Stories with Sophie

You know how I complain about Mom during March....she's always on the computer writing this silly blog or reading other people's silly blogs instead of spending time with me?  Well, can it please be March again???? Ever since school got out, she's done nothing. I mean nothing. I can't wait for the days when she takes her bag of sticks and leaves the trailer! And at home, she just lays around watching TV.  Says she has nothing to do. Well, that's kind of an exaggeration--she does lots of stuff. She cleans, she works in the yard (I've been helping!), she's been throwing LOTS of stuff away (I've been hiding my toys so they don't disappear!). But she sure hasn't been writing. And I'll let you in on a little secret---she needs to write. Sometimes she's kind of grumpy.  She's not grumpy in March when she writes every day. So, anyway... I've been trying to give her some writing ideas. I do lots of cute things every day (well, p

I look back at old posts and wonder how I did it. How did I have so much to say and where did those words come from?  I wrote about silly, normal days. I wrote about little details in my day. And now, those simple posts seem as if they were written by someone else. And I couldn't possibly write about those things again---could I? I'm just going to keep writing. Putting words into this blog. Whatever comes to my mind. I told students this often---JUST WRITE. Write whatever's in your head. Even if it sounds stupid. Even if you think no one will like it or read it. Don't worry about word choice, or spelling, or grammar. Get the words down. You can always go back. So, I'm getting the words down. In desperation. But. I know they will come. Eventually.

Write. Just put some words on to the blank screen. Write. Words. But the words haven't been there. I really and truly planned on filling up my blog with words about teaching, my students, retirement. But The words aren't there. At times, I feel bereft.  Empty.  I don't know who I am. Oh. I hide it. I laugh. I joke. I play. But just underneath the surface, Tears form, unwanted, at the oddest times, and I think of the kids I will miss. My babies.