This Is What Matters

It doesn't matter where these photos were taken, really:

I'll tell you, though, since I'm not a meanie usually - we went to a Thomas the Train event, making the long drive through the Texas Hill Country last weekend. The event, deliriously fun as it was for the wee CEO, taught me something too.

I look at that photo up top and - once I'm done squeeeeing over the cuteness - I'm empowered. I want to do better. Be better. Be worthy of that smile.

I'd do just about anything to see that face there look that happy. OK, I dunno about anything - maybe I wouldn't send him to a strip club with a stack of $1s (or any denomination, now that I think about it) - but how about re-dedicating myself to making sure he's well and safe and happy?

Do I even need to note the days when Daddy was in charge of dressing Master P, or is that abundantly clear by now?

It's a visceral thing, that need to make your child happy. As obvious as that may sound, it's a deep physical longing I didn't expect, part of this post-child New Normal:

Why not direct the energy I've wasted worrying about things largely out of my control - my defective ladyparts, other people's health problems ("OPHP"), this here blog spinning its wheels - into doing my damndest to make that face that happy? Not that we can kill off worrying by wishing it so, but we can work to counterbalance it.

I've been so preoccupied with my stuff that I wonder if I've been missing our good stuff:

Again, not my choice of outfit, but it made the boys happy, so . . .

If you'll forgive me the broken record (MP3? download?) here lately, I pause again to remember the things that I do have, the little moments like these. These. 

It's not about me anymore. Never was, really.

This matters. The rest - yes, even the Pretty fashion stuff - is all just window dressing (sometimes literally, and we'll get back to that shortly, but . . .). Yes. This.