{here's my sweet husband living in the moment with my pint-size princess}

Tonight as I knelt beside Elle's white-washed dresser folding her tiny newborn clothes and gently tucking them away into a storage bin, I thought about time. How it fools and tricks the mind into believing youth is ever present when reality reveals small wrinkles and fading hair color. How it forces a person to reconcile memories of the past with the hopes for the future in order to live in the present.

The present. Does anyone actually live in the present? Do I?

There are moments--like today as I bathed Genevieve and examined her rosy cheeks, golden brown eyes and lipstickless red lips--when I am acutely aware of the present. Using her baby soap, I playfully blew bubbles in her face and we laughed. We laughed and we forgot about her fever and her cough and my dishes and my list of chores for the day.

And just a few hours later when Mya and I pushed our shopping cart through the puddles in the parking lot toward the grocery store, I wished time would stop and allow us a few extra minutes outside. We ran around and let the water splash up on the bottom of our pants, and in those few minutes Mya looked at me the way I wish she would always look at me. She smiled in the way only she knows how and cocked her head back with a laughter that made my insides happy.

I have moments like these everyday. Sometimes I catch them, but most times I miss them because I worry unnecessarily about all the other things I have to do after the moment ends. This is the story of my life.

At the end of my life, I want to remember the small memories. I want my kids to remember my ripped jeans and I want them to understand why they were ripped for all those years--because I spent so much time on my knees acting like a worsey or playing our version of tag, which we affectionately call "Gotch you." I also want them to remember me singing and dancing in the kitchen as I prepare lunches and dinners. I don't however want them to remember me stressed while trying to keep up with the dishes and the chores of the house.

So here I am battling time and the inner me. And I am so proud of me when I decide to live in the present and put all other worries and cares aside. Luckily I have a husband who helps me with this goal by giving me the necessary time I need with each peanut at night.

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"Be kind and considerate with your criticism... It's just as hard to write a bad book as it is to write a good book." Malcolm Cowley