Life Manifesto, edited post-kids

I want to have the inability to be hurried that my littles have.

I want to live like there's nothing else in the world to do when I play.

I want to be so attuned to my present, that I'm lost in it and time slips away.

I want to give the attention my Eli does to the simple things - like tongue sticking out focused when pouring a glass of milk.

I want to be as tickled and proud of myself as my Eva is when she does something new and hard, like putting on a dress herself even if its backwards.

I want to trust in God at least as much as my kids believe in and trust in me.

I want to laugh with abandon, dance when the music calls to my body, and shamelessly show my joy out loud.

I want to pour out love like my 2 year old pours water - generously, ie, all over the place. It's also why we need new floors.

When I mess up, I want "mother" me to show up - no other me is allowed. Especially not the perfectionist, anxiety-filled, can't-ever-be wrong me. She's not very helpful. Or kind.

I want to cry in the way my 2 year old does, complete with telling us when we try to soothe her that she is not done crying yet. Keep crying little girl, as long as you need. Lots of things really hurt in this world, and it's a good idea to learn to feel them. (That's for me. Not her.)

I want to have the courage my son had on his first day of kindergarten, when he walked through those front doors, nervous as hell, but still did it. And also somehow, asked a boy on the playground to be his friend and play. Now their friendship is 365 days and counting. 180 recesses strong.

There's more. There's always more. But that's enough for now.