Acceptance Of The Ordinary

September has always been a month to be endured for me.

My birthday has always been a difficult event for me.

Autumn, with it's leaves falling from the trees and to the ground, does the same to me, strips me bare and to the core.

With all 3 occurring, always, at once?

It gets harder and harder to put my shoulder down and just plow through.

September means the end of days filled with sun, hours, and my children about me and within my reach.

My birthday means another year older, with less dreams realized, and the ticking of the clock marching on.

Autumn, with its trees left skeletal, has always reminded me that another year has also lost it's life, and is  coming to an end.

As I said, not.a.good.time for me.

And, I'm faced with the ordinariness.

Of me.

I am ordinary.

I had the dreams of any person for myself.

To write to the point where people reading my words would be able to feel my ache; to be able to dance a barefoot dance so exquisite that to those watching, the sound of the music would fall away; to be able to sing in the clearest voice that those listening would be left unable to move and only to sit, and listen, and not a thing more.

But my life has worked itself to be one of ordinariness. Where I have laid my dreams down.

I am an ordinary woman who stays home with her children.

There is no book that has my name on its cover, there is no ballet where I danced to the point of utter silence, there is no song that anyone heard me sing, that left them breathless.

But, then, I look at my children, and they are the song I didn't sing, the dance that never was, and the book that remains unwritten.

When I look in their eyes, I enter a plane of existence other than the 3 dimensional one we live in. There is no skin nor bone that separates us. 

When I catch their faces, turned at such an angle,  that for a split second where time stops, I see the ghost of my face in the curve of their cheek.

No matter how poetically written, or eloquently delivered, the account of my life is that of an ordinary woman. 

I am ordinary.

But am I?

Am I really?  [see below]

Tweet from Ree, ThePioneerWoman

Twitter, the great equalizer.

Gotcha!  * [my apologies if I had you goin' and played on your emotions and made you deeply concerned enough to leave something awesome on here for me......I can be obnoxious like that...I still do not like autumn, my birthday, or September--that doesn't change]
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