Wednesday, March 16, 2016


I always say this.  I always say how I haven't been on here in nearly a year.  Yes, I know, that gets old.  Being a working mother and putting Breck through physical isn't easy.  I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize myself.  The tired eyes and beginning fine lines, the fuller cheeks and jaw.  I never lost all of the baby weight, though I walked two-three miles a night at one point.  At least I only gained 30 lbs last time.  And right now, I have lost all the pregnancy weight from Ace.  But I'm not Kaylea Brooks.  I am Mom.

I remember when I had the epiphany that my mother was once her own person.  It shocked me that she had a personality, and to me seeing photos of her in her youth and reading what she wrote back then made me feel like I was experiencing some mythical creature akin to a unicorn.  Yes, I was that self-absorbed.  I believe most children believe their mom is just this thing that provides and makes things better...and that's all she is until they stumble upon her past.

My personality got lost in the babies and exhaustion.  There is a constant tumult around us, so the piano, writing, and running took a back seat.  So did the makeup and nice clothes.  Now I see that my selfishness is withering away, though slowly.  But the identity, well it's not so much there.

I think they call that depression, but I call it children.  I used to think my mom was terrible for not remembering all of the parts of our childhood, but now I get it.  Survival is the default mode.  Days and night meld together, and relationships fall to the wayside, as do pleasantries and societal norms I used to follow religiously.  Why?  Because I don't have time to care about anyone but my children, and on occasions when my husband is home, him too.  I don't have time for myself, let alone too many others.  Time is a precious commodity that I spend on few, but those I invest in, I try and give the best of me.  Not that there is much of me left.  And I have a few friends who understand this.  They're the golden ones.  One specifically who is just as busy, and when we finally get together we don't feel too guilty, because we know the other understands.  Life is a raging river, and you're always trying to grab on to something solid and stay there.   Why was I in such a hurry to grow up?  They were right.

So, these days, I want to write.  Some have said I have a talent.  Maybe I do.  I just write all my feelings when they well up.  I think brutal honesty is the key to being a great writer.  There is not much else to it.