I love those around me. I give hugs, and lots of them. Hoisting a baby up on my hip and back down again happens often- over and over and over. I love on him, that sweet baby of mine.
I waste time. I feel guilty about said wasted time. I work on balance. Then I sit in front of my computer to research how to find said balance, which is certainly not wasted time.
I dream. In my sleep and in my wake. I dream of what I could do, what I could be. I dream of what twenty more years will look like. I dream of what next Monday will look like.
I love things that I don't do enough of. Running. Reading. Crafting. Writing. Probably due to that silly wasted time.
I take too many pictures. I don't take enough pictures.
I push a stroller and I throw a ball. I read Goodnight Moon for the 289th time and tuck the baby in for the third that day. I snack, snack, snack and try to figure out what to actually eat while standing there snacking. I clean, but not enough. I cook, but not enough. I sometimes feel guilty a bit too much.
And at the end of each day I wind up on the couch- with my husband, some food, and a favorite show- knowing that I'm wasting time but loving it all the same.
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LIVE THE MURRAYED LIFE