I try to be easy on myself, but the voice in the back of my head often says that I need to do more. That I can do more. To be more patient, more kind, more joyful and more present.

It is true. Some days (like yesterday) I feel like all I can manage to do is keep us fed, and the diaper covers clean and not scream when the growth-spurting-boy nurses for what seems like the ten thousandth time this day, and figure out the art project for tomorrow’s play date, and …. well… the quiet moments, the spaces in between punctuated with singing and delightful phrases, and questions about Cleopatra and firetrucks…. they sort of pass me by.

And I cry.

I think of the words to Joni Mitchell’s amazing song about duality and two sides (or more than two) and how wonderful it is to look in the rear view mirror. And realize that you really didn’t know anything at all at the time.

Bows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

My perspective, my strong & patient guiding oar, matters so much in how our day goes. That calm space in the midst of the chaos – not pink sugar-coated candy and not dark brooding black… that is where I want to me, I need to be, and they need me to be. I cry because I don’t want to look back and realize that I let the clouds get in my way.

There’s always tomorrow, that is such a wonderfully comforting thing – there is always another morning tomorrow.

(photo, above, via Flickr here)