It's in the mail

Are you waiting on mail from me? It will arrive soon, I promise! My to-write snail-mail list is loaded up as high as this little train full of stamps. In fact as of today I owe more than 40 people a letter, and that list grows every day.

I don't like to rush these things because when I write to you, dear stranger, I want to think about you. I want to tell you stories, little snippets from my life. I want to imagine your life: what it might be like, what your home might look like. I want to make a gift for you that is a bit special. And I want to paint up your mail with your address to make it interesting for you - and your postman - and to hopefully make you feel special. Because you ARE special. Your mail is coming, I promise. I haven't forgotten you.

Yours truly and most sincerely, Naomi xo

Labour of love

"Do you remember, all those years ago, we had the perfect chai?" ~ Shaw Hendry, Vitamin Ep.13

Do you have something in your life that you do purely for the love of it? It takes your time, it saps your energy, it probably costs you money. But you do it because you love it and you can't stop doing it because this is your passion.

If not, I highly recommend you find this something!

For me, this is writing and drawing and snail-mail. I spend hours of my time writing on this blog, and writing letters, taking photographs, and drawing and painting pictures on mail, even though I am a time-strapped working mother. I create zines and print them and post them out for free, each individual zine taking about three hours to make, not counting the original drawings. I spend literally thousands of dollars a year posting letters to complete strangers all over the world. I wake up at 5 or 5.30am every morning to write a book about snail-mail that I doubt will ever make money which means it will probably never find a mainstream publisher...

And I do all this because I love it. Because it is my passion. Because I never want to be NOT doing these things.

Adelaide local Shaw Hendry had a passion for art, and for the written word, so for six years he created, edited and distributed Vitamin, a free zine celebrating the visual arts culture in South Australia and beyond.

I recently discovered the online archive of Vitamin, and reading through all 13 "episodes" has been like falling down the rabbit hole into a surreal-yet-familiar otherworld of art.

Shaw told his contributors they could write "pretty much what they wanted, so long as it related somehow to South Australian visual culture." The only writing advice he gave was "say what you mean, and speak in your own voice." The result is a publication that shares and celebrates accessible art and personal philosophy, seasoned with a healthy, down-to-earth dose of uniquely South Australian culture and experience.

Vitamin is a beautiful read. Refreshing and real and...healthy. Like vitamins! It is, by its own admission, "a repository of small but powerful truths."

Sadly, Shaw passed away in April 2010. A final episode of Vitamin was published six months later, as a tribute to Shaw and the contribution he and his humble, handmade zine had made to the Australian arts community.

I feel the loss of Shaw, although I never met him. Reading Vitamin, you get a sense of the family he created, and the powerful impact that his labour of love had on the arts world that was clearly so important to him. It's a beautiful reminder that love, not money, truly does make the world go 'round.

Thank you for the lessons and the encouraging, edifying, inspirational read, Shaw. I wish I knew you.

Image credit: Rajesh Pamnani, licensed under Creative Commons

Queen of the universe

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” ~ JD Salinger, “A Girl I Knew” Sometimes do you feel like you are trying - and failing - to hold the universe together? I don’t mean the WHOLE universe, of course (now wouldn’t THAT be a task), but the universe of your life, whatever that may be. Your job, your family, your home, your health, your friends, your creative ambitions, your grand plans, your pets, your breakfast… that kind of thing.

Yep, me too. It’s a big job, isn’t it, universal maintenance. Should we learn to let go a little? Maybe. Or maybe not.

Last week I was sick at the same time as my children were sick and that was… challenging… especially as it came on the back of about a month of bad and broken sleep, and descended only two weeks after I’d recovered from a prolonged cough that had racked me to the core.

It felt like forever that I’d been “normal” and when I came downstairs last Friday, still unwell but definitely on the mend and at least able to stand without wobbling and (more important) able to keep down a cup of tea, the first thing I wanted to do was to regain control of my own little universe.

After successfully getting the kids off to daycare (anyone with toddlers knows what a mammoth task that is in its own right), that meant tidying the house so that I could find enough surfaces to clean and scrub the house, following the rigours it had endured of small children being looked after by their father. It meant stock-taking the contents of the ‘fridge, sadly depleted. It meant dusting off the pile of briefing notes and research on my desk, apologetically emailing neglected editors and clients, and writing up a task-list with associated deadlines on my whiteboard.

And so on and so forth. None of those tasks was particularly fun, and not how I wanted to spend my time. How I really wanted to spend my time was in writing and drawing and painting. Or, if I was still too sick to get creative, I wanted to spend my time under a crocheted rug, watching re-runs of Veronica Mars.

But somehow it was enormously satisfying to be putting my own world - ok my universe - to rights. The life I lead right now might be small, to some. It is small compared to my past, even, filled with the domestic mundanity of life with small children and a part-time job that I do from home, trudging through the same kind of writing I was doing more than a decade ago.

But in this little universe, I am Queen. This life is MINE and I have chosen it and I am in charge of it, and that feels GOOD.

Even when I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing something unidentifiable off the playroom floor.

How is your universe holding up?

Lovely, dreamy girl image is by Schlomit Wolf, licensed for unconditional use under Creative Commons

Find time for yourself

Find time for yourself. Feel it no shame at proper periods to be doing nothing. Make seasons for leisure and for recreation. Climb the hills; scour the valleys; row on the river; stroll along the beach. Cultivate the friendship of the fields and the ferns and the flowers. Laugh with the young folk and romp with little children. Be at your ease. Let the mind swing into an easy balance, a natural poise, an attitude of perfect repose. The restless soul, eternally doing something, never accomplishes anything. It is the person who can sometimes be at rest who produces the finest work in the long run. Find time for yourself!

FW Boreham

This piece was shared by Pip Lincolne recently at the end of a fun (and timely, for me) list of pick-me-up things to do when you're not feeling so great. FW Boreham was one of the most prolific and celebrated Australian authors of all time, although he is lesser-known today, and Pip recently discovered he was also her great grandfather.

I hope she doesn't mind me sharing his words again here. I found them so refreshing: the permission and indeed encouragement to take time out. To do nothing. Recognising the value and importance of down-time, not only for productivity (which is of course important), but also simply for happiness!

When you consider that FW Boreham was writing from a Baptist perspective during a time when the Protestant work ethic was at its height, you can perhaps appreciate even more how revolutionary, intelligent and kind those words must have been to those who read them back then, as well as now.

And I have been taking time out. I've been coughing and crafting and reading and writing in not-quite-equal measure. I've been romping with little children. I've been going to bed early. Sometimes. I've given myself permission to not have to update this blog quite so often, although I miss it, and hopefully soon all that "time out" will lead to more productivity, here and elsewhere. We will see. I'm not pushing myself!

In the meantime, THANK YOU Pip and Frank (FW). This was exactly what I needed to read this morning, to start the day in the best possible way. I hope it helps you guys, too.

Photo is by Mikael Kristenson, and is licensed for use under Creative Commons Zero

Hey letter-writers: do you want to be in my book?

I think I might have mentioned but I haven’t really explained… I’m writing a new book! It's about snail-mail.

It’s been a long time between books for me - Airmail came out in 2011 and I wrote it a couple of years before that. I started and didn’t finish another novel in the interim, and I haven’t entirely given up on that but then I moved internationally, then I moved states six times, I got married, I had two babies within 18 months of each other, and, you know, LIFE got in the way.

In my naivety about life with kids I kept thinking “when the dust settles I’ll get back onto this or that creative project,” but now that my oldest daughter has reached the ripe old age of three, and my step-daughter is 17, I have realised that when it comes to parenting the dust NEVER settles and if you wait until life begins to resemble the way it was BC (Before Children), you will a) be doomed to creative-project purgatory and b) be wishing your children’s childhoods away.

So… I’m writing a new book. Busy life, work, children and all. AND… I want YOU to be in it!

My book is about snail-mail. I like to think of it as a companion to the growing number of snail-mail books that are beautifying our shelves. You know, the books that talk about how snail-mail is a dying movement; and the books that talk about the revival of snail-mail; the books that celebrate the history of snail-mail and its impact on human communication and connection; the books that talk about how snail-mail feeds the souls of both the senders and the recipients; and the books tell those of us who want to know WHY we should pick up a pen and write a letter, and HOW to go about making it extra special.

My book is the next logical step to those books. It doesn’t pit snail mail against email, or fast against slow. It celebrates the way the two can work together, to promote connection, creativity, purposeful communication, genuine thoughtfulness, and a sense of play, celebration, surprise and joy. In my book I celebrate the “mail heroes,” folks who are doing amazing, creative, surprising things with the post that inspire the rest of us. I introduce you to mail communities you can join (both online and offline); clever and creative projects you can be part of; and quirky resources and playful toys and activities that all put the joy back into writing and sending a letter.

It’s a little bit like the book version of my zine 19 ways to make snail mail (even more) fun, except at last count I had more than 100 snail-mail-esque goodies to write about in the book, every one of them with a “call to action,” a way you can get involved or create something or in some way enhance your own experience of and joy in writing letters.

Do you want to be in this book? I really hope so! Following are two ways you can be part of it (there may be more invitations to follow, but I’m not sure):

1. Tell me in one or two sentences, who should you write a letter to today, and why?

2. Did you participate in the write_on “30 letters in 30 days” challenge this year or last year? Please share in one or two sentences: “What I learned / gained from writing 30 letters in 30 days”

Email your answer(s) to me at nabulger (at) gmail (dot) com, and use the subject-heading “write_on" so I don’t lose you in the chaos that is my inbox.

I will quote you using your first and last name, unless you advise otherwise (I’ll follow any requests for pseudonyms etc you desire). If you’d like a bit of a plug, I’m happy to include ONE blog URL or social media link per person, so include that if you’d like to see it in the book.

I look forward to hearing from you, and please share this with your friends. It would be fabulous to get as many different responses as possible.

Yours truly, Naomi xo

(Image is from the Smithsonian Institution, on Flickr. No known copyright restrictions)

Winter

The trees that line our street are bare, their leaves rotting in brown, woodsy, rain-soaked piles in gutters and corners. We are spending more days inside. Baking bread, writing letters, painting, cuddling.

Pumpkin, pomegranates, cinnamon, crumpets. Mandarins, red wine, sausages, cloves.

Every morning I rise before the sun, readying the house for my still-slumbering family. I turn on heaters to take the chill off the rooms, flip the kettle on. I squeeze half a lemon into a glass of water and sip it, leaning on the bench as I contemplate the day to come and the jobs ahead. The kettle bubbles, steams, then clicks off, so I pour a cup of tea and take it into my little study to start writing. I turn on the computer, take a sip while I wait for everything to load.

The first sip of the first cup of tea of the morning is one of life's highest pleasures.

The dawn is beginning to grey the sky when the children are ready to get up. Scout looks out the window, pauses with a spoonful of Weetbix half way to her mouth. "Mummy! It is dark outside!" she says, eyes wide with wonder. And then, just to be sure, she cautions me: "But it is not our bed time. We did only just wake up."

Do you want to know how letterpress works?

Every time we learn something new, we gain more than skills and knowledge. Often we gain confidence, or a sense of purpose, or a sense of achievement, or creative inspiration to do more, try more, experience more, learn more. Learning brings SO MUCH GOOD, even learning things we don’t necessarily want to learn, or think we need.

Like that time my friend Cara was having a birthday and she had always wanted to learn the trapeze so I bought her trapeze lessons… and then she insisted that I be her buddy (because the lessons were for two). And I didn’t want to do it because learning the trapeze was her dream, not mine, and, if we were going to get down to the nitty-gritty, I was afraid. But I loved Cara and Cara wanted the buddy to be me, so off we went on the train, giggling nervously.

And the next minute I was climbing that ladder and it didn’t look so high from the ground but as I was climbing it just kept going up, up, up and by the time I got to the top and was leaning out over the platform waiting to catch a flimsy metal bar as it swung towards me over the abyss (go with me here, I’m talking about FEELINGS), I started shaking uncontrollably. I mean my leg was visibly quivering, like an Elvis dance in fast-forward. And the acrobat behind me was yelling “GO NOW” but I couldn’t make that shaky leg shift, and timing was everything when it came to catching a trapeze, so the next time the swing came back towards me I felt a massive shove behind my knee* and launched forward, catching that bar with my chalky, sweaty hands just as my toes touched air.

It felt like an impossible task but two turns later I was back up that ladder, launching out to catch the bar, swinging myself upside-down to hang by the knees, arching backwards, reaching out, and flying - momentarily - through the air, before catching hold of the strong hands and wrists of somebody else, also upside-down, in a perfect combination of timing and trust.

On the way back home on the train, Cara and I felt invincible. We were gods! We could do anything! And I thought, what am I doing here? I have been talking about moving to New York for SIX YEARS. Why do I keep talking about it? What’s the point of talking? And so that very week I gave notice at my job, bought a plane ticket, and started packing. Sure, I was making an international move with no money, no visa, no job and nowhere to live… but I could FLY. What’s a move to another country, when you put it all into perspective?

So far nothing QUITE so life-changing has followed my lesson in letterpress, but as I drove home through the rain I was reminded of the trapeze lesson all those years ago, because as I drove it was with that same elation of having learned something new, having set myself a task and achieved it, and of having new creative opportunities opened up to me. And just like the trapeze, I never would have done this without a bit of a shove.

In the lead-up to Mother’s Day we did that old dance, the one where Mr B says “What would you like?” and I say “I don’t need anything, just let’s go out to lunch and spend time together as a family,” and I mean it because OF COURSE there are lots of things I would like: I’d like a pony, for instance, also a million dollars, but, well, you get my drift. And then his face lit up and he said “I know!” and he pulled out his iPad and before I knew what was going on, Mr B had sent off an email to Dianne Longley, who he had met at the Lost Trades Fair, asking her about giving me a private lesson in how letterpress works, and helping me understand what methods I might want to pursue. It was done before I knew what it was, and a few weeks later I found myself driving alone through rain and fog to Dianne’s wonderful, warm studio up in the Central Highlands of Victoria, ready to spend a day of learning.

I’ve often wondered, not in a keep-you-up-at-night way but definitely in a passing “wait a minute” way, how all those letterpress cards you see with beautiful, whimsical drawings work. I mean, my understanding of letterpress was that it was a mini printing press, right? So you place all those little metal letters into reverse order, ink up a plate, and press them through the ink onto the paper. So… how do they get the drawings?

The night before my lesson, I sketched up a picture of a butterfly that I wanted to use on the cover of my little zine on practising kindness (the butterfly effect, you know?), and brought it with me, just in case. With Dianne’s help, I created several covers of the zine, which I’ll start sending out to people soon. (Once it was printed I realised I’d made the butterfly too big, and too close to the edge of the page. If you get one of these, you’ll be holding onto my FIRST EVER letterpress attempts, so please forgive me my mistakes in the learning process).

In case you’re wondering too, here’s what you have to do to turn a picture of a butterfly into the cover of a zine, using letterpress (the basic version):

1. Scan the drawing in very high res, then open it up in an editing program 2. Reverse the image so it looks like a negative 3. Print the negative image onto clear plastic (like one of those overhead-projector sheets) 4. Cut out a piece of photopolymer plate slightly smaller than your drawing, place the drawing on top of the plate, then expose it to UV rays. You can do this outside on a sunny day, or use a UV light box. The light will burn away the negative parts of the image, creating a relief in the shape of your original drawing 5. Gently wash away the residue from your plate, in a basin of lukewarm water 6. At this next stage, Dianne put the plate in some other kind of machine for a few minutes to harden it. I can’t remember what that was 7. Depending on how many prints you want to make, you’ll choose your letterpress machine. I had unwittingly drawn my butterfly a few millimetres too big to use the antique tabletop platen press one would usually use for a job like this. So instead, we mixed up some ink with fixer, and used a bayer (roller) to evenly cover the plate with ink. Then I carefully positioned my paper over the plate, and pressed it all between some sheets of thick cardboard in an antique, cast-iron book-press. Doing this one at a time was pretty slow, but I was only making a few covers so that was OK

The end. You can see my butterfly print in the photographs above.

I was so inspired by this lesson (learning does that, I told you!), and I am saving up for another lesson. The next time, I’ll hone my drawing for the cover, AND I want to print it onto thicker paper-stock to get that embossed feeling that I love about letterpress (incidentally, Dianne told me the embossing/de-bossing is a modern phenomenon: way back when, that was considered a mistake, which makes sense when you consider letterpresses were used to print entire books), and Dianne tells me we might be able to letterpress my entire zine!

What about you? Have you learned anything new lately?

* The next day later, wondering why I felt so stiff and sore behind my knees, I looked and found big bruises where they had actually kicked me to make sure I leapt off that platform in time!

Beautiful, creative, generous, heartwarming incoming mail

It's time - long overdue - to do a bit of show-and-tell with some of the SERIOUSLY GENEROUS snail-mail that has been filling my letterbox of late. Each and every one of these letters and postcards completely made my day. Every time (every single time!) I find a personal letter or card in the letterbox, it puts a big smile on my face, and a very special tingle of anticipation as I wait to open it. That's one of the main reasons why I love snail mail so much: it's so personal, you can see the person's handwriting, their drawings, paintings, pastings, and gain so much insight into their lives and thoughts than words alone could share. A big, heartfelt thank-you to everyone here (and to the other gorgeous letter-writers, whose beautiful mail I haven't yet had time to photograph).

∧∧ Zoya sent me a wonderful, heartwarming letter about her world, and made these amazing gifts for me and the kids. I have been admiring the watercolour paintings on her blog Step, Skip, Pause and on Instagram for a long time, and can't believe I'm now the owner of something so beautiful! Take a look at those seriously adorable crocheted veggies! They were presents for my children, who absolutely LOVE them. Ralph carries them around in his mouth (good one, kid), and Scout has found them perfect for the little play kitchen she got for her birthday. Zoya, I owe you a proper, hand-written, heart-felt thank you in the mail. It's coming soon!

∧∧ This rainy-day envelope from Ally is about as pretty as it gets, and it brought genuine sunshine to my day when it arrived in my letterbox. And then when I opened the letter, it literally rained beautiful, thoughtful paper ephemera. It was a bonanza of beautiful, thoughtful things. In her letter Ally said she wasn't particularly artistic but, looking at this collection and at the amazing mail art, I beg to differ! Don't you? You can see beautiful images from Ally's world on her Instagram feed, and I highly recommend her blog Everyday Miracles.

∧∧ This hand-coloured springtime field of flowers postcard from Jen was exactly what the doctor ordered on a rainy, icy Melbourne winter's afternoon. I was so touched at the time Jen had taken not only to write to me all the way from Oregon, USA, but also to so beautifully colour this piece of mail-art.

∧∧ I loved the rainbow drawn across this envelope from Bek of Just For Daisy and, after I opened it, the rainbow contents brightened my day. How sweet is Bek's idea of drawing on little paint cards? I am definitely going to try that myself! Her letter was so sweet, and she even hand-made a little envelope filled with old stamps!

∧∧ Eileen's postcard from Arizona came on just the right afternoon, when I was feeling a bit flat and a bit of a failure in a number of ways. Her kind, friendly words cheered me up no end, and (I must remember to write and tell Eileen this), Arizona is one of my favourite places: so much space, so much history, so much sky! I can't wait to go back there one day, and Eileen's postcard brought back so many memories.

∧∧ Jaimie and I share the same "library card" stationery, so clearly she is a woman of excellent style and taste! Her letter, written on several of these precious cards (a true gift I can tell you, because each card is unique and relates to a classic text, and it's hard to say goodbye to them), was chatty and friendly and, just, lovely! She really made me smile.

∧∧ So many beautiful paper things filled this beautifully-addressed letter from Sandra: little handmade envelopes, tiny pictures and stickers from the children, and a fascinating clipping about Australia from almost 100 years ago. I say "fascinating" but it was also embarrassing, containing some shamefully racist comments. I'm sorry you had to read that Sandra. Our country has a lot to learn and a long way to go, but I promise that does not describe our attitudes at all any more!

∧∧ Scout instantly coveted the glitter cupcake on this lovely card from Julia. She even took it to bed and cuddled it during her nap that afternoon! I loved Julia's letter. I felt like it was a little window into friendship, and Julia if you're reading this, I promise to write back to you PROPERLY, soon.

∧∧ Scout was also MOST enamoured of the star-spangled, pink-topped, double-cupcake balloon card in this mail from Sandra and, come on: who WOULDN'T be? It was adorable, as was Sandra's friendly letter about her Aunty Margaret. I like to hold the delicately-painted mandala pebble in my hand sometimes. It is cool, and smooth (not to mention beautiful), and somehow calming.

∧∧ Karen from Leaf and Petal Vintage (on Instagram here and on her blog here) said she saw this vintage postcard and thought of me. I love it so much, and the gorgeous vintage sewing-pattern card! It was all so thoughtful of her! The postcard contains a birthday message for Mr A.J. Simons from "Nell," sent in August of 1909. Isn't that wonderful to ponder? I wonder who those two were. Friends? Relatives? Colleagues? Lovers? Ah, snail mail.

∧∧ Emily's postcard from her family weekend in Port Fairy was so sweet, and arrived the day before I got to meet Emily in person at a bloggers' meet-up in Melbourne. She blogs at Squiggle and Swirl, and this is her beautiful Instagram feed. I was able to ask Emily about her trip, just as if we were old friends, which I wish we were because Emily is LOVELY.

∧∧ This letter from Pippa was a proper, long, newsy letter. The kind you read after first making a cup of tea and raiding the biscuit tin, then sitting down in comfort for a true snail mail indulgence. Our lives on opposite sides of the world, and one in the city and the other in the country, are so different. And yet I felt like we had so much in common, and loved the insights Pippa shared of her world.

∧∧ Just look at the hand-painted and pasted Valentine's Day card I received (blank so I could give it to someone I love) from correspondence artist Lefty Smudges! The card made it all the way from Canada to Australia and arrived after Valentine's Day, but I'm pleased about that because now I get to enjoy it for a whole year before passing on the clever, artsy goodness.

∧∧ This letter brightened my day when it arrived all the way from Germany. Anke also participated in the 30 letters in 30 days April challenge, and I was one of the lucky recipients of her colourful, cheerful words and paper. I hope she enjoyed the challenge as much as I did!

The darkest night

The darkest night has passed. The winter solstice, the shortest day and the longest night of the year. Our ancestors lit bonfires on the winter solstice, the bright light and heat of the flames symbolising the turning of the sun back towards their homes, warming and brightening and lengthening the days.

When they lit the winter solstice bonfire on the weekend, the kids and I were there to watch it. Rugged up in their puffy coats, wooly hats pulled down over their ears, they watched in wonder as the first flames caught, licked the edges of the bonfire, then raced up in a whoosh that sent golden sparks straight up into the clear night sky.

Ralph, in my arms, breathed "Wowwww."

The children's chubby, round cheeks glowed like tiny suns in the reflected light of the winter fire. I sipped mulled wine from a paper cup. Ralph turned his gaze up, up, up. "Bye bye stars!" he called out, as bonfire smoke dimmed the Milky Way, and the crowd cheered.

It was a simple family evening, a solstice bonfire hosted by the Children's Farm at Collingwood. Hot chocolate and doughnuts, a giant lantern parade, fire twirlers, wandering minstrels, about ten billion picnic rugs, and next-to no parking. It felt fun and festive and just the way these things should, but there was a moment, as the beat of the drums sped to a crescendo, and the fire-twirlers bent to the cold, black pyre and their flames flickered, and caught, and began to grow...

...There was a moment when time seemed to compress and the centuries merged and our 21st century bonfire held a 1st century portent. I could almost feel the earth grinding on its journey around the sun, pivoting our faces toward the coming season's warmth as the fire began to eat shadows and bathe the crowd in light...

Then Ralph said "More chips?" and the spell was broken. We were back in our own century, on a cold winter's night in June. I began to be very aware of the burning pain in my left arm from holding such a substantial little man for such a long time. Scout started casting about in the dark for a cup of water, which was only going to end badly and wetly for our fellow solstice-celebrators, so we packed up the picnic rug and decided to head to home.

But we had our moment, winter and I. I won't forget it.

After the party

These photographs are the calm after the storm has passed. The quiet after the chaos.

When your child has a birthday, you want to take a moment. To pause, to remember: "this time last year, this time three years ago, this time 18 years ago…" I don't think the power of that day goes away for a parent, ever. Does it?

Because in that minute, the minute you are remembering, the world gained this new person. If that minute (and all the hard, gruelling, labour-of-love minutes that preceded it) hadn't happened, the universe would now have a completely different personality.

It would have a hole in it that could never be filled, and a regret that nobody could ever understand, and a loss that nobody would ever know how to grieve. The paths of every single person your child has ever met and will ever meet would have been altered, some of them subtly and some of them in extraordinary and powerful ways, but altered nevertheless.

That's the power of a birthday, when you are a parent.

Scout turned three on Tuesday, and I have been waiting for my own moment of reflection. Searching for it, even, in the frenetic, time-spinning events that have made up our hours and days of late. This is the first chance I've had to stop and think and remember, and now I find my thoughts and memories overpowered by my feelings, and I am without words.

"I love you," I tell her every night when I kiss her and put her into bed (and many times throughout the day). "I love you a million, billion, trillion." And she whispers, "To the moon and back?" "Yes," I tell her. "To the moon and back, and then more."

Every day since she was born, every, single, day, I have told her this: "I love you forever." It is because I believe that my love for her will transcend everything. EVERYTHING. Even if I die, my love is and will be stronger than my body. It is my most profound wish that neither of my children will ever live a second without love.

And that's the best I can do about taking a moment. Happy third birthday Scout!