You Never Can Tell What Your Kids Might Pick Up From You . . .

                Anyone who knows me knows that I love a good bargain. My motto is “Why buy new when you can buy almost new for a fraction of the price?” It’s as much about the hunt as the purchase. It’s a game of sorts, and there is a high that comes from stumbling on a new with tags Macy’s cocktail dress that looks amazing on you for ten bucks at the local thrift store (Yeah, that happened last week ). I mean seriously, how can you not love that?

            Since our family has had some hard economic times the last few years, I have become quite the pro at finding exactly what I want at the price tag I can afford. I started with garage sales (way too hit and miss), graduated to ebay and since moving to Dallas where everything is truly bigger and better, the fun has really exploded. Dallas thrift stores are simply way too much fun!

            Don’t get me wrong, I don’t settle. The things I buy are not only top brand, but they look brand new. Thanks to craigslist, my home is filled with Pottery Barn and Bombay Company furniture that I paid next to nothing for. My kids closets are full not only of Gap and Crew Cuts clothing but even the harder to find top brands like Narrtjie, TEA and even a few Deux Par Deux and Matilda Jane dresses. Like I said, I take the hunt seriously and I know my brands!

            What I didn’t realize is that my little recreation would rub off on my children.

            I was chatting on the phone with my husband the other day when I noticed that my seven year old son was on the computer. Normally, that wouldn’t phase me. However, being that Gavin lost his gaming privileges due to a VERY bad week at school, I not only noticed, but instantly assumed that he was defying us by playing anyway.

            With extreme wariness I asked Gavin what he was doing. His answer floored me.

            “I’m on Ebay.com mom. I’m looking for some Batman toys.”

            I stared at him. He’s seven after all.

            “I can get this Batman for $1.50 and it’s way more than that at the store.”

            I couldn’t help laughing and I filled my husband in on what was going on. My husband responded that it was a good thing that Gavin didn’t know my password as Gavin said, “Mom, I want to put a bid on this. What’s your password?”

            “There is no way I’m giving you my password!”

            “That’s okay, I’ll try the password you use for the computer.”

            I was very glad that my ebay account predated my current password trend or I might have a nightmare on my hands! Though I’m thrilled that my son is learning wise money habits from me, I can’t help but shake my head and wonder if I’m inadvertently creating a monster?!

Live Life with Your Arms Wide Open

            We’ve all been hurt. Sadly, it’s often the people we love the most and trust the most who end up hurting us the most. What we do with that hurt can actually be more harmful that the hurt itself.

            So many of us leave a trail of broken relationships in our wake. We’ve been hurt or we’ve hurt others and rather than working through the conflict, we let the relationship go. Sadly, it’s easier to let go than resolve the conflict, even if it is a mother, a brother or a best friend. What we often don’t consider is how every broken relationship, every unresolved “betrayal,” changes us forever.

            Many of us build walls around our hearts. In theory, the walls are supposed to protect us from getting hurt again, but in reality they do more harm than protection. It is these walls that keep us from living and loving to the fullest. When we allow the pain of our past to impact our present by putting us in protection mode, we are the ones who lose.

            For years I lived with walls around my heart. I was so scared of getting hurt that I didn’t let anyone close enough to hurt me. I was lonely and longing and I began to realize that not only were the walls I had built keeping the harmful relationships out, but also the very ones that I longed for the most. You see, the thing about walls, they keep people out, ALL of them.

           With lots of prayer, journaling and tears I tore the walls down.

            Some of the best friends in my life (including my husband) entered my life shortly after this. I would never have allowed those relationships if my walls had still been up; they were far too risky. Every one of these friendships was well worth the risk!

            I’ve been hurt over the years now that my walls are down. One friend hurt me repeatedly. But the thing about letting your walls down, well, they are DOWN. At least for me, it meant living my life with my arms wide open. Despite getting hurt, I can’t help it, I love unreservedly and I forgive without question, sometimes again and again.

            Recently I was going through an especially dark time and I called one of the people who is on that top tier of people. I was at my wits end. I was near to despairing and I needed to know someone loved me and I needed empathy. What I got was something very different.

            Instead of getting love and compassion, I got judgment. I was told that it was my fault, that all these bad things totally out of our control that were happening to us were somehow our fault. I was told that there must be something wrong with us that made us a target for all the bad things that happened. I was not only hurt, I felt betrayed.

            I didn’t yell or get angry. I didn’t defend myself. I listened and I let go, determined to not talk to this person until I received an apology for the truly terrible things she said. This wasn’t the first time she had hurt me and I have always forgiven and let it go despite the hurt she has caused, but this one . . . well, when I needed her the most she made it abundantly clear that she did not intend to be there for me.

            So I built a wall, for the first time in years, and I waited for the phone call of apology that would bring the wall down. But the phone call never came.

            I’ve spent the last 2 ½ months debating what to do. I don’t want to be a door mat. I don’t want people to think that they can treat me like crap and that I’ll just come back for more. I don’t want to be weak. BUT, am I willing to lose this relationship because of my pride and just because I’m right? Is it really worth that?

            I couldn’t get around it. Despite how justified my reaction might be, it is not worth losing the relationship. The wall has to come down. I have to call her, even if I never get my apology. It’s the right thing to do, even if I don’t like it.

            As I came to this decision I had an epiphany. In every single relationship we have, we are going to hurt people. We don’t mean to, we don’t want to, but we are going to do it despite our best efforts. It is part of being human. So often, those we love the most, we fail the most.

            However you feel about the Bible, you can’t deny the truth of grace. Grace is given, not deserved. I need grace from all the people I have hurt, as unintentionally as it might have been, I still hurt them. I want their grace. I need their grace. As much as I love my children, it’s inevitable, I will hurt them someday, maybe even fail them in some way. I need grace.

            If I want to receive grace and forgiveness from others, I also need to give it, freely, even when it isn’t deserved, because the very definition of grace is that it is not deserved.

            So how many times do I forgive my brother who has hurt me, seventy times seven. I forgive without fail. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done. Withholding grace does not punish the one who doesn’t receive it as much as it hurts us for withholding it. We become stingy and small of spirit. We become jaded and stunted. Grace is as much for us as it is for them.

            So I will swallow my pride, pick up my phone and CALL. I will live my life with my arms wide open. It’s worth any pain that comes my way.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall . . . How Did I Get So Old?!

 

Usually when I see a movie, I identify with the heroine. After all, I think that’s what we’re supposed to do. I put myself in their shoes and I get to live a life other than my own for a little while. Ah . . . wonderful escapism!

The only problem is, it’s getting harder and harder to do that lately especially since so many of the leading ladies would more accurately be described as “leading girls!”

You see, I recently had my 35^th birthday. (Yikes!) And though that is not terribly old, it is old enough. When I re-watched the Twilight saga last week, I felt old. How could I identify with Kristen Stewart and her high school character Bella? The same goes for my favorite tv show “Vampire Diaries.” My experience as a high schooler was a decade and a half ago. Trying to put myself in Elena Gilbert’s shoes, again, just makes me feel old.

Then this weekend I took my daughter to see “Mirror, Mirror.” I knew something was wrong when I found myself identifying with Julia Roberts and the evil queen far more than with the lovely young Snow White. I have landed square in the middle of the land of Middle Age, and I don’t like it one bit!

I never thought that growing older would really bother me. I remember when my mom had one of her milestone birthdays she told me how hard it was for her. I remember thinking at the time that I wouldn’t feel the same when my turn came around. It just didn’t seem like a very big deal to me. I mean, I took for granted that I would be where I wanted to be at that age and so long as I was living my dreams, who cared about the odd wrinkle or two?

Silly me! I think I must have tempted fate with that thought!

I was pretty much sideswiped this birthday. I simply didn’t see it coming. It started to hit a full month before the day itself. I seemed hyper aware of every little laugh line and every extra pound that the last ten years have given to me. I caught myself staring in the mirror trying to imagine my youth leaving me behind. What would I look like with wrinkles? When would I start to look seriously old? I found myself cringing at the very idea.

I never considered myself an overly vain woman. I never went through the silly nightly regimes that most girls do: washing your face, facial mask, rinsing, special night time moisturizer, etc., etc.. I never even went to a salon to get my hair highlighted. A simple box kit was fine with me. I found such things silly and frivolous.

But, as that birthday inched closer, I found out just how vain I really am. My looks mattered to me. I had taken them for granted most of my life. I was lucky. I had a clear complexion, great hair and until kids, a figure that I was content with.  I didn’t spare a lot of thought on it, but it did matter.

And now, as I stared at the complexion that was suddenly giving me problems and skin that needed to be babied to keep it looking fresh, as I confronted the reality that the baby weight wasn’t just going to disappear all on its own, and even if I did manage to lose it, the very stark reality that I would never look like I looked at 25, well, I felt sucker punched. It sucked!

What bothered me the most though, was just how much it mattered to me. I wasn’t supposed to care about such superficial things. I was supposed to grow old gracefully, content with a life well lived. I was supposed to live each season of my life to the fullest, not look at the future with dread because I was going to be old someday. Geesh! Out of a world full of worries, how could this be causing such a crisis?!

Sadly, this aging thing is a whole lot harder than I ever would have guessed and I don’t like it one bit. And the fact that it bothers me this much . . . well, I can’t say that I’m proud of myself. I thought I was deeper than that. Instead, all of a sudden I feel like the Evil Queen looking on the Snow Whites of the world with envy. It’s bad enough to be vain at any age, but to be OLD and vain . . . there is something terribly pathetic about that. Sigh. Not quite sure what to do about that!

And to make matters worse, Hollywood seems determined to throw it in our faces over and over again this year. Three Snow White movies in the same year?! Geesh! Okay! Okay already! My Snow White days are over. I get it!

Now if I can only find somewhere in between Snow White and the evil queen .  . . I think we need some more middle aged heroines if you ask me!

Move Over Red Shirt, and Make Way for the Heroine!

There is so much of being an adult that isn’t what I expected. I’ve always considered myself a fairly rational person (despite my idealism . . . maybe I didn’t have a very real picture of myself after all . . .).

Maybe I should blame it on being such an avid reader. After reading so many stories that follow the same basic principle, maybe my subconscious actually started thinking it would work that way.

You know, the heroine, misunderstood and under estimated, meets the boy who sees her for who she really is, they fall in love and walk merrily into the future hand in hand where everything comes up roses and sugar blossoms. Happily Ever after and all that.

Like I said, I do have a fairly large rational streak, and I certainly never thought that is how it would work, in my head at least, but my subconscious expectations, well . . . maybe they weren’t so rational after all!

I guess, whatever it is I expected, this wasn’t it. The normalcy of life, the hum drum progression of days where each one looks pretty much like the one before, this is NOT what I expected. The endless succession of ordinary tasks . . . getting the kids up for school, getting them out the door, cooking cleaning and cleaning some more only to start over with the same list of “to dos” the next day . . . . I have more in common with a scullery maid than the heroine in a story!

And see, there is the rub. I used to feel like the heroine in my own story. The same feeling I feel at the beginning of a good book, that feeling of potential and anticipation where the unexpected, the magical could be waiting for me just around the corner . . . I lived life in that charged place.

And like a good story, insecure, underestimated girl did indeed meet the boy who helped me believe in me and who swept me off my feet. I heard the swell of Andrea Bocelli in the background and felt the fireworks in his fingertips. I had my story and I was the heroine and it was glorious.

Next comes the happily ever after part, right? Like I said, I was too rational (and too smart!!) to really believe that. I knew that life in the real world was something very different. What I didn’t expect was that I would stop being the heroine of my own story.

These days I feel much more like the red shirt in my story rather than Captain Kirk. Aren’t I supposed to be the protagonist in my own story?  I feel like an insignificant extra. I feel like when I had my children, my story ended and theirs began.

Maybe a good mother would be okay with that. Maybe a selfless person wouldn’t think about it  twice. Certainly June Cleaver never would have spared a second for such selfish thoughts! But, then again, I am no June Cleaver! Though I am a good cook, even Rachel Ray’s 30 minute meals are fancier than I tend to cook. Not to mention that when it comes to housework, well, I am simply an abysmal failure. All my extended education did not prepare me for the impossible task of balancing the endless mountains of laundry and the messes left by some of the world’s messiest people! And I always thought that I was so good at multi-tasking! Hmpf!

But I digress. Maybe it is pure selfishness that makes me so crazy about not being the heroine of my own story. Maybe it shouldn’t bother me. Maybe a good mother is content to fade into the back story and live her life through her children.

But I don’t think so. Shouldn’t we all be the heroine of our own story? Should our sense of potential and anticipation disappear just because girl has already met boy? I don’t think so! My story is not over at 35! I won’t allow it to be!

Ah . . . but then there is the guilt. Shouldn’t this be enough? Shouldn’t I be perfectly happy just as I am? My husband is hot and he is my best friend to boot. I have three amazingly beautiful, smart children when genetics should have kept me from having any at all. Shouldn’t this be enough?

My family is my world and I would die for any one of them in a heartbeat. I know I am a good mother. I do put my children first and I suspect I always will, but that doesn’t mean that I need to play the role of martyr either.

I think the modern mother walks a difficult road. We have left the role of June Cleaver behind, but we see the error in the career mom who is an absentee mother. We long for balance. We want to be the heroine in our own story while teaching our children at the same time to be the hero/heroine of their own stories.

Most days it leaves me feeling like there is an internal tug of war being waged inside of me, and sadly, most often, it leaves me feeling like a failure at pretty much everything.

I don’t need to be the center of the universe. I don’t even need to be the center of my little family. But I do need to know that there is more waiting for me around the corner than Saturday’s soccer game. I need to know that I still have a role to play in this crazy story of life and that my role is more than just being the expendable red shirt.

I need to know that I am indeed the heroine of my own story, and that my story is not over, not now at 35, not at 55, not even at 75.

I think we all have a duty to step up and be the hero in our own story, to not sit back and let the story happen, but to find our role, to be an active participant.

Ever hero has to overcome, ever heroine has conflict and crisis that must be met. If you don’t have conflict, if you don’t have crisis, you’re not living your story.

Or, if you’re like me, and have had lots of conflict, always remember, the hero always has a choice; he can rise to the challenge and overcome and live the story he was created to live, or he can sit back and be the forgotten red shirt.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be a red shirt! I won’t be a forgettable extra in my own life! I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m going to keep trying to find that line, the line of being the best mother I can be while at the same time being the best me I can be.

Just Give in and Hop On . . . It’s Well Worth the Ride!

I think I should have been an editor. Why this never crossed my mind when I was younger, I’m not quite sure. I have always loved books, good ones, that is. From the time I could read, I devoured them. I was one of those dorky kids who read a book a day, and yet, thanks to my speed reading ability, I still managed to have a social life as well.

I remember when we got a new librarian at our local library when I was a kid. She looked at me skeptically when I wanted to check out ten books. She informed me that I couldn’t possibly read all of them before I came back next week (it was the summer reading program). The other lady looked at her and smiled. “Oh, yes she can, and she will!” And I did.

As busy as I am as a mom with three young kids and as a fledgling writer trying to get her career off the ground, I still manage to squeeze the time in to read a good book every now and again. Luckily for my family, there are a lot of good authors out there, but only a handful of truly excellent ones. As my husband told me the other day, when I stumble on a truly excellent writer, I become compulsive. I cannot stop reading. I escape into that world and feel like a stranger in my own until the adventure ends.

What’s amazing about these writers is that no matter how many times I read their books, I find them affecting me in the same way. I must have read the first 8 books in the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan at least ten times by now, but they still pull me in in.

I have always prided myself as not being a band wagon kind of girl. I feel no real need to que up with the status quo and I don’t mind being the only one in a group to say that I have not adhered to the last Oprah book trend. I will judge for myself if a book is excellent and, frankly, having read more than just about anybody I know, I am a tough critic!

Well, if I ever doubted it, I now have to acknowledge that sometimes things reach band wagon status for a reason.

I had been told that I simply must read “The Hunger Games” before I see the movie.  I knew my mom’s group was planning to see the film so I contemplated on whether or not I should take this recommendation seriously. I hemmed and hawed, and finally decided, “What the heck?” I had just finished two of Emily Giffin’s very mediocre books “Baby Proof” (not good when you find the main character unlikeable) and “Love the One Your With” (her husband should have dumped her sorry ass!) and was looking for something to read, so why not give it a try? I went to half.com, placed my order and it arrived two days later.

When I crawled into bed that night I picked it up, turned it this way and that, frowned at it a bit and contemplated going downstairs and beginning to give Sookie and Charlaine Harris a re-read instead. I just wasn’t expecting much, but if I was going to see the movie next week . . .  I sighed, but began to read.

At 3:00 am I was only half done, but I REALLY wanted to finish it. I contemplated my 6:00 wake up call of Lily at my bed side demanding that I wake up to get her a cereal bar because she’s absolutely starving. I dog-eared the page, reluctantly put the book down and turned off the light.

Thank goodness I am a speed reader, because my house would have green stuff growing from the kitchen counter and some sort of monster living in the kid’s bathroom if I read at a normal person’s pace! I was hooked! Hook, line and sinker!

By late afternoon I was making a Target run to pick up book 2 because I wasn’t willing to wait the couple of extra days that ordering it from Half.com would have taken. Somehow I managed to spend time with my kids, cook the meals and even get some cleaning done despite my frantic pace.

The next morning I finished “Catching Fire,” went to see “Journey 2 the Mysterious Island” with the family (pretty much a snooze fest . . . you know it’s bad when the Rock’s little pectoral jiggle is the most entertaining part of the movie!), stopped at Target on the way back from the theater for book 3 “The Mockingjay,” and anxiously awaited bed time so I could disappear back into the world of Katniss Everdeen.

Few writers are able to draw me in so completely. Suzanne Collins is a master of her craft. Her characters were excellent, well rounded and real. Her plot was irresistible, and her writing had an edge and timing that was something special. Add to that the fact that the world itself is so thought-provoking and philosophically challenging to American modern day society and, well, this is a band wagon worth getting on!

If you love to read and haven’t read this book, block out a few days and prepare to immerse yourself in a world that will pull you in and not let go. It’s brutal. It will leave you feeling raw. But it will also leave you appreciative for all you have in a way that you have not been before.

South Padre Island: My Attempt at Spontaneity Part 4 Mommy Epic Fail Part 2 Holy Crap Did I Screw Up!!

As I mentioned in my first blog on our South Padre Island adventure (Click here if you missed it!), I am not the most spontaneous person in the world. Okay, fine (I hear all my friends snickering at that understatement), I’m a bit of a control freak. I have always admired the idea of spontaneity, it just seems so free and stress free, but the end of our second day at the beach reminded me of just why I am a control freak.

We went back to our room at the hotel in the late afternoon, huge smiles on our faces, anticipating a good night ahead, and feeling like all was well with the world. We got to the room, changed out of our wet and sandy things, and we all lay down on our beds stretching like satisfied cats. You could almost feel the tired contentment in the room.

That’s when a thought entered my head that had somehow gotten lost in the buzz and whirl of spontaneity. I sat up bolt upright and my mouth dropped open. “Oh, no!” I groaned.

“What? What is it?” my husband asked.

“It’s Monday . . .”

“Yeah?” you could hear the question in Aaron’s voice.

I turned and stared at him and said, “Alivia!” at which point Aaron’s face began to mirror my own.

We have an arrangement with our neighbor. She takes the kids to school in the morning and I pick them up in the afternoon. I had asked Aaron to call her on Friday to tell her we were going out of town and we wouldn’t be able to pick Alivia up for those two days. Aaron had forgotten, but at the time I thought it wasn’t a big deal because we thought we were going to postpone the trip. Once we worked everything out to go after all, the thought never again entered my head until that very moment.

I felt HORRIBLE! All I could think of was poor Alivia sitting there, waiting for me to take her home and having no one come. If the tables had been turned I would have been so upset! That’s what I get for being spontaneous! I’m not meant to be spontaneous! There’s a reason God made me an obsessive planner! Ugh! And now I had dropped the ball big time.

To make matters worse, Aaron’s cell had died and my cell, which is just a dinosaur pay as you go phone that I rarely use, didn’t contain Alivia’s number. I, of course, remembered my charger, which I didn’t even need. Aaron, on the other hand, had forgotten his, and there was no one we could think of to call who would have their number. I felt like the worst friend/neighbor EVER!

We finally came up with the idea of calling the school, and though they wouldn’t give us their number, they were willing to call them for us. I knew it was too little too late, but it was the best we could do.

Aaron made the comment to me in passing, “I just hope they don’t call the police worried about us.” I didn’t think much about that. I mean, I know it’s not like me to drop the ball like that, but surely they would just assume that I screwed up, right? After all, Alivia knew that we were planning to go to the ocean. Surely she would note her parents concern and tell them we were going on vacation?

Almost the first thing I did when I got home was go next door and sheepishly knock on their door. I hate this kind of thing, but there was no way around it. I had screwed up too bad.

I apologized profusely, and of course they assured me it was okay, that it happens (though of course all I could think of is that no, I don’t do that kind of thing and that there was no excuse!). I jokingly mention that at least they hadn’t called the cops worried about us. Robert looked at me without expression and responded, “Well, actually we did. We were pretty worried about you guys.”

It was all I could do not to groan. I was SO humiliated! I didn’t even stick around to hear the whole story. I apologized again and high tailed it home wallowing in my sense of failure.

Aaron, not knowing that I had already gone over to apologize, went over as well. He got the whole story. Apparently the police had poked around our house a bit, waited until Tuesday morning and when they heard we still hadn’t shown up, they went to the school to see if anyone had seen or heard from us.

All I could think of is that the police showed up at my children’s Elementary school because I am a crap mother who can’t even remember to let her neighbor know she’s going out of town, and now the WHOLE SCHOOL KNOWS IT! UGH!!

Luckily, they showed up while the office secretary was on the phone with us so she was able to assure the police that all was well before they started calling our family or started a full blown search. Still, talk about a HUGE Mommy Epoch fail! I don’t think that I will live down the mortification from this one anytime soon!

South Padre Island: My Attempt at Spontaneity Part 3 Lessons learned from a 3 year-old

Our second full day at South Padre was even better than the first one. It was simply perfect. It was sunny, but not too hot. The wind was blowing. All the kids were not only getting along, but having the time of their lives. It was one of those days where I couldn’t stop smiling. You know, the kind of day that makes life truly worth living.

One of the things I really enjoyed about the day was the way I was able to sit back and so clearly see my kids’ personalities demonstrated. They are so completely different and I love and admire them each for those differences.

Gavin, oddly enough, is my most fearful child. What I love about him though, is that he refuses to give into his fear. He confronts his fear and slowly pushes it further and further back. He reminds me of myself in this actually. I remember doing the same thing as a child.

At the beach, Gavin was initially afraid to go too far out. I don’t know if it was the undertow, the waves themselves or his overactive imagination imagining a shark swimming his way to gulp him down for breakfast. What I could tell was that he was scared, but that he didn’t want that to stop him. At first he wanted me to go out further with him, which I did (despite how cold it was!). But after a while, I watched him push himself to go further and further on his own until he wasn’t scared anymore. He pushed himself passed his fear until the fear withdrew, disappeared or became a non-issue. You have to admire that!

Then there is Arabelle. She reminds me of a little butterfly. She’s gentle and happy and peaceful. She played quietly with a big smile on her face. She made castles and she danced with her kite, but she did so in her own quiet way. You can’t help but love Arabelle. Everybody does. She reminds me of Beth from “Little Women.” Sometimes I look at her and think she is just too good for this world. Arabelle warms your heart and makes you smile. She’s just that kind of girl.

And then there is Lily. Over the last few months I’ve found myself trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about her that I admire so much. It was at the beach that I finally was able to pinpoint it.

Lily is larger than life. She’s charismatic. She’s one of those kids that everyone just seems to fall in love with. You just can’t help it. She has that x-factor. I was finally able to define that x-factor as I watched her play on the beach.

Lily loves life. She runs toward it with her arms wide open. She is uninhibited. Nothing keeps her down. She is determined to laugh and play and she pursues it, she doesn’t wait for it to come to her. Without hesitation she goes running for it.

You can see it in her approach to her best friend. Ava’s shy, even a little withdrawn, but that doesn’t stop Lily. Lily has declared Ava her best friend and she just keeps pursuing her until Ava warms up to her again. Sometimes it almost seems like Ava rejects her, but that doesn’t phase Lily. She doesn’t give up and she always ends up winning her over and then they go scampering off the best of little buddies.

You could see it as she ran into the waves shouting, “This is the best day EVER!” You saw it as she sang and danced as she flew her kite. You could see it as she played with her Daddy, as she chased seagulls, as she just lived life in the moment, wherever that moment happened to be.

I realized that this littlest daughter of mine is not only someone that I admire, but someone I want to emulate. As young as she is, she already understands something that I have yet to live out in my own life.

Life’s setbacks (yes, even a three year-old has them) are not worth dwelling on. All they do is steal your joy. Embrace them and then let them go and don’t let them keep you from running toward the future. She feels everything deeply, even her little sorrows, but she doesn’t let them keep her down.

I want to live like that. I’m glad I have this little living reminder to inspire me to be more than I am, to be more open, to be resilient and to always find a reason to laugh. It’s amazing what you can learn from a three year-old!