If I stopped for just a moment

If I stopped what I was doing and actually listened to my children as they played

I wouldn't hear a child coloring outside the lines;

I would experience a child creating a masterpiece.

If I stopped moving around so much and actually held my child when she got frustrated

I wouldn't be angry at her lack of understanding;

I would learn that my arms are a comfort to her.

If I stopped criticizing how my children mix the Play-Doh colors

I wouldn't see a giant mess;

I would understand that life isn't black and white ... it's purple mixed with green and rolled in teal.

If I stopped being so unhappy because of my responsibilities

I wouldn't raise my voice as often,

I wouldn't scold so easily,

I wouldn't so readily wish I was one of those supposed SuperMoms

And I wouldn't give a fuck if the toys never got put away;

I would simply enjoy the ease of being a child.

Finding the outlet

I've had a lot of trouble with my creativity lately. I shut it away. I've grieved and released the emotions.

But creativity still won't flow. I keep trying to tell myself the only way to work through writer's block is to write through it - work it right out of my system with some crappy posts before genius strikes again. That's what I've done in the past. It's what I should have done this time; maybe that's what I'm doing now. I have no idea, because that's how my writer's block works ... I write and write and write until the words finally make sense and the sun peeks through the clouds.

Instead of doing that for the last two weeks, I've been moody - actually, if I'm being honest with you, I've been a miserable, short tempered bitch.