The real of it is, I am not sleeping much these days. I awoke at 4:45am this morning and I wonder why I am exhausted by 7pm.

The real of it is, I have four children and so often it feels like too much, too many needs, too much juggling and reading and meal fixing and playing games. All of it, too much.

The real of it is, I have a hard time being truly present for anyone as the chaos and fears whirl around the weak me pretending to be strong.

The real of it is, I am consumed with my special needs son. Every second, minute, and hour, I am either grappling with how to help him, how I am failing, wondering if I am to blame all the while reminding myself to stop being consumed.

The real of it is, I wonder if today is easier than tomorrow and will I look back and think that I should have enjoyed these days more?

The real of it is, I don’t know how to stop the thoughts that wake me in the night, the thoughts that prayer, writing, coffee help undermine but never fully evaporate.

The real of it is, I get that my life is a stroll through greener pastures, though I am failing to tattoo that truth on the heart and mind that work against my best resolutions.

The real of it is, self is my best friend and my greatest foe as I wrestle daily to subdue the waking giant of fear.

The real of it is, I am filled with thanksgiving and joy and a love of truth and bewilderment of a life full of beautiful moments too vast to count properly.

The real of it is, I am counting. I take note, analyze, ponder, reflect and smile as I drink in the real life that rushes by, much like the grizzly chasing salmon, never an easy capture but no less of a win.

The real of it is, I am still quite happy as the smiles of four little people remind me that the forest is only lovely because of the trees.

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