I'm still fairly new to blogging, but I have noticed that people usually blog about whatever it is that's going on in their lives at any given moment. Just thinking about everything that's going on in my life leaves me quite breathless. But I really wouldn't want it any other way.
My weekend at the shore was filled with breathless moments; warm sand between my toes, a glorious magenta sunset, the distinct mating chatter of the sandpipers. When I'm at the beach—my favorite place to be—I don't have to look too hard for breathless moments. They're everywhere I turn.
Every Monday I can be found spending the day with Michael Lee III. M3 we've taken to calling him. He's the cutest nine-month old on the face of the planet. He's sitting up and rolling with utter perfection, and he's nearly crawling. When he graces me with one of his bright, toothless grins—I'm breathless.
My father has faced two major surgeries in the past few months. He's home, resting and recuperating. I am proud to say his doctors have called him Superman. My dad is one tough cookie. We went through some rough days together, and I'm hoping that the worse is behind us. But I have found a new appreciation for him, for all he has done for me, for all the love and support he has given. Whenever I see his blue eyes flash with humor or hear him laugh—I'm breathless.
As a writer, I often 'see' my scenes unfolding in my mind's eye like a movie on a theater screen. I have no idea where this ability comes from, but it never fails to leave me breathless.
Last fall both my children moved far away; one to AZ, the other to RI. When the phone rings and I hear the voice of one or the other of my boys—I'm breathless. When my husband comes home from work, sneaks into my office and plants a kiss on my neck—I'm breathless.
I once read that life shouldn't be counted by the number of breaths you take but the number of moments that take your breath away. I believe that with all my heart. I try hard to remain aware and alert. . .because I don't want to miss a single breathless moment.