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That step before rebuilding (yes). The Memorial Day

This is an important week: those who metaphorically equivalent to an uphill battle to make the race as a jury, or qalcosa like, evaluate your performance.
And this definitely makes me wake up very badly, in this Monday "special."
This week I will write and deliver a letter of dismissal.
I will not dwell in detail: motherhood got to do, but not only that. It 's time in life when you have to make choices, and decide the way to carry on, do a recap of what you believe without knowing if that is the way to check, assess any relationship of cost and benefit, and most importantly, This is the hard part, giving up a smokescreen that makes life a little (I stress a little) easier from an economic standpoint, but certainly empty and no prospects.
What then, as I have said many times, economic security, even though poor these days that it does not suck. Especially if you have kids. But
Care is hardly just that. There are "chair" on which you are comfortable, but enough to make you drown difficult, then, get up, when I feel the desire and the need to stretch your legs. In this chair and I have been sitting there for long, for so long that I have subordinated this difficult decision blocking all other creative activities that I could put in place to make a difference to my future.
tear down to rebuild: let this be known, since hand over the letter, "here in my part," there will be a huge building site.
invent, invest, hope and believe: that the hard part of life.
choose without knowing where I'll end up, but with the certainty that I do not only for myself but for the hope that, even economically, may one day go better than today. But in the meantime before me there is a limbo of uncertainty, and certainty in the period of "blank" necessary to put the cards on the table.
I know some of you have done. So I know that I understand.
I have that tension in my stomach that I was deferred indefinitely this time, and agitation that makes me think "I wonder if I'll be up to the new situation."
It is called fear, and I think it is also legitimate.
I think of my father (what strange) that in another life, another time, another company, years ago, he put aside dreams and bent down to a quiet life and unsatisfactory. I think so because I realized how much he and I alike. I think of him, and I would have the courage that he at this point did not have: to tell the world, without too much noise, "I'm here too." And then I think of my mother, pragmatic, and his sermons on the fact that life is compromised, and that dreams do not pay: she did not follow her, but has pursued the economic certainties, to a very high price.
Then I think about my daughter and I struggle over what message my example of life left to you: Dreams are important or are cultivated in the garden only private?
What will make a difference that can make my small garden a place that other, even if not everyone will enjoy?

Ramblings morning, linked to further temper: my pc will assist in three days, and I will not have the normal use of my resources. Although I will not stay entirely unconnected, not as usual, and this makes me very annoyed. Not only because of labor issues, but also because I do everything online that relaxes me and relaxes me, and which now I find it hard to give up.

Here begins this week as well. With the precise knowledge of having to go running through a fire door.

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Today my post is here .
I thought for a long, long time and now I do, that the most important thing I would do to teach my daughter to love life.
And every day that passes I realize that the opposite is true : is she who is teaching me . because there is nothing greater than a child in an intense and genuine love for every day of his life .

And I read it in his eyes, when she wakes up smiling, as she falls asleep satisfied.

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Body (I) speaks

Hello belly.
You're finally coming back to "soft" after a long period of insensitivity. You
that maybe you could start to go smaller.
And instead I continue to cover, ignore, not to cure.
Sometimes "by mistake", I happen to stop and think. Sometimes I think that maybe you'll return to "normal."
An intervention that I was not expecting a result that did not know existed.
And we're going to take (all) a year and a half from that day: I, you and Bry.
I know that something is still wrong: it is to arrange, retrieve, straight and narrow path ... I know that something has to go back to the right place "between you and me."
I wish I could say "return", especially when I look at my photos a few years ago (and certainly not for aesthetics, but for the living to remember everything that brings with it) with the uncertainty of what no longer is. Actually I should ask you: "come back?" And no one can
know the future, we can only build it. But I do know that the past does not come back: I'll have to find new ways to re-invent.

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for our 4-legged friends

laudable initiative, just recently, a small job to help small kittens, adhere to time and put your creativity 'available to these unfortunate pups.

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Me, Myself, and I

scattered remarks on my first gig after more than two years: the music is the sea that unites and divides people. And it's that universal language that starts with the beat of the heart, and gives the rhythm to life.
Too many people in a room, meeting with the sole intention of having fun, when you're rusty in the gears of happiness, you feel something really weird, like a film that looks behind a screen: a feeling of family and out of place are mixed together, and do not know if comfortable stay there or not.
Motherhood (Parenthood in general) is for me a wonderful loop: that bless you, thank you for teaching me that, but when I go out of my usual daily scripts, and breathe some air, it makes me realize that there are parts me, things I can do, the roles that I play, which shrank when not in use, and which also represent me greatly, and I complement each other, and as if I'm committed to "integrate" these parties now suffer, and my fault for knocking on my door so too faint to be heard.
I am no longer what it once was: in front of notes as those of yesterday, when I was a free person not know it was and who could not use his freedom, I might have escaped. And instead in a surrealistic way, out of any tonal scheme, I and my soul, sitting in that space, we felt the new measure our borders widened when he broke into the Life within us, changing our measures of 'existence (in my case the waist). This strange feeling of large things where once I would narrow it made me face up to (my) reality.
Take the time to themselves, take some time to myself, is an effort that, like the gym, I is hard to start, but when you put me there, paradoxically, I come out refreshed and full of desire to start over. More and deeper
followed. But today I have a goal important to arrive at the end of day rest after doing the shopping, cooked and cleaned house for a dear person who comes to visit me from Far Far Away (as a story to my daughter). And this is a goal of life, teaching me to become a different person.
Today, outside, the sun shines. And I'm with myself as with a friend I have not seen for a long time, and that I want to re-learn.

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Seventeen-month

and I could make a blaze of lists of all the things you can do. And instead, in the transition between yesterday and today, to remind me what this means to me twelve days, she decided to affirm its contradiction in my respect to every detail. Want to eat? no. Sleeping? no. Walking? no, in her arms. Playing with the pots? no, colors. Want to paint? no tv.
Santapacedelcielo.
I know I know I know, do not say nothing: it is called "growth." They are "stages of development," serve to promote their independence, it is nothing "personal against me," is just "an attempt to understand how the world works" (etc etc, and I could go into that, but Out of a mother at the moment and I do not want to).
Here: as told to Caia this morning, it's like to feel that the flight of a feather that lands on your existence, however subtle, when it comes, determines the most disastrous defeat. Welcome
in maternity's world.
He tells anyone who is so hard? Well, now, yes. Many of you do. E 'than to spend it is another story and never-say-never say or think "that my son does not" give it time, soon he will too, and I am not referring only to things of which a mother to be fair.
Well, this little summary of my seventeen months, in which every 12 days, honey on honey, you were scanning my words. But that's not all. And today I would have to say about him wonder more and much better than yesterday.
But there are days when I'm very tired. Because what most of everything I've learned is that this is a "job" that requires great concentration, pinpoint accuracy from tightrope without a net, and you can not distract you even a moment.
Eh.
I think back to two full days at this post Silvietta and how skillfully you before and better than me, has been able to describe this stage, this "stage", this demand for autonomy and enormous patience of the (already proved) of fatigue a mother.
Read it, if you have not already done so.

She writes:

In these days, I like (like?) To conserve their energy for watching me with enough irony and detachment, and notice how difficult it is for me to accept this "no" and how often resonate within me as yet another obstacle in the evening ...

and also why, when I go to the conflict between my exhaustion and its demand for increased autonomy, and fear of broken (I and all my thoughts and reflections, that without a little 'patience and energy just go down the drain ... and I'm not really a patient tipino ....) in a pile of shards, I like to think alLaPulce like Master Yoda, and I train to be an impossible task: to use the whole ' energy of the universe for ... have all the patience to go with using and listening to the "yes" and "no" when ... right!

Great Silvietta.
type I repeat the mantra things she wrote, and I think that if she did it, I can do well myself. Because sometimes, among mothers, this message goes unnoticed today, more than ever, we can talk, complain, write to what is sometimes hellish survive certain aspects of motherhood. But all this only serves to legitimize the viscera: we forget to think that "we can do." You can help. It can be argued, even remotely. One can become, through motherhood, better people.
And then everything resume flowing, not perfectly, of course, but smooth. It is the way forward.

Congratulations Bry: two of us. We'll make it.

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White

Dream.
ray of sunshine in the early morning light, rustic wooden tables painted white under a veranda, pies my grandmother's that warm the heart, days ordered by the rhythms, a chore that he rests, the strength to bring about change . Would small scents entering the mind and push your life a little later.

The author of this picture has the nickname of Cinnamon-Vanilla.

His photographs are protected by copyright, but are published on the web.
have been raised to let you all know, without no intent to award.

His gallery is posted at the photo below that I added.

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January

The author of this picture has the Au fil de nickname.

His photographs are protected by copyright, but are published on the web.
have been raised to let you all know, without any intent to award.

His gallery is posted at the photo below that I added.

January after the holidays has clean air and cold ray of sunshine that make life white and ready to begin again.
that morning in preparation for, day after day, in the spring. A property
industrious factory feverishly preparing an imperceptible movement which can al'esplosione of life, the sounds of colors.
Meanwhile, for now, the morning he wakes up, it seems, and the sun paints the white and yellow gold. The branches bare hands as empty waiting fingers stretched skyward. Gifts and blessings await fertile for Life going on. Always the same, always different.
A new year (new in every way, every little piece of unstructured practice) is to begin.

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Agio

In our house higher than the volume of my voice when I'm angry. We live in a place that tries to be as much as possible sorted by Bry. "Search", because obviously I can not, and I always do much of that mess that I sometimes wonder what irreparable damage to my daughter and will endeavor to its development. But life is never "simple and straightforward, rather than proceed to trial and error, and I learned that the job of mother is so. It will not be perfect as you are not me, and Bry will learn that are not errors in determining the quality of life. Closed
parentheses.
Yesterday we were at a party for children: one of those organized by dwarfs below the meter in height, so to speak. We were told that it was "the feast of the Epiphany."
Now you what you imagine when you say "the feast of the Epiphany? I imagined a sweet old woman who organized games and gifts.
We were in a room: let's talk, not even his father and I often go to these places more. Entry there, I thought it was a hellish pit: in a dark room with strobe lights, a facilitator screaming like a madman in volumes intolerable urging children to lash out. "Children's Day" resounded in my mind flowing quickly in on-base looking for new categorizations, and "My little daughter is" continuing to repeatedly match this search. I immediately thought it was wrong (and place chosen).
She seemed a little dazed, as well as other younger children of his age. The
I was next to the time needed to settle there, (you, me, his father, and any other sane person), holding in her arms to look beyond the legs of all people taller than her (there does not take much, poor pay of cheese), and tried to describe what was around us and what they were doing all of those people.
Stop-room. A few minutes later: the music roared as children danced to the disco and alternating hand movements, creeping upwards to the floor.
My child-soldier-of-cheese waved his arms and marched with his legs, roam undisturbed through the hall, among people who did not know and that children were likely to invest at any time (which obviously has not happened). He enjoyed like crazy. "This little girl is shy," which ironically was the voice I remember, by whom, of course, not well informed (sedicimesenne my daughter is not shy: it is different).
balloon swords brandished against boys much older than her, and made a fight of hits. It 'came to me and asked me the Heavenly Sword, not the pink. His father
I approached my ear and yelled (to be heard) "I think it is perfectly at Bry ease entropy of this organized chaos. "
How disagree.
I replied, nodding, but in a flash, I've had for a moment the vision of" our "pre-adolescence (the teenage years there will not be given to see her, she will be released on his own).
Mala tempora currunt .

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THE EPIPHANY BULLETIN

I really hope that one day of the Epiphany is down a chimney

to bring gifts to those who
child for a long time is no more.
An Epiphany for young and old people to go in his bag that
a sweet dream
be delivered through the roofs
Who is just, a little company;
a lavish lunch of bread to those who are without;
joy to the sorrowful and joy;
to mothers and fathers a lot of patience.
and put in the stockings of the powerful
peace, friendship and good feelings.

to: Jasmine98

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You have prepared the flight plan? You got permission? You've polished the broom? Excuse if you remember your duties, but past a certain age you tend to have lapses of memory. Remember eyeglasses if no pads like me last year!

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Wonderful Life

The author of this picture has the nickname. Begga.

The His photos are copyrighted, but are published on the web.
have been raised to let you all know, without any intent to award.

His gallery is posted at the photo below that I added.

New year, new book.

When shaken, demoralized, wondering which way things are, I miss stop in a corner of the world and remind me that La Vita E ' wonderful.

The photographs are as fast means of transport that allow you to travel and discover places you've never seen. Also around the corner. Places told by someone, little worlds in the world, seen through the eyes of those who immortalized. The photograph shows us that the world is a place worth living.

think that life is beautiful does not mean being blind to the pain, it just means it looked at him, and he also looked over, and seeing that there is life beyond the pain: what a wonderful world.

[My father loved photography. Now lives in me.]

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we just left behind in 2010, this year for some and 'be nice for some other' less but now will do 'forever part of our existence and we will have' cmq marked for good or for worse, away I wish with all my heart, a 2011 full of good humor, health and serenity ', a year where our dreams can come true, realize our projects, strengthen old friendships and make new ones, a year in which creativity ', our sincere friend, we can keep the company in times of solitude and comfort it sad moments, a year of great memories and great emzioni.

HAPPY 2011 to all

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Walking

As I wrote in previous posts, in the beginning of this year I always keep in mind the value of time passing. Every single day, hour, minute, are precious. And that, instead of me affannare looking for something important, it makes me stop, smell, breathe, BE. Wait for things to happen, not by accident, but the result of my experience fully the present, as the current in the river of life.
This is the teaching of the past year.
As I wrote, I learned many things.
I ended the year thinking about the lessons already arrived, transcribing not to lose.
Now MammaCattiva reading, I noticed that it also serves a purpose-guide for the new year. She, as with common sense, but not obsessively, rather discreet and useful, it reminds me that maybe, just a start address in the wake of the enthusiasm is not quite the thing more way to go. It also serves a small share of the organization to mark the direction.
So, as one of those "games" in which everyone participates in making its voice heard, write my speech of 2011.
REBUILD.

Over the past two years I have hit a number of "earthquakes".
were sudden and unannounced, as all earthquakes, natural disasters.
The first quake, two years ago in the body.
The second, a year and a half ago in the heart.
The third, a year ago, in the workplace.
The fourth, in the months to follow: in my married life.
These were more or less the epicenter, and everything that was around was so affected, of course.
Each of us knows what happens when a disaster wipes out everything: the first moments of panic are those that follow are of demoralization and dismay, then follows the request of the dry, more or less accepted, and hope someone can help you.
Just calm down, slowly, the water begins an important stage: rebuilding.
Well, I am there.
are at the moment it is important that the debris (Benedict, who they knocked down everything that is tottering, that was wrong, which really was not needed!) Can not only ruins remain to cry, laugh, remember. And
'time outreach sleeves, and look to the future.
Bringing with me the good things (Oh yeah!) Has stayed with me. And start again.

The new header picture is randomly , the photo of me and my daughter walk together.

Some say to start at my age is not easy: it's true. But I also say that starting is never easy, and I'm not alone: \u200b\u200bI have next to a person who accompanies me with dedication and great patience in spite of my limitations, I have a daughter that I love and could not have been more-me- teach me, I have a life that in its simplicity can be very beautiful.
I wish that was the turning point: those that give strength to a person's life, which determine one direction with respect to who you are, who want to be. It may be, if I promise.
I fell, I cried, I got up. And now I want to walk.

Expected and unexpected

get second life in that 'moment when you cut the veil and six

the other party.

are not prepared enough

but you're always ready,

the natural consequence of being born,

the natural consequence of love, a thought

liquid that makes the mind

that makes you feel all that makes you feel nothing.

how to make a journey to the center of the earth and the moon

regain a new sense.

How does the weight of things,

the value of money, the force of arms,

of tears, a smile, sleep and waking,

air we breathe, the return home.

Now my place is' here,

that your dazzling beauty.

sometimes short of breath,

from there's no going back.

you afraid that the time is not more to your leash,

you afraid that the game is over now

so you are at that intersection between the engagement and disengagement

and you take away from the center, you have to get into space

and then divide the useless from what is necessary,

is no more a day to sit in your calendar, and then calmly

what is

not you say no ...

finally

because whoever comes to light

lights.

Nicolò Fabi.