Mama needs some new ink

SweetieDarling will be 18 in a few weeks. She wants a tattoo. *sniff* I'm so proud. I've been pondering a new tattoo for myself for a few months. I want the word "BREATHE" on the inside of my right wrist, because, you know, sometimes I forget. To stop and just breathe. My right hand is my dominant. It's the one I see when I reach out stroke my sons' cheek, or when I clip the leash on the puppy. It's what I see when I'm reaching out in anger or gesturing to make a point. It's the one that leads in throwing a punch or snatching someone bald. If I'm about to fire off an angry e-mail, or throw something in frustration, perhaps I'll see it there "breathe" and stop for a second, and breathe, and think about it. Maybe in the mad rush that is life, instead of shoving piglet's backpack and snack into his hand and hustling him out the door, I'll see it and stop for a hug and a smile. Maybe it will remind me to slow down, calm down, sit down. Perchance even to breathe.