April 21, 2018
I’d like to say that I wake up every morning feeling like P. Diddy but that would be a lie. Especially on an early soccer Saturday morning. It’s more like the droopy cartoon dog that uses toothpicks to keep his eyes open. Sleeping in is for the weak…and kidless.
Since Wes is on the pool deck all day I’m on soccer with My Little. I reluctantly rolled out of bed and dragged myself to the kitchen to start the coffee and feed the dog, knocking on Raegan’s door on the way. I narrowly missed falling in the hallway as the kitten weaved in and out of my feet. Same four-letter words, different day. I’m comfortable with routine. Once fueled for the day I showered, swiped sharpie on my roots, slathered on some lipstick, grabbed my shoes and we were out the door. I finally see the resemblance between myself and the preschool drawings my kids made of me. A circle with limbs coming out of it with black marker hair and bad lipstick. Accurate. We flew down the hill to the fields and my daughter jumped out of my moving car to make it there just in time. Success. Despite my mismatched shoes I’m calling this morning a win.