He’s my office mate and I’m sure he had no idea what was about to befall him when my boss walked me into our shared office last June. And share I have. Over shared, in fact, most days. Everything that goes through my head comes out of my mouth and there is only one thin cubicle wall between me and him. He hears it all.
I love bed time for all the wrong reasons. Actually, one specific wrong reason: because it means in 45 minutes I will have three hours all to myself. A crackling fire, a glass of wine and the fourth book in the Game of Thrones series call my name plaintively from downstairs, forcing me to dig deep and breathe slowly through the last push.
I’ve been knocked down, almost knocked out, had my feet stomped on countless times, and even had a piggy-back ride choke me to the point of seeing stars. All of this from two little people who love me so much they simply can’t stay off me. Their hearts would break if they realized how many injuries I have sustained in this job of raising them. Despite all these bumps, bruises, cuts, and scrapes, I can say with my whole heart that my kids have healed me much more than they’ve hurt me.