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Last night Faith asked Russell if he could have any job, what would he want to be…. he said he loved his job and it was what he wanted to do. Then she turned those mile long lashes to me and asked the same question. I felt the tears spring to my eyes. I want to be a photojournalist for National Geographics or Time Magazine. I want to be a published writer. I feel shame.

I shouldn’t. I have a great job. But it isn’t what I want. I’m a traveler. I’m a dreamer. I see things. Being in the cubicle feels like prison. I stare at her face… I love photographing her though. And her sister. And our dogs. And our house. I look around at all I have been given. Ahhh to just wake one morning completely content with my life would be such a refreshing break.

I think of my mother. All of her dreams. I watched her draw, I read her poetry. I watched her shuffle those papers away as she would drive me to softball practice. It seemed so small a thing. But there was a person screaming behind a mother’s apron, a wife’s devotion, and a women’s heart. Maybe not screaming. Maybe content?

I reflect on my Grandmother’s face as we stepped off the plane in Rome. Watching the sheer joy of a dream come true. We pushed her all over the country in her wheel chair. We laughed, we cried, we faught some. I learned realized that I was born into a group of the strongest women I have ever known.

I watch as my mother’s divorce pushes forward. It makes me hate my father. Yet I love him just the same. I watch as it breaks her. I can do nothing. I can ease nothing. I just listen. The words do not come. I have nothing to give her. Nothing will fix this damage. She keeps standing back up.

The generations cycle through. My daughters border on the edge of teenage years that will render me the enemy. I am glad to be where I am now, with them. Time is precious and it goes by so quickly.  I wonder where I will be when they are the age I am now. But I’m instantly brought back to now.

Most of the time I feel in way over my head. I want to trade my SUV for a sports car and drive into the sunset. Slide my sunglasses on without so much as a look in the rearview mirror.

 I go by the laundry baskets that have exploded all over the hallway. I rinse the grape jelly off of my hand that I obtained from the milk jug (eww). I step over the busted Sharpie markers on their bathroom floor. And just as I swear I am going to kill someone… their wit comes to their rescue sending me into an unwilling giggle. It’s then that I realize, these little people… they are their own beings, but they’re a strong look in the mirror.

I think most mother’s look into their children’s eyes and pray that they can do it… they can do it bigger, better, than we did. That they will be happy with all of their choices, happy with their lives. Constant happiness however is simply not a reality. The only way to ever be on top of a mountain is to walk through the valleys. You must walk in the rain to appreciate the sun…. and a thousand other analogies. 

Cheers to the mother’s in my life. Cheers seems such a small thing… maybe a standing ovation. All of you that touch my life… you have no idea how monumental an impact you have. Happy Mother’s Day!

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