Did I go too far waxing poetic about being at home in the jumbled, sort of haphazard life that I lead? It is far from glamorous and not at all what I imagined. You know, when you are in your twenties and say, "I'd like to have a kid" the notion is so...vague. Kids are anything but vague. They can be quite precise. Put my blanket here. Only this stuffy will do. My noodles may not touch that vegetable. Only the green plastic cup works for chocolate milk. I will not wear those black pants, but these black pants are perfect. I like broccoli mushy, not raw. I only eat raw cauliflower, not cooked.

How funny is it that so much of life is based on a need for control and order when it feels like anything but? My previous post about the dream had no qualifier. I didn't say it what kind of dream. I only meant to say that I really love it when I catch myself enjoying my life. Kids or no kids, spouse or none, with a plan or not, I hope that wherever you find yourself, something good can be found in it. As much as we might crave order, only so much can be done. Don't forgo the joy because it is there if you look.

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