Soil, Dirt, Dirty

I am trying to take it all in. The mornings that I am gracious and open, offering my daughter a hug when she says I think I’m sick. The mornings I’m not kind and I get to apologize. The way it feels to be wrong again. The way it feels to learn to apologize. How I believe all the I’m sorry replies are worth it when she offers me her apologies so freely.

These normal mornings and frequent apologies are the ground we grow within. It’s full of rocks sometimes. Sometimes it’s soft and loamy.

I’m working on my vocabulary. I’m tired of saying I’m sorry. I practice saying to myself that I am loved, lovable and loving. I am capable of all three.

I am tired of being capable.

But I am never tired of our hugs. Our repairs and the simple moments that seem to repeat but I know will eventually slow down and fade in number.

This soil we share together: I plan on getting as dirty as I can before she’s ready to find new ground.

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