Poems And The Good Stuff.

Last night, Taylor and I sat in bed. He on his computer, me writing a really dumb poem to my nieces and nephews in Arizona. I would read a line to him, ask his opinion and then he would tell me what he thought. Sometimes he would make this ummm sort of noise and then give me another, sometimes better, sometimes worse, sort of suggestion. And other times he would approve and tell me that he liked it.

Shortly after his approval was given, I would usually say it was all wrong, erase what I had written and start again. Although I'm not really sure why I cared so much because the poem was for children all under the age of 10 and what did they care if the poem made sense or if it was clever or witty? But then the truth is, they probably would care because those kids, well, sometimes I feel like they're smarter than me. It's such a proud and disheartening thought all at the same time.

In the end, the poem ended up being about honeydew, hoses, hangers, and bricks. It was one that I really feel will go down in the books. It was nice though you know. To dedicate an evening to things and people that weren't me. Because more often than not, I feel that I need those nights away from myself. Those nights that allow me to regroup and feel like I have a purpose in this small Wyoming world that I live in. Even if it is writing senseless poems, because to those children it will mean something. To them it will mean that their aunt never stops thinking about them. To them, those glitter and glue covered hair clips I made to send along with that poem will mean that I care about their well-being, and of course, their hair. My nephew will add the Wal-mart purchased monster truck to his collection of 500, while my other nephew will enjoy at least a day or two of slobbering on his spidery ball. Because what else do you send a one-year-old boy? And my unborn niece well, you better believe I'll live vicariously through my sister by buying all kinds of unnecessary clothing for her until I can one day satisfy that craving with my own children.

When my poem was complete and all gifts were prepared to send off the following day, I stood up because I felt this odd sort of quietness outside our window. The kind where the world falls silent, not a car is on the road, and this reassuring sense of peace comes over you as you imagine that everyone is home with their families on this snowy, freezing cold kind of night just as they should be.

Within minutes, snow was piled up on cars, streets, and fences. And I had this moment with Mother Nature where I stopped hating her for a second and really just kind of appreciated how beautiful and quiet and white it was outside.

And as I sat there staring out the window, Taylor asked me if we remembered to put the dog inside.

And in a really concerned voice I told him no. Because we don't have a dog.