Tough times-

My week in review:

This past week, the strongest, bravest woman I know had one of the toughest times of her life. She entered the hospital last Monday, for what should have been a two to three day stay, for a routine (albeit major) surgery. The actual surgery went well, but she suffered a couple of major setbacks. Although she is finally on the mend, and scheduled to be released tomorrow, she has a long way to go in her convalescence. I’m not well when she’s not well, and those closest to me know this all too well. Thank you, Sister Agnes Delores, my run away nun, for simply walking into the room. Thank you, TT, my laugh out loud partner, for working tirelessly to help me keep the tears at bay. Thanks, LarKay, godmother extraordinaire, for looking out for me and my littles and thank you, thank you, thank you, my littles…for being…MY LITTLES —!

#onmysix24/7

#hesheryoungestbutimthebaby

#notoutofthewoodsyet

P.S. special note: Thank you to my super man, Chuckie, who outgrew his cape when we were kids, for hanging in there and doing all the things I couldn’t do, and his Lois Lane for always being ready with hot tea and hot towels and for taking such great care of Sir Finn.

Young Teen v. Old Mom (still at it)

My young teen and I are at it again and I’m winning!

A pitiful looking stray dog wandered into our yard several days ago and per the norm, my young teen wants to keep it. You know how kids love puppies and kittens and baby bunnies– right up until they become dogs and cats and adult rabbits? Well, that’s exactly how my girl is. You see where I’m going with this? Yep, she loves em either until they outgrow their cuteness or until it wears off or until they become adults. So, she asked if we could keep the pup and of course I said no. Here’s the conversation that resulted in my taking the lead:

Young Teen: “Ma, can we keep her?”

Old Mom: “No”

Young Teen: “Ma, please, I’ll feed her”

Old Mom: “No you won’t, I have to force you to feed the one we already have”

Young Teen: “I promise I’ll feed her. If I don’t you can take my phone”

Old Mom: While laughing hysterically–“Girl, I can take you phone anytime I want, what else ya got”

Young Teen: 1                       Old Mom: 2

_________________________________________________________

What do you do…?

So I had a conversation with a friend earlier today and we talked about my guy, Lucca. We talked about his beautiful life, his illness, the surgery and his final days. My little girl was in the room with me and when she suddenly buried her face in my chest, I realized she was crying. This was the first time I’d seen her cry for him since about 2 days after he died. I, on the other hand, have had countless tearful days about “my dude”. How was I to know she was still hurting? After all, he was MINE, MY guy, MY dude, MY handsome man!

I held her close and stroked her beautiful, dark, curly hair. Neither of us muttered his name and neither of us acknowledged her tears- we simply hugged until they stopped.

I don’t know if this was anyone else’s “right” way of dealing with this type of thing….

but it was ours…

 and he was too!

Playing with Words

I went through the alphabet and wrote the first word that came to mind in alphabetical order then I put them into a poem. I think it’s pretty funny. Read it and reply…

Alternative, Barracuda, Catastrophe, Eventful, Dramatization, Faithful, Gruesome, Harmful, In, Jubilant, Kaleidoscope, Lemon, Maniac, Norway, Opulent, Precise, Quirky, Resentful, Shameful, Tantalizing, Unfortunate, Victory, Warranted, Xylophone, Yearning,

Zany

Playing with Words

As an alternative to dinner

we decided on the barracuda

which turned out to be a real catastrophe.

Without a full dramatization

of the eventful season we had, simply put,

we have been forever faithful to the cause.

Albeit gruesome or gross,

there were no concerns of harmful fish bones,

in fact

and we were jubilant when we

looked into the kaleidoscope

to find a lemon yellow redfish

with the personality of a maniac.

Much to our delight when took the fish to Norway we were

pleasantly surprised at the opulent and fanciful ways of the people.

We were extremely precise in our movements

around this quirky little town

not wanting to attract any resentful stares

while parading around in our shameful ways with our fish.

Our tantalizing habits drew much scorn

which was an unfortunate way impress others.

But our victory was won when we

walked into the room

and heard a xylophone play in the distance and

had to resist our yearning to

overpower the townspeople with more zany written rhetoric.

The Art of Adoption

The art of adoption: FullSizeRender-3

What’s it mean to adopt an idea? That’s simple it means to choose that idea.

Ok, how about a way of life? …simple again, that just means you change your life to fit another mold…

What if you adopt a new way of thinking? Well, that basically means out with the old and in with the new.

So what’s your take on adopting a puppy? (smiles) That means you get to take it home and keep it!

    Adoption is an art in it’s purest most precious form. All the research and book reading in the world could never give you a more clear definition, description or understanding of the feelings you’ll experience through adoption – than simply doing it will give. When you adopt another human being, it’s like receiving the Olympic torch.… either the birth mom hands it to you or it is passed to you through an agency liaison… Either way, once you accept it, it’s your job to keep it burning …for always and forever.

Just our opinion… what’s yours?

A Winning Hand

We were thrilled to be featured on belleofthecarnival.com today. In our haste and excitement, we failed to edit and re-edit our description so there are a couple of grammatical errors. No biggie, we think you’ll get the gist of it and we’re certain that you’ll enjoy the poem “A Winning Hand”.

Belle of the Carnival

I am overjoyed to share with all of you Rochelle Harris’s warm and touching poem “A Winning Hand” on this Poetry Friday.
A winning hand
Runaway Nuns and Leprechauns is a collaborated effort created by me, Rochelle,  the primary writer, the jokester and the wild child and my partner in crime, Yevette, the editor in chief, prayer warrior, and resident heckler.
I grew up in a very small town in Mississippi. My grandmother was the “Mother” of the Baptist church in our rural community. One Sunday during the Easter season, the Sunday school teachers were assigning parts for the upcoming play. I stepped up and said to the teacher “I want one”. Although I was only 4 years old my grandmother assured the teacher that I was capable of memorizing and reciting a poem.
I was so excited that I learned my poem in record time but,,, when I got up the following…

View original post 152 more words