Dreaming of our future, jumping out at random scenic view areas on the highway to take pictures, laughing about our life, and discussing the mother-in-law of my newest hairdresser.

I know something has happened to her.

Her eyes watch me carefully as I sit down, and then she casts them downward as I try to meet her gaze.

She doesn’t speak. She can, but she for awhile now she has been refusing.

My mind races. Mentally reviewing the assessment. Hearing the words of past therapists.

Not sure there’s anything to be done, one said.

I sit in the stillness with her.

I hear the gentle ticking of the clock. The reminder of time quickly passing us by.

My own anxiety creeping into my brain.

The voice of doubt slithers into the silence, if they couldn’t do anything, what do they expect me to do? I’m not a miracle worker, I’m just another social worker.

I move my body slowly to the floor.

She follows my movement, ever vigilant.

I get out a bucket of crayons and begin to spread colors across a blank slate.

The whoosh of my crayons fills the silence.

I give a sly, sideways glance toward the little girl.

A smile is playing at the corner of her lips.

I place a crayon near her, with a fresh piece of paper.

Minutes go by as I color, painfully aware of the silence. Of the stillness.

And then in a swift movement, she takes the crayon and begins to draw her story.

I exhale with the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Little victories.