When the children say "I want to help you," I cringe. I think to myself, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it," but I say outloud, "No thanks, sweetie, I got it."

The wee one repeats himself over and over, "I want to help you, I want to help you, I want to help you," grabbing a chair and rocking the table. The stove is hot and he spills the soup on the toast in the skillet, and I say, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it."

He doesn't hear me, though. Picking up wooden spoons, stirring the pot, patting the bread. "I want to make it, I want to help you." He will not be stopped, will not be deterred. There is nothing to say to a determined three year old eyeing nothing but grown-up goodness and a chair next to mama.

I turned off the computer today because in my head I say, "No, no, no..." too many times. Two weeks left here and I worry about the square pictures on a sticky screen when the man and the children and the Lord say, "I want to help you. I want to make it." 

My place is not virtual, my body is not digital. I am here now, my heart beating and breathing. Help me. Make me.

See the drops of soup on the bread.

He is making.

To ask for some help, from you

I came to Starbucks to work and write, but it is hopping with people and the music is jamming and I've got three or four open documents in my queue, staring at me with cursors blinking. One sentence here, one paragraph there. Another is nearly finished, but waiting to pass on to better eyes than mine before hitting publish.

It is harder than I thought it would be, writing about leading a lazy life, or describing what it was like to walk arm-in-arm with my grandmother in an art gallery several months ago (lesson: write sooner, rather than later), or having a family member peruse your heart for fear it might slightly injure her's. This writing, it's a tough nut to crack. And sometimes I feel all the nuttier for it.

Which leads me to ask for some help, from you, wonderful warrior readers. What do you want to know? What have you been reading, or where do you suggest I look? I want to write more for us here, and less for me and my issue of the day (or week, or year). Let's jump off something, and wade into the depths a bit, and crack this bad boy together.

I'm all ears and typing fingers. Where do we go from here?