Dear World,

I haven't posted in a while.

I've been feeling restless lately-- at least that's how I described it to Rick the other night while we were visiting before bed.  I told him that I have a restless soul.  That inside I feel the same way I feel when I am tossing and turning in bed, and can't seem to get comfortable no matter what position I'm in.

At night when I'm restless, I can usually pinpoint it to some cause-- a day without enough physical activity, a worry or concern that I'm mulling over, or too much caffeine in my bloodstream.  But what's the equivalent for my soul?

I have a vague idea that it has something to do with writing.  For months now, I've been devouring books.  I've filled all the small little free moments in my day with the written word-- sometimes reading stories to the boys, and sometimes alone while they are sleeping.  Each night I've spent hours immersed in beautiful stories.

This is nothing new for me.  I seem to go in spurts where I read a lot, but it is usually always followed up with a spurt of writing-- and not like the writing on this silly little blog of mine-- but the writing that I can sink into for hours at a time, as if time is suspended for a small moment-- where the words seem to thread themselves together.

The kind of writing that seems impossible when I have little children to take care of.

Reading is easy.  I can be distracted by a child waking up from a nap, set the book down, and pick up where I left off-- but writing?  No.  I have come to the conclusion that it just isn't possible right now at the stage I'm at.

I don't feel sad about it.  I know there are years ahead of me to write the way I want to.  And I have other smaller outlets, like this blog.  The other night while I was visiting with Rick, he told me that I should just write little sayings like "Walk softly, and carry a big stick, and you shall go far," to satisfy my need to write.  Maybe it was because it was 11:30 at night, and because Rick said it in all seriousness, but it sent me into a fit of giggles.  It still makes me laugh.

So until I have more free time, I'll have to rely on the wise words of Teddy Roosevelt that Rick shared with me, and perhaps feel restless for a while, but enjoy my beautiful family all the same.

And because I need more pictures of my little Mase on this blog, here's one from March of last year.  It was a camping trip we took as a family to Death Valley that I never got around to blog about.

These six month old pictures of my babies are killing me lately.  I think that a six month old baby is perfect.  The adorable chubbiness, their ability to sit up and explore and grab around them (but their inability to crawl and walk around and get into everything yet) and those round smiley faces.  I just want to eat them up (call me crazy, if you will).  Dare I say it?  I think I might have to have another one of these in the future.