Happy Birthday to Me

This was a big day—the day I became a 27 year old. Twenty six was a good year. I became a mother of two. I potty trained my toddler. I ran a half marathon. I fell in love with sweet baby J. I swam in the Gulf Coast with my three boys. I made a goal to translate my muddled mind on this blog every day of the year, and in some decent percentage, I’ve succeeded. I struggled. I rejoiced. I cried. I laughed. I sought answers. I found some. And I decided to make my next year better than the last.

I think that acceptance will help me on this quest. I'm going to accept myself, my life, my ups and downs for what they are, and then I'm going to move forward. I'm banishing my days of festering about the messes I've made--and I make a lot of them...with help. I'm doing away with the my worries about people caring whether or not the contents of my cupboards are strewn across my counter because one of my little cabinets decided to divorce itself from the wall. Nope. Not this year. That was so immature.

This year there will be less "expectance" and more acceptance. Less muddling and more puddling. And, maybe a few more pictures to go along with it all. Happy birthday, MJ. This will be a great year.