The ties that bind.

I'm looking ahead, as many people do before a birthday. And also looking back. Sitting on my couch right now, it's midnight and I just got off of 10 or so hours of working. I am in my pj's and my husband is in the other room, wisely in bed getting ready to sleep. I'm no so proud of myself because I just polished off the remainder of a bag of chips. And you'd think I knew better, turning 26 next week and all.

So I'm thinking about myself and taking stock: 26 years old, have been married for almost 4 years, have 2 beautiful and wild children, and currently reside in a lovely cottage nestled beside a brook. Not bad. Never thought I'd have all these things so soon in life, but I'm beginning to enjoy the unexpected (anticipate it even. Is that possible?).

I still chew my nails when I get nervous and I tend to 'eat my emotions' when I am stressed. But hey, we all need things about ourselves to work on, right? Add exercise and patience to that little list.

I imagine all the experiences that make me Mummy Dearest and see them all as threads. Some are dull, like a blue thread (that would be my school years). Some are yellow (my backpacking trips), some red (my love), some silvery (my relatives) or glittery (my sisters). And they are all sewn into and bound around this thing: me. And these threads connect me to places and people and events; to the past and to things yet to come. Unravel or snip one, and something changes or falls loose.

Am I trying to say that we're all just big, messy craft projects of the universe?! I lack the eloquence of the poet and the clarity of a rested person. I think I know what I am trying to say:

At 26, I feel like my life is a uniquely crafted, interesting, and complex creature. I want to say more about marriage and friendship and resolutions. I want to project into the future, talk about regrets, and count my blessings. But I don't think I'll do those things. I am just going to stop and look around this year. Pull on threads. See what they tell me about myself.

When I look in the mirror at my back, I see the tattoo I got for my 25th last year -- a symbol of struggle and love and life and God. As for this birthday, I think I'll remember it being blessedly quiet, like the moment in the morning before the kids are awake and all I can hear are cadences of birdsong and all I can see is mellow green as the rising sun shines through veiny green leaves.