I stumbled into the happiest moment of my life.
It wasn’t an obvious sort of moment like giving birth to my children or wedding my husband.
It wasn’t a thrill of victory as I summited a mountain or completed a marathon (nor will it ever be that one. Nope).
It was a moment of insight a couple of years ago that snapped me from my tired reverie and gave me a piercing new perspective.
It was the culmination of many arduous, contemplative moments before it.
Okay, enough with the suspense. Here it is.
I realized that despite some Stonehenge-sized megalith challenges, my life is the culmination of all my hopes and dreams.
It is what I always wanted, essentially.
It is entirely imperfect. No one is pinning anything about my train-wreck household to Pinterest.
We defy typical. Our world is a consummate mess, mostly, and yet we are doing it. We are living life.
I’m doing it. This is totally happening.
My family is made from scratch and is something real and lovely.
Figuring that out was a gift.