God is Good to the Johnsons

I remember holding you, the first morn after wedded And thinking then, as our eyes met midst smiles How could I ever love you more? But here we are dear, riding hand in hand Teasing and laughing as the Jeep takes us south And I love you now more than all the days past. And I can't imagine loving you more tomorrow, but now, after 1,528 days of waking up next to your eyes and smiles, I know that I will. ~~~ I remember holding you, that morn when you were born And thinking then, amidst tears and cries and your soft newness-- How could I ever love you more? But here we are munch, playing duplos and singing You grab my cheek to plant a kiss, you place in my hands just one more book-- And I love you now more than all the days past. And I can't imagine loving you more tomorrow, but now, after 608 days of teaching you and reading to you and watching you grow, I know that I will. ~~~ I remember looking at the positive sign, a glow in

It's been a hot minute. I haven't posted anything, because quite frankly, I've been afraid to write. My writer self looks gaunt in the face and weepy for neglect. She has so many beautiful ideas and at least thrice weekly she has a brilliant subject for a blog post or journal entry. But, admittedly, she's been held captive by my insecurity demons, those brutes who whisper bitter nothings... Sometimes they attack my artistic side: " you can't post a recipe. You don't even have a picture, and if you did take a picture, you just have a smart phone camera. That photo would look pathetic. What a newbie  you'll look like next to your favorite gorgeous food blogs like 'cooking classy' and 'six sisters stuff'  ... or ... " you think you're a poet? Bah. Half your poems don't even have matching syllables from line to line. Your imagery is weak and your ideas are all over the place. What are you even trying to convey? They'll