I’ve been thinking. My thoughts often go in a swirl that rivals even my kids’ playroom for chaos (and believe me, their playroom is a mess). I want to post more often about me. Just like any other mother, my children are a huge, deep, real part of my life. I don’t often talk about motherhood in hushed tones, in awe of its power and beauty. Although it is certainly powerful and beautiful, it is also frustrating and funny. Funny in that physical comedy kind of way. I often feel like I’m the unlucky lady in a movie who is on her way to a job interview, running terribly late, wearing a freshly ironed dress, only to find herself standing on the corner of the street as a car whisks by, spraying her with muddy water from a pothole. Motherhood is definitely easier if you have the ability to laugh at yourself. Life with children is unwavering in its ability to provide the most beautiful, tinkling laughter and the most heart-wrenching, frustrated tears in the same day.
But the laughter almost always makes up for the tears.
Lucas, nine months old.