Wow, a lot happening around here lately. Zibbit has been sick, and we took a trip to the ER on Monday night because she was having a hard time breathing. Croup again. Every time she gets a cold, she gets croupy, and it is miserable! She has been feeling so yucky. No appetite, no sleeping… It’s been no fun at my house the last few days.

I had such great plans for yesterday’s Self Portrait Tuesday post. I was going to take a nice, long bubble bath with some candles and soft music, and take a picture of my feet sticking out of the water. The title would have been “time for me”… Well, reality swooped it and smacked me upside the head with the cold, hard truth. There is no time for me. I do not get to take leisurely bubble baths. My kids are lucky if they ever get bathed these days. So I drew you a picture of what it would have been like, if I did get to take that bath:

Ahh, looks so peaceful…

In other crazy news, we found out today that my husband might have an opportunity to go work in London for a couple of years. Our whole family could move over there and spend two years living in Europe! I am excited and scared at the same time. I don’t know what to think! Has anyone ever done this? What would your concerns be? What would we do with our cars, our house, our cats? My brain is on overload and I am tired. Sorry for the disjointed post, be back with some better stuff soon.

Here are some things I love:

The smell of the first drops of rain on hot concrete.

Feeling my hair spread out behind me when I lay back in the water.

The shocking and delightful moment when I touch a lemon to my tongue.

Snuggling deep inside a thick blanket on a winter evening, reading by the light of a soft lamp.

The charged, thick stillness of the air just before a thunderstorm.

The hot and yeasty smell of fresh bread baking.

The warm snuffle of a baby against my breast.

The cheerful lilt of an Irish accent.

Waking up early in summertime, and stepping outside to find it’s already warm.

The crunch of sugar between my teeth after biting into a Christmas cookie.

The squelch of fresh spring mud between my toes.

The crackle of a record player.

Watching my daughters splash with sheer joy along a sidewalk full of puddles.

What about you?

Kathryn and I are on a mission.

A mission to give you, our loyal readers, a little glimpse into what life is like around these here parts. A big part of what life is like is frogs. Thousands of frogs. She came over the other night and we took a little walk down to the pond by my house to visit these frogs. Click here to listen.

This is a guest post that was submitted to me anonymously. It literally brought me to tears, and I am so glad that I can share it with all of you. I know it will mean a lot to so many women. If you would like to submit a guest post, please email me at karli at momonawire dot com.

There are not many women in my life who have inspired me. My relationship with my mother had been more of a child parenting an adult during my childhood and young adulthood. But there was one woman who reached out to me at the lowest point in my life, a woman who not only literally saved me, but who set my future on a course to do the same for others.

I was the victim of a brutal sexual assault that left me drowning in anxiety, guilt, and feelings of worthlessness. I had no one to reach out to, and in a moment of utter despair and tremendous emotional pain, I decided that not living was preferable to the emotional pain that was slowly eating away at me. I sat down to a bottle of prescription sleeping pills and a fifth of cheap vodka, truly believing that I had no other choice.

I thank God every day that someone found me in time to save me. And I thank God for the smiling face I woke to, the face of a woman who had been where I was, and who was determined to help me save myself. The first thing she said to me was, “You are not alone. You can choose to continue to be his victim, or you can take back your power, and survive this.” Those words struck me so profoundly, that I wept, and she held me tightly and let me pour my grief and pain onto her.

Some years later, in the same professional field as she, I encountered my first rape victim, in the same place emotionally that I had been long ago. My heart was beating wildly, and I was so afraid to talk to her, afraid of the familiarity of her raw wounds. My hands were shaking. I sat next to her on her hospital bed, desperately struggling to keep my own emotions in check. My mind went back to those words that were so simple, yet which had managed to start the healing process for me.

“You are not alone,” I told her. “You can choose to continue to be his victim, or you can take back your power, and survive this.” I know she saw my own ghosts when she looked into my eyes, and that connection, that knowing that someone understood, that healing was possible, no matter how impossible it seemed, was the beginning of that woman’s survival.

That moment, when I knew I had given to her what she needed, which was what I had needed long ago, was the moment that I was able to finally set my ghosts free. Not only had I survived my ordeal and gone on to help others overcome their emotional problems, but I had given to that sexual assault victim the same gift that I had received - hope. Sometimes, that’s what we need the most.

– Anonymous

Oh, yes. I’m da bomb.

This is my hair from toddlerhood all the way up to the present. I rock it, baby.

This month’s Self Portrait Tuesday theme is “Time”. For more photos, check out the SPT blog.