There is a moving target of gladness scurrying among the brambles of obligation. There will only be one summer when Layla turns 7 and Sabrina wishes she wasn't still 4. I am slipping the armor of ten versions of myself in preparation of these long days. Armed only with sunscreen and awareness, I want to savor the nuggets of sweetness as they happen, not in gauzy reflection.
I am reminding myself I am allowed to do that.
I am allowed to be a mother and be glad.
Sabrina and Layla sipping root beer in a strawberry patch while the adults put together a gorgeous spread. Dinner on a farm; what a wonderful way to start the season.
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