Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on real.
When you were teeny tiny littles, I wrote a post about the Velveteen Rabbit.
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
My littles, it has been sixteen years.
Sixteen years of motherhood.
Sixteen years of loving you.
Sixteen years of being loved by you.
Sixteen years of love.
Sixteen years of being real.
Sixteen years of working on this.
Sixteen years of figuring this out and then re-figuring it out.
Sixteen years of building.
Sixteen years of creating a strong foundation.
Sixteen years of traditions.
Sixteen years of being real.
Sixteen years of arguments.
Sixteen years of hugging it out.
Sixteen years of making up.
Sixteen years of crying together, laughing together, sharing together.
Sixteen years of being real.
Thank you my sweet littles.
Thank you for all of the realness of life.
Thank you for making me real.
