I've been very reflective lately, and I don't mean shiny. I keep thinking about my life; who I am now, how I got to this point and, most importantly, who I want to be.
Doesn't that sound mature and grown up and crap? I know!
So I've made some changes. I'm losing weight and getting healthier. I exercise even when I'd rather gouge my eyes out and then pour a vat of salt over them. I'm less stressed at work. My house is clean nearly all the time. I'm writing a book. I'm slowly but surely breaking off my relationship with Sallie Mae.
I'm also, more painfully, realizing there are people in my life who don't need to be there. I'm slowly moving in a different direction and sometimes, in doing so, I'm leaving people behind.
It's hard. But it's okay.
With all my new found knowledge and whatnot, I'm rediscovering myself as a mother. Because, as I've admitted before, I sometimes forget I'm a mother.
I never forget I have children, but sometimes I forget I'm a mother.
Does that make sense?
Maybe not, because most of the people I know who are mothers have babies or toddlers. They forget I'm a mother too. They don't ask my advice because, hell, what do I know? I just raised two kids by myself for five years. The first five years of their life, mind you, which I have on good authority are the most vomit-filled and poopy. I clearly have nothing to bring to the table.
But I plod on. The mother of two ten-year old children.
But...also? The wife of a really wonderful man who, after I leave him for a Girls Weekend leaves me flowers on the kitchen table. The employee of an absolutely insane company. The friend to women and men of all ages. Alpha female to a really wonderful dog.
Writer of books. Singer of songs.
And above all, mother of two ten-year old children.
No matter how big or how huge my life becomes. No matter how busy I am. No matter what else or who else I ever am. It always come down to them.