If home is where your story begins, Then I don’t recall a chapter before you.
There must have been no prologue; At least not one worth mentioning. Perhaps, the editor removed it for clarity. All the better, For the story worth telling Must be the one that starts with you.
So, if home is where your story begins, Then my story began here with you.
And if home is where the heart is, Then my heart was stuck far too long In the pages of the lonely flyleaf and the dull copyright.
Was I homeless before my heart found you? I can’t remember. I don’t want to. Perhaps, the realtor was banking on a better market. All the better, For the home worth sharing Must be the one that’s here with you.
So, if home is where the heart is, Then my home is forever with you.
When I first fell in love with you
I thought my chest would explode.
Surely a heart cannot hold more.
But then it did hold more it seems. Or perhaps better said: It grew in capacity as time waltzed on.
When we first tied ourselves
Together in that
Beautiful,
Unbreakable
Knot.
My cup was full and
Overflowing
That it seemed to make an embarrassing mess.
Are not there limits even to this?
But then a larger cup was bestowed
And continued to be filled
Beyond what I can pretend to
Understand.
I loved you before to the point of bursting,
And I could not love you more.
But now I do love you more.
And tomorrow I shall love you more still.
And now,
As if the one No longer able—or content—to grow and contain alone, Determined to breathe into existence another that the Love may be given yet over again;
As if there were no other way To keep loving and stay sane We have created another life To love And To be loved.
So that if this heart has loved to its full,
Then here,
Here is another heart
I have helped to create to love more fully too.
My wife and I were recently in the throes of potty training with our charming toddler. And like travailing the thick jungles of an uncharted rain forest, navigating the new land or Toiletdom has been interesting, to say the least. Like a good movie, it’s been full of suspense, mystery, drama, and intrigue. There have been unexpected turns, plot twists, and shocking character developments. The potty pangs are real.
But each day we kept going and did not give up, and neither did she. As we cheered on our child and celebrated each triumph the days got better and dryer. We would remind her over and over again, “You can do it!” And then, when finally the floodgates of her bladder opened up to descend into the bowl of destiny she squealed with delight, “I did it!” Her glimmering glee as she mastered the potty has been truly inspirational.
Perhaps you are enduring the refining fire of a similar forge. Do the days seem dire and the universe ungovernable? Is your patootie simply pooped in more ways than one? Are you in the midst of an inauspicious space as you seem to have had yet another accident in the underwear that is your life? Then let me take a moment to encourage you to take heart.
If you feel like life has dealt you handful of gerbil droppings, then throw them away, that’s gross. If you feel burdened and overwhelmed by all the worries of life, then don’t hold it in, that’s not healthy, just let it all out. If you’re straining with too many demands, then don’t push too hard, just wait, eat some prunes, and try again later. Does everything seem to be full of poop? If it’s brown, flush it down. Just like our toddler, you too can wave adios to your troubles, and say “Bye, bye poopie!”
You can do it. You can succeed in this next challenge of life training. You can overcome the rump scoundrels that cause mental constipation, emotional diarrhea, and spiritual incontinence. You too can proclaim from the misty mountaintops, “I did it!” Yes, yes, you did indeed.
As In Life, Such Is the Potty
Oh what ominous porcelain peak that lurks before me?
A forbidding cliff, a fearsome instrument of torture I’m sure.
Must I ascend this frosty alp, this saucy summit?
My bawdy bowels tremble.
My delicate derriere is in dread.
My keister shivers at the touch of the dead cold ceramic.
Oh hindquarters, don’t fail me now.
Take courage and sit strong!
You wayward whoopsies don’t miss the mark.
As posterior plumps on exterior of the galvanized gourd,
Please don’t slip and be sure all exits remain interior.
Behold, this throne of smelly terrors once my bane,
Now subjugated to my will is but a hollow seat.
My caboose celebrates in serendipity!
I’m a big boy now.
finanigans 