Writer chics all over the globe take five minutes on Fridays and just do one thing for five minutes: write.
It’s fun, it’s cheeky and well, I just like the security of having one writing assignment that doesn’t take a whole lot of time or thought. Just writing for the love of writing. All with a one-word prompt by the Gypsy Mama. You’d like her; she’s cool.
Here we go. Five minutes of the word: Real.
On Wednesday evening my husband and I returned from a five night trip away from our children. First time in over two years that we spent this amount of time away from them, but together.
Yesterday a lot of “real” things hit me.
Like dirty toilets and bathroom sinks.
Like misplaced items and messy drawers.
A few things like needing milk and bread and the nonstop pace of giving care to seven kids. One kid whose college goals and needs weigh heavily on Matt and me. The reality of having a child with a terminal illness. Ten years old and his life under our roof is most likely halfway over. A girl whose mood changes like a chameleon. A toothless wonder of 6 whose concentration is refilling his caterpillar box. A three year old with the curiosity of ten monkeys. The baby toddling around with smiles and giggles. And poopy diapers.
But REAL feels so very good.
Real is dreaming of the incredible future of that college age girl.
Real is loving every day we get to spend caring for a sick girl.
Real is concentrating on character building for the preteen.
Real is evaluating how to infuse joy by example to an 8 yr. old.
Real is relishing the growing mind of the caterpillar-loving boy.
Real is working new puzzles and dancing with the preschooler.
Real is cherishing those little baby arms as they hug my neck.
Soak it up.
Life is real.
So is the brevity of seasons.