There are days when I think I’ve got a couple of things under control – a portion of bits and pieces working together alright.  When I feel like the routine is serving us and I have meals pre-planned and the moments feel sort of in my grasp.

And then there are other days.

Moments here and there where tears surprise me – from worry or fear or exhaustion.  A heavy weight settling first on my shoulders and then on my chest and landing somehow in my throat, squeezing so that just the smallest stream of air can flow in and out, clouding my mind and making my view a little hazier than is comfortable.

It’s a complicated world, this one.

April is almost over and my son just entered his teenage years and I’m going to have to rewash the laundry a second time because I’m just now remembering that I never switched the clothes to the dryer.  One of my girls can acquire her learner’s permit this summer and she only has three years left in high school but there’s SO many more books I want her to read and how can we only have there more weeks of school before my baby finishes up third grade?

My eyes twitch from writing too many stories, staring at too much screen tonight and yet I’m genuinely thankful for good work that I enjoy doing that falls in line with my skill set.

I’m constantly feeling the tension.

It’s as if I’ve built our entire lives on the taut line of a tight rope.

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