How many "deep breaths" can one take in a day? For me, it's about 45-50. I do it constantly. I re-group. I never did this until I had kids, but I do it with everything. I open the car door and my bookbag falls out, spilling all of it's contents? I take a deep breath and pick everything up. Patrick (accidentally, I hope) throws a 5-pound weight at me, hitting me in the cheekbone? I take a deep breath and leave the room. (Note: This was not what I wanted to do. However, what I wanted to do would have been detrimental to us both. He was reprimanded about a minute later.) I drop a flat iron on my ankle, successfully burning both sides with a sizzle...deep breath (and maybe some explitives. I honestly can't remember.) I don't know that it makes life any easier, but it helps me to cope. Cliche, isn't it? "Take a deep breath." I hear it said all of the time. Here's a little secret: it works.
Twenty-nine weeks and I feel like a house. I don't think the abundance of sweets is helping, nor is the swelling that has moved into my feet. I'm hoping this was just a result of a long day on my feet yesterday, but we'll see. At least it's not uncomfortable. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.
The family. We are a little band of characters trudging through life, sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that binds us all together.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
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