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Monday, Monday

Last night, the Oscars were on. John Travolta called Idina Menzel "Adele Nazeem", Jennifer Lawrence did all kinds of awesome-ly real things in a world of fake-ry, and I was passed out at 8:20 pm, missing it all.
My friend Deanna and I were joking about how neither of us had seen any of the movies except Frozen. I remember watching the Oscars and being legitimately pissed when my favorite movie didn't win. Now, though I think it's tragic that Leo hasn't won an Oscar yet, I couldn't really tell you much about any of the movies nominated. Nor do I care to. I have so little time to watch movies, that it doesn't even really appeal to me. And the world is so full of heavy, hard, serious things, that if I do watch a movie, I want it to be vapidly appealing, uplifting, inspiring, escapism.
Lying in bed with my daughters as they fell asleep, my heart felt so full. At 2:00 am, baby boy woke up, and as I watched him nurse, I kept thinking how very lucky I am to have him and my little girls. When my life feels chaotic and I feel exhausted and anxious all at the same time, I look at my children and I feel more complete. I feel something like peace. If I could spend the rest of my life holding them, I would do it. Unfortunately, babies don't work that way. They grow up and devour their surroundings with joy and passion and insatiable curiosity; and we experience their joy again second hand with the bittersweet perspective of adulthood.
They're with their dad this week, so tonight I have to look out the window at the moon and say a little prayer for them instead of cuddling them to sleep. Two pieces of my heart, missing; and I can't wait until they come home and I can be whole.

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