Some days, I just don’t feel like doing anything. There are mornings when the bed covers reach up, cocooning me in sleepy layers of cotton and polyester. The coffee fails at its appointed task of giving my slogging mind a jump-start. I go about the house in a daze of motion, heavy eyes refuse to comprehend the slurred words smeared across the computer screen.

But then I remember: This isn’t a competition. It’s not a race. It isn’t to see which mom can have the cleanest house, or whose kids have the cute little braids and matching outfits. It’s not to see which writer can write the most stellar articles or turn out the most pieces in a single hour.

It’s not about them. It’s about me… and my own family. It’s about my own little circle of hearts knitted together, bound by blood and love. It’s about doing what works for my family. If I take a little longer writing an article, it’s because I was distracted by a three-month-old who just wanted to be held, and so we went outside and sat on the porch for a while. If there are still dirty dishes piled in the sink, it’s because I rocked my baby to sleep for an extra hour.

It’s these things that make the difference. The little things. Not the house or the work. It’s the smile in my daughter’s eyes, that adorable accidental laugh that’s only just beginning to slip out. This is what keeps me going. This is my wake-up call.


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