Too perfect not to re-post.

i'm the girl who spills coffee on her laptop. i wish i wasn't but i am. (and i can say that now because it's not the first time it's happened). i'm terribly judgmental and i complain. all the time, i complain. and i second guess and doubt--i'm a veritable whirling dervish of insecurities.

but i am funny. every once in a while, when you least expect it, i make a good joke--a mouthful of a joke that'll make your cheeks hurt and your eyes burn.

i want to grow vegetables in the backyard. i want to go to the farmer's market every saturday. i want our children to grow up in the kitchen--surrounded by whole grains and colorful fruit and ice cream we make in the cuisinardt. that's not too much to ask its it?

you do know i'm going to be that crazy mom who doesn't allow refined sugar in the house (or at least holds off for as long as possible). i'll be the mom making vegan cookies for the bake sale and packing brown sack lunches with zucchini fries and raw-goat-cheese pizza.

i don't have a mind for dates or numbers. i'll forget all that stuff. or confuse it. or wake one morning and realize the trip i've been planning for several months was off by two days. and so there will be a mad shuffle as flights are rearranged and work is rearranged and the whole thing will be so ridiculous all we'll be able to do is laugh. because it's small fries. that stuff is small fries. i'll remember the good stuff: where we went on our first date and what we ate and your shoes, too. i'll remember your shoes.

it's gonna be a hard life. because life is hard. but it'll be really worth-it. i promise you that--i promise the worth.

and i promise you the attempt. the attempt to be good. and the attempt to be kind. to not worry so much. to not care what others think. to not complain at every turn. the attempt at humor--always, the attempt at a joke.

i promise you the space between perfection and utter. the marrow of life--that'll be my gift to you.
chaos

me

{This was written by Meg, the Wily Brunette.}