Making the cookies.

Quick. Must write before I get sucked into Facebook. Must write before husband and children get home from walk. Must write before a text comes in. Must write before work email comes in. Must write before coffee runs out.

I'm actually committing today. Know why? Because I'm sick and tired of feeling like shit by the end of the day that I didn't do what I know I need to do, which is sit in front of this white screen and put words on it and erase them and mold them and then read them out loud and hate them and change a few and put an ending together and press post. I need to do it. Because I haven't done it for literally years and I'm afraid now they won't be good words anymore, just lame words like these.

Anyone want to re-create this scene with me? Photo by Alexis Brown 

But this morning, my long limbed, wirey, almost naked, almost 7 year old climbed up on our bed, her hair completely wild and a lot like Nell from that Jodie Foster movie, and sat on top of me and started practicing tying the strings on my shorts. She really wants to learn how to tie her shoes, even though she has no shoes with shoelaces. But I get it, that's totally my fault, and this is a rite of passage, so I was helping her make the loops and cross them and push one loop through the hole...and, well, there were many attempts and then she let it go and I said we could try again tomorrow.

"But how come you can do it?" she asked me, and I checked her face to see if she was being serious and then remembered she's an almost 7 year old and said,

"Because I've done it probably 856,794 times. And that's how you're going to learn. You're just going to do it and try again and try again and again and then you're going to be able to do it, too."

She made a pouty face. But I wasn't paying attention, because I realized how many times I've read something that's reached into my soul and turned on the faucets and flooded my insides with truth, or smacked me on the cheek with beauty so hard I cried, or sat with me and put it's arm around me. And after I thoroughly enjoyed each of those moments I thought:

"I WISH I could do that."

Which is, I suppose, the grown-up, less ego-centric (but not really) version of, "But how come you can do it?

And the answer is, of course, I just need to do it. I'm going to do it. I'm doing it.