Still Becoming

No one warned me that one day I would become a published author and still spend half my life looking for remote controls.

No one warned me that children who insist they are not tired will fall asleep in a moving vehicle within ten minutes of leaving the driveway, often in positions that would require the average adult to seek immediate medical attention, or at the very minimum a chiropractor.

No one warned me that raising boys would involve conversations about potatoes and how they worked, WWE feuds, action figures, and why our Walmart’s selection is apparently failing the wrestling community.

No one warned me that I would spend weeks fighting with Amazon KDP over fractions of an inch only to have my husband, who designed and built our house, glance at the cover and declare there was no problem.

No one warned me that one child would ask if he talks too much, laugh when told yes, and then immediately continue talking.

No one warned me that another child would need me to call his phone so he could find it, then later ask if I knew where the remote control was, as though I possess a built-in tracking system for every missing object in the house.

No one warned me that I would eventually be hanging off the edge of my own bed because a sleeping child somehow managed to occupy most of a king-size mattress.

No one warned me that a turkey named Frank would become one of my most trusted confidants, or that I would find myself considering bribing her with mealworms in exchange for influencing the publishing gods.

No one warned me that a cat named Bynx would consistently be unavailable for comment because he was busy chasing something only he could see.

No one warned me that some of the best days would be the ordinary ones.

The days that include friends, family, laughter, a good meal, a trip to town, gathering eggs, feeding chickens, and coming home tired but happy.

And no one warned me that somewhere between raising five boys, working, grieving, healing, learning boundaries, and writing books, I would build a life I genuinely enjoy living.

Yet here I am.

Still tired.

Still laughing.

Still gathering eggs.

Still looking for remotes.

Still calling lost cell phones.

Still learning about potatoes.

Still raising boys.

Still writing.

Still becoming.

And I wouldn’t change one second of it!