Have you ever had one of those moments, or many, when you feel like a visitor in your own life?  Once upon a time you knew you belonged there but as you passed by the stack of dishes on the counter you swear you  just washed ten minutes prior, or the screaming of words like Poo Poo Butt and Dumb Turd echo in  your head – you start losing confidence that this life is really the one you were supposed to end up with.  Way back when, at an age where I thought I knew much more than I actually did, I was sure my life would turn out differently.  I’d  have ‘people’ to do my laundry and my children would never be like those brats that screamed at the top of their lungs for no apparent reason – my children would say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and tell me how wonderful I was.  I’m pretty damn sure that hearing ‘I hate you mommy,’ or ‘ you are the meanest person in the whole wide world,’ were words that would never be spewn from the lips of my angels.  I’d marry the perfect man who did laundry and dishes and cooked for me and told me how beautiful I was at least once a day.  My life sure didn’t turn out the way I’d imagined it and sometimes I’m not sure it was by design or by some higher power trying to teach me a lesson because  I’d set my aspirations so unrealistically.

My life isn’t a bad one and I love my husband and my children but in those moments where I remember how infatuated I was with the fairy tale life I’d spun I kind of feel out-of-place like maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere.  

And then I feel a little tug on the bottom of my shirt and as I turn around, two bright eyes look up to me and say, “I love you mama,” and in an instant I’m no longer a visitor and I realize that this life of mine is exactly the address where I was meant to up residency.

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