Another Monday, come and gone. I’m sitting in a stupor on the couch, arm wrapped around a soft little boy, lap full of black cat. 

For a brief moment, I feel calm, 

the wind that howls from the constant storm inside abated.

I feel grateful for how warm and happy I am, 

with my loyal side kicks requiring nothing but my presence.

We ate supper outside for the first time in the three years that we’ve been in our house, 

outdoor fireplace roaring, 

watching the children run and play off their energy before bed.

Even after the nightly battle of bedtime supremacy, 

I’m content. 

My children are growing up together, fighting and playing just as they should. 

While I’m exhausted watching them do it, I still can’t believe how lucky I am.