I've probably written this blog a hundred times. Each time fighting back the anxiety that pulls me under every time I even begin to scratch the surface of what I should say, what I want to say.
So in honor of a new year and a new me, (thanks in part to last years epic goal achieving breakthrough,) I just want to
At times this place might feel a little sugar coated, overly sweetened by trendy filters of SoCal sunsets and home baked goods; but I also hope to open other doors too. The kind defined by closets, skeletons and my evolution into early and unexpected motherhood.
There are moments in life we don't take pictures of because the raw memories alone paint an even clearer portrait of who we fear we have become (i.e. our mothers!) Sure, I want to be the crafty mom who inspires creativity and adventure, the trophy wife who has the grocery shopping done and dinner completed perfectly on schedule, and the kind of daughter/sister/friend who has the time and always says the right things (and those right things never hurt or discourage in any way).
But let's be honest: I rule my family with an iron fist, I make irrational demands and expect impractical reactions from those I love the most. I burn banana bread and lack the patience to boil water, I forget to buy sandwich bread for lunches and milk for breakfast at least once a month. I order take out too often and exercise too little. In the game of life I made mistakes and am still making them but at the end of the day there is just me, trying my best, to do what I believe needs to be done and show my family how much they mean to me.
This is that adventure. This is that account of chaos that makes others envious one moment and cringe the next. This is my story.
