Sometimes I wonder if my children will be so pretty someday they will look right through me. They are so happy to see me right now. Skip practically disembodies her skeletal structure when I open her bedroom door in the morning, reeking of permanent pajama B.O. and morning breath. When I’m older, and they’re aware of looks, will they be disappointed they got my lips or hair? I know I’m not supposed to care. If I really listened to Eckhart Tolle about living my best life, I wouldn’t, but the way my kids look at me when we’ve been apart is where I get all my confidence these days.
It’s funny though, if someone had told me in 8th grade that I listed to lame music I probably would have crucified myself, but I spend a lot of time intentionally listening to acoustic children’s music and I could not give a shit what anyone thinks about it.
I know someday my kids will say, probably many times, that I don’t understand. It’s really the best argument any of us have and I use it frequently myself, but maybe if they read my journal they’ll give me a shot.