I had a real, true, raw blog post all written up ready to publish. It was an "I can't do everything by myself all the time" kind of post. It was a post about how "I have so many things that I want to do for myself but I feel too much obligation to others to do them" type of post.It was all about how I need to feel valued and don't really. It was how I feel like I have to work harder than anyone just to prove that I don't just stay at home and watch soap operas and eat candy all day long. It was all about duty as a wife and as a mother. But then... I deleted it all. I felt too guilty writing it, like I would hurt some people's feelings. Like perhaps it was just me being selfish. And then I thought of how we all just write about the good stuff on these blogs of ours and that people don't want to read about the struggles and hardships of day to day living.
And then, I deleted my post and decided to post pictures of the garden in full bloom. Of my little love with a handful of raspberries picked from a deserted house next door. Of her in her playhouse, happy as a lark. Of a Mourning Dove whose song is so sad, but really has nothing to lament when it is all said and done.
It is our 27th Wedding anniversary on Friday. I am 45 years old. I have three adult daughters and one 6 year old daughter. I have 3 granddaughters and one son-in-law. My name is Michelle.