Life gets to a point where everything is reduced to Mommy Do. Breakfast. Lunches. Dinner. Toilets. I had lost myself, drowning in the ordinary every day and missing colour. Because it was there. COLOUR. I just wasn't seeing it past the pile of dirty dishes in the sink or the laundry I didn't have time to do or that spot by the fridge where my sock stuck to the floor because Liam spilled the juice when he thought he was big enough to pour his own.
When I started writing it down it was more for the discipline of writing than because I thought I had anything worth saying but, in taking that moment to record a moment, something beautiful began to happen. I began to see. Really see. I live an extraordinary life, so saturated in colour that it strains the lines and drips rainbow dollops of dye onto anyone that gets close enough to care. What I was mistaking for dull was just a misunderstanding - a temporary blindness. Because behind it all I'm living in this little house bursting with love and laughter and frustrations and LIFE and to anyone looking in this is a thing to be coveted.
When she sat across the table from me and asked me why I put it all out there this was my answer: Because every drowning woman needs to take a moment and come up for air and look at what surrounds her and thank God that she is so lucky. There will never be enough time in the day to get it all done - to have a spotless house and make sure the kids don't have chocolate on their chins before you go to the grocery store - but there is time for thankfulness and for remembering and for reminding yourself that you are anything but ordinary in the midst of what feels like anything but extraordinary.