Happiness on a 1/2 Acre

I read my sister Tori's blog last night right before I went to bed and I laid there for a little while thinking about how REAL I am becoming. This will not make a lot of sense unless you have read her post about being REAL, so bear with me or go read it.

I love the reasoning that I am becoming real, heck, I probably already am real. The facts are that I am a little shabby and my eyes are loose - among other parts, I have come unsewn in a few spots, the snot and tears that have streaked my face from my crying girl's loves and kisses have left their marks, the marks around my growing belly button DO hurt, and since I don't have many shirts that are not stained with fingernail polish, chocolate milk, blood, or from some other motherly duty, I must be real. Real means that you are loved. I know I am loved and very much needed by my sweet little family.

Maybe this whole REAL thing is sounding so good to me right now because I don't feel nice and new, I feel old and shabby, and worn out. Whatever the hormonal reason, it sure made me feel tremendously grateful last night while I was thinking about what my sister wrote about becoming REAL.