It’s the little things,  all of them.   That makes me happy.

It’s waking you up with hugs and kisses.

It’s walking you to the bus everyday, rain or snow.

It’s leaving a note in your lunchbox.

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true…  I was made for you

~Brandi Carlile

Everyone has a story to tell, each unique and beautiful in its own way.   Every line, and every scar being a milestone,  a testimony of our journey in this life.  Happy ones,  anxious ones,  ones we’d prefer not to remember.   Life draws itself on our face,  sculpting it,  giving it its own character and wisdom.

Sharing with my sisters from the Sisterhood Stories circle today, make your way around the whole circle, you’ll love it.  Follow the link at the end of this post…

I don’t know how it came to my mind, but I was suddenly remembering this scene from City of Angels,  where the angel asks the little girl who just died what did she loved best,  and her answer was as simple as it gets: pyjamas.

Once I saw myself as someone dying to be freed
But you have led me here and that’s all I need

All the world you held
The way you see yourself
You know that you’re bound to change
You might never be the same

Once I was a (wo)man that I no longer want to be
You have led me here and that’s all I need

~ Jim Cuddy, All I need

Yes,  once all I wanted was to be free.  You know artists have this way of thinking any constraints are meant to be broken in order to gain freedom.   I was like that BEFORE.   Before YOU.

Letting go of my higher than high expectations,
Letting go of my quest for a perfect life.
Letting go of my fears and doubts.

Life will never be perfect, and I should be blessed by it’s many imperfections.  It’s what makes it interesting and worthwhile, I will never be the perfect  mother ( even if I still secretly wish to be ) or the perfect wife and I’m not a superwoman ( even though I pretend to be ).  Often I wish my life was just like the ads you see on tv, the smiling mom who doesn’t care just one bit if her kid spills grape juice on her white pants.  The singing while mopping the floors, the pure bliss of family life.  It’s just not real, though my mind has trouble letting go of this reality it constructed all these years.  Life is hectic,  it has rainy days and thunderstorms.  Life is messy, noisy, crazy.  But perfect in its own way.  It’s the way it was given to me,  and it’s mine to cherish.