The holidays are a strange beast. On the one hand they are my favorite, favorite time of year. It’s almost like people in general are friendlier, more giving, more forgiving, more compassionate. There is also this unseen magic that fills the streets, shops and stores, parks and walkways. The music seems to help creating this atmosphere that I wish I could bottle up and release like an Airwick, any time of the year when things got a little dull. On the other hand, they have a way of highlighting all the painful wounds of grief that are so easily ripped open this time of year.
It always feels strange entering into such a time in the year that families get together and do fun things like Christmas parties, gift wrapping, gingerbread man decorating, parades… with one little one always missing. It’s not even something I talk much about outwardly anymore, but inside a mother never forgets the silhouette of all her children. In her heart she can see them together, as they should be. I find Joseph volunteering her name more and more into our daily conversation. It’s sweet is what it is. Pure sweetness. We make life what it should be. We include her when we can, we are sad because she can’t really be a part of all this. But more than anything we are so thankful.
Real life, after all, has blessed our socks off.
In real life, I am finally breaking up with my notion that Thanksgiving decorations are overrated. They totally are worth every penny. Plus Michael’s had a bunch on sale (80% off!). So that definitely made the purchase easier. Anyway, our house smells and feels like Fall. And it is absolutely MAGICAL!
Real life is also rainy days that make it hard to take good pictures, and hauling two kids from H.E.B. to the car with a 24 pound turkey and a ham entertaining to watch. Not to mention the rain was soaking right through my cute leopard print flats.
Real life is a pile of books sitting next to my laptop that Joseph handpicked for me to read to him tonight. I brought them with me, when I moved spots to write tonight. Thinking about his little hands picking them with intention, and expectation. His heart, how he still needs me.
Being a mom. I will never get over how amazing this gig really is.
Real life is the time change making a shift in everyone’s sleep patterns and Bubby’s happy-go-lucky play style. He woke up at 6:30 this morning and then refused to play until nine. All the while Evie is playing but every five or ten minutes I find her searching for her play buddy. It was kind of sad! We went to the park with a friend and that more or less got him going, but this time change – not a fan. I never thought I’d say that about the time change that actually gets us more sleep.
Real life is putting something out for the world to see, and then cringing because I didn’t do this or that. Obsessing over every detail, and questioning if it was ever ready to be seen by someone other than myself.
Real life is waking up refreshed. Renewed. With promise. And encouragement. And so much love.
Real life breaks my heart, churns my soul, questions my beliefs and magnifies my doubts.
But real life is what I am thankful for tonight. To feel. To love. To give. To play a big or small part in someone else’s story.
This post is sponsored by Fotor.