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Intentional Living

Last night, my son had a track meet in a city about an hour from home.

With my younger son's schedule, and the fact that it was a school night, I decided not to go to the meet (which kills me) and pick up older son when the bus returned to school.

My husband was at work (he works 48-72 hours at a time) so I was the one doing all the picking up.

At 9:45 when older son texts me he's near the school -- when I'm sort of grumbling to myself about how late it is -- I get in the car and head over to get him.

This is when the self-pity can worm its way in. Easy to do when driving, looking like this.

← I mean, you're focused on driving, kind of.

But thinking about everything else.

(Admit it, we all do this).














Why do I have to do this?
Why can't my husband be home?
Why this and why that?

I stopped myself. Nope. Not gonna do that. Feeling sorry for myself was getting old, like, annoyingly old.

No. I would think about other things. I would think about how I was hungry. 

I brought some Fritos with me and opened them.

No.  Let's be really awesome here and be happy, I thought, crunching into a chip.

I should've brought coffee, was my next thought.  Where was my brain? Not so awesome of me.

























I wondered if my dog was doing this as I drove away. On my bed. Happy as can be.

Undoubtedly, yes.


























Instead, I said to myself:

I get to do this!
I get to do things on my own and be capable and cool and unneedy.
I get to be in the car with my first born.
I get to eat chips --while wearing my slippers and listening to jazz music -- and no one is going to complain about that. Very cool.

Best of all, I get to see this face when I get him.








This post has nothing to do with writing, or books, or anything other than me being a mom.

And that's cool, too.

Yay for being a mom.


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