loving lemons

I adore lemon desserts.

Lemon bars, lemon meringue pie, lemon cake.  Lemons are delicious.  I’d often take lemon over chocolate.  Life giving you lemons, well, why must that always be a bad thing?

I love my life. Easy enough to say, but I do mean it.  And it’s all the more fulfilling, not in spite of the hard parts, but because of them.

Because every silly, small thing means extra joy.

If I sell a book and make a few dollars, I’m floating on a cloud the whole day (even though teenagers make more than I do).

If my master says, “I love you,” it’s never said thoughtlessly (but it took years until I first heard it).

If I pop some fresh popcorn and find a movie all the kids like, the kids treat me like the best mother in the world (a Mother’s Day card from them feels extra special, because they don’t have to give me one).

Waking up, showering, brushing my hair, and getting dressed? Even those tiny little accomplishments can mean praise from my master (depression is a b@tch, but he’s never anything less than compassionate).

In another life, all these little things in my life might pass unnoticed.

Expected. Owed. No big deal. But in mine, each oh so little thing brings me untold happiness.  It doesn’t mean that those things would mean any less.  When I have children of my own, they’ll give me a card for Mother’s Day and spend the day with me (at least when they’re little and hopefully when they’re older).

I cannot wait to live a less chaotic life, with all the joys I’ve missed out in this one.  But I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.

Because I’ll never feel the same way about a Mother’s Day card.  I just…won’t.  And that’s a blessing.

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