These days are grains of sand, sifting through my hands. Blinking is against the law in these parts, for the moment you do, the landscape changes. They grow with each moment, my three, awakening, learning, reflecting, embracing. Nothing stays the same. Death and taxes. There is no slowing down. Time can be an enemy. Or I can make her my friend. Finding space to understand this great calling. Stopping to seek the meaning. Keeping track of victories. Letting gently go of defeats. Poetry and silliness and work and errands. The laundry never ends. Neither does the joy.

if you are a mother

when one becomes a parent

being a parent is hard

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