Despite being 10am, the street lights are on outside the window. Their glow is blurred by heavy summer rain drops that cling to the screens and pour in sheets from the gutters. The thunder rolls under the sound of Sesame Street that the 3 year old is watching from my lap while the baby snoozes upstairs. My arms wrapped around him to my computer sitting on his lap, I type out our life as it happens.
I chronicle and record and wax sentimental here in my words, which is hard to do over the squealing saxophone of the Sesame theme song, and I hope that it’s worth it. I hope that the effort, the time, the arms reached around my boy to my laptop are somehow worth it in the long haul. I feel their worth now, to me in the therapeutic flow of words from my head to my fingers, but I want their worth to be felt by my family. I do this for them. I do this as a means of displaying my love for them to the world. I do this to connect with other moms who challenge and encourage me to mature my love and faith and parenting. I do this to encourage other moms to do the same.
As I dwell on this, I squeeze my lap-bound boy, in a hug that wouldn’t have otherwise happened. Thankful for this space, for connections with you, friends and readers (who are friends I just haven’t met yet), and for all that having this corner of the interwebs has brought to our family.