I am a mom to three boys.
I wonder if it’s possible for their messes to actually ever be cleaned up.
I hear lots of noise. All the time.
I see the sweetest faces, full of smiles and mischief.
I want them to always feel hope.
I am awkward and introverted.
I pretend I’m not awkward but it doesn’t work very well.
I feel comfortable with who I am, awkwardness and all.
I touch the pages of many, many books.
I worry about missing out.
I cry really easily, happy or sad.
I am content.
I understand things could be better, but they could also be so much worse.
I say “I love you” a LOT.
I dream of sunshine.
I try to be compassionate.
I hope I succeed.
I am always trying.