I may not be a lot of things, but I promise you, I'm real. I'm honest and true to myself which means I'm true to my children. You won't find me pulling the wool over my tired blue eyes or pretending that I'm anything more than I am. I think I'm a pretty awesome mom even if I'm far from a one hundred. I'm not quite a perfect build, I am a so so housekeeper, I've gotten too much sun and I tend to be a smartass. All those things are me and that's okay, even better than okay, because I'm real.
Real suits the art of motherhood. For quite a long time, I hid behind a facade of perfection ruled by worry and fear. When our fourth child was born with extra special needs, I was forced to ponder the future and so, I made a choice. I started writing and for me, I learned to choose joy, seek light, find good in the teeny little things in life and you shall be happy. I tell the truth about a real life, a messy one with lots of laughs and tears too. I write about the chaos that dictates life with an attorney husband and four kids, the youngest diagnosed with autism this past month. I write something every day and you never know where the pendulum may swing. I detail why my husband obviously did not become a nurse, the state of my gross car, becoming an only child, juggling the needs of four children and acknowledging my feelings surrounding Amos, the boy who has stolen my heart.
There's no question that real life's path is steep, perilous, exhausting, emotionally demanding, and frustrating. When life is real and messy and unexpected, seeking joy leaves me gravitating to the children I call my own. I look at them and spy quite a spectacular sunbeam, born of motherhood, which shan't be captured. It shines peace and joy amidst chaos and heartache and continues to defy my fearful imagination. I am reminded that I am enough, I am more than enough. Did any one us sign up for where we are today? Not me, but I wouldn't trade my real for a million bucks. Happy Mother's Day. ❤️