There is something about the new year of 2016 that has me excited. Perhaps it's the new ages and stages that each of my children are at, one wide-eyes on college in the Pacific Northwest, another opening the doors of possibility as he envisions a future unexplored. A soprano on the verge of stardom, a science-math-humor expert, an aspiring songwriting, chef, everyone's best girl, a 4 year old in tow, his vocabulary and logic light years ahead, a 4 month old being soaked up and catapulted into most-loved infant ever.
Yes my hands are full, with a house to run, bellies to astound with deliciousness, and laundry that only grows less intimidating by the mile. Someday my house will be emptied of demand and endurance and rigor. Replacing its student of the important with reflection and celebration, an awe that's transpired.
Being 42 is the start, however ambitious my life may seem, of settling into life with a toddler (leaps and bounds by the month), and making sure of my meal plan, it's salads and stir fries and Mexican meats enveloped in corn tortillas with avocado a staple, beans a definite option, as far as I can see.
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