It is 11:08PM, the kids are asleep, the husband is in San Francisco.
The cat did NOT bring in any more mice today, the dishes are not done, the laundry is not folded, the basement is not clean, and there is not a babysitter scheduled tomorrow morning so I can go volunteer in #1's classroom like I promised I would.
We do not have a job offer (yet), we do not know all of our holiday plans, I did not exercise today like planned, and I did not buy the children shoes, even though they all have holes in them.
I did not make dinner for the kids (we ate muffins and make-your-own sandwiches), I have not finished wrapping Christmas gifts, I do not know how much longer I can survive on such little sleep, and I cannot find motivation to clean the shower.
I still do not have enough compassion, and I still do not have enough time. For anything.
But I do know that every time I look at my crazy kids, I'm overwhelmed with love for them. Last night, they watched Voltron with Brandon on his laptop (Note to Parents: Old school cartoons are the BEST and children prefer them to the crazy-social/political-agenda-filled stuff they are force-fed now-a-days), and tonight we snuggled together and read some Dr. Seuss. I allowed myself to see the scene as an outsider; I observed my children individually and collectively, and what I found was that I am the luckiest woman alive.