It’s the hardest job in the world, and yet the immensity of gratitude makes me feel as though I could fly.
I wear leggings everyday. Black. Matches everything.
The perfect mother is a mythical creature that roams in the subconscious nightmares of most mothers.
I’m not just a mom. In any given day, I wear a hundred different hats, make a thousand decisions, run my household smoothly, and…most importantly…love and strengthen my children and husband.
They have zero appreciation for anything I have done for them today.
I'm a score-keeper. It's a good way to measure the distance from performance to perfection. And, for some reason, I can get drawn in by the myth of perfection.
I’ve had to pee since I brought the groceries in about an hour and a half ago.
I let a lot of things go. Don’t we all? That’s the only way it’s possible to survive this motherhood gig.
I still straddle that line between home and the world, between living in the permeable skin of motherhood and the tighter, more intimate skin of the woman I am beyond my children and also because of them.
To find myself now happily awake before the dawn, preparing a breakfast that requires much more than a bowl and a spoon, is a miracle of time, love and motherhood.