Parent.



The moment that word is uttered, an image comes to mind....



A mother, holding her precious baby.



A father, playing catch with his son in the back yard.



Whatever it is... it's a moment.



The image I always conjure up is an image of my mother, about 9 months pregnant, sitting on our driveway staining pieces to the bookshelf she is building, while we kids are riding our bikes, playing ball in the street, and rollerskating.



It's one of my most favorite memories of my mother.

She was (and is) the epitome of the all-american mom.



When I was first married, and dreamed of having a baby...

those images were so ...

Norman Rockwell.

So Americana.



Images of cookie breath and warm cuddles danced in my head... and took hold of my heart.

Freshly bathed sleepy toddlers and bedtime giggles filled my soul and I counted the moments until I had my very own.



Fast Forward to reality-town.


I struggle with getting home at a decent hour... making dinner... doing laundry. Clean my home.

I find I have given up a lot of the old things I used to do, because I'm just too tired.

But in my quest to move forward... I realize I can still do good things.

And look past my own lacking... and make my own imprint on the world.

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