Real is the clock ticking on the wall: tic toc tic toc. Real is the time counting down to a soon-t0-be-two-year-old’s birthday party and the potatoes in the sink unwashed, the cheese ungrated, the hors d’oeuvres unmade. Real is the group of people, the family who will descend on this house in two days to celebrate the little boy who turns two next week. Real is the time that has flown by since he joined our family and graced us with his giant brown eyes and cheeky smile. Real is the love I feel for him, for his big sister, for their daddy, for my entire family, immediate and extended. Real is the moutain of toys that will have to be moved to make room for the visitors. Real is the mess that will have to be cleaned up after everyone is gone and we are alone again, just the four of us. Real is the life that I’m living even though it seems so often Unreal. Real is the whirlwind in my brain of all the things I need to do, all the things I should do, all the things I wish I was doing. Real is life. Real is love. Real is fantastic even when Real is hard.
Wanna play Five Minute Friday? Link up with The Gypsy Mama.