I wake up the first time when my phone alarm beeps at 4:30am. Snoozing is simply a waste of time.
I grab the perfect pair of running pants neatly folded by the side of the bed and kiss my husband wishing him a nice long slumber as I greet the day.
I mozie downstairs and dutifully turn on the coffee pot while intentionally bypassing the ginormous heap of Halloween candy that sits taunting me atop the refrigerator. Who needs that? I'd much rather have an avocado, coconut water, kale smoothie. My body is a temple. Processed foods are the devil.
I lace up my shoes and trade my expletive laden playlist for silence and the sounds of nature. Ah, what a blessing it is to be up before 99.9 % of the world has said good morning to the day.
I run hard like can't catch your breath...up hill after hill... until I want to puke...it feels so good...kind of jog...and round the bend just in time to make my children's peanut butter sandwiches complete with finger smiley faces and notes filled with x's and o's.
Hot breakfast on the table for everyone. I quickly jump into the shower so I can greet them fresh and fancy. It's important that everyone start the day feeling good.
Kisses and hugs, I'm now off to the grocer, the dry cleaner and to volunteer at two different schools only after I write for at least an hour and do a few pilates core exercises for good measure.
Dinner in the crock pot, a quick call to mom and muffins baked for a friend...I'm off to push the youngest in the stroller while excitement abounds across my face wondering how my big kids' day treated them.
Stop me, if this is you.
Because it is definitively not me. And even the exercise of writing it is helpful as I realize just how ridiculous I've gotten in my head fantasizing about all of the things I suck at and all the things I should be doing.
I hit my snooze button no less than three times in the morning.
I swear to God I sleep walk downstairs to inhale those fucking Kit Kat minis like it's my job and I don't even give a shit. I pop the wrapper right in their trick-or-treat bag and then blame them.
When I run, which has been few and far between lately, I scream in agony and pray that I make it to the next tree.
My children are lucky if I remember to throw 2.2 carrots in their lunch filled with cheetohs and said mini Kit Kats and hot breakfast is reserved for a time and place far from the school week.
On any given day, my running garb smells like a combination of a giant vagina and an asshole. I've run in them so much that Oxyclean says shut the fuck up...I aint Jesus. Dinner in the crock pot often turns into mush and muffins to my friends, well, they're pretty good but they happen with far less frequency than I'd like
Given how much I belittle my gifts and talents and lament all that I'm not. I've decided to adopt the following mantra...
Let's adopt it together and fantasize that we are enough, in every way, on any day, all the time. Deal?
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