Written By Brandy Centolanza
Some days, I genuinely laugh at the breakfast table at my children’s silly jokes. Some days, I cry in the shower so no one can hear me. Some days, I run a little further. Some days, I give up. Some days, I make it to an exercise class at the rec center, and feel great afterward. Some days, I simply stay in my pajamas and watch reruns of Friends with my cats in my lap. Some days, I feel like trying a new recipe, something with quinoa, butternut squash, or kale. Some days, I just don’t care and will have a bag of chips and a Dr. Pepper. Some days, I cross off everything on my household chore to-do list. Some days, I let the dishes pile up. Some days, I impress myself by making a new dish from scratch just like the one I found on Pinterest. Some days, I make brownies from a box. Some days, I dance with my kids or write them little love notes. Some days, I yell at my kids too much and then lay awake at night, ashamed of myself. Some days, I miss my kids terribly while they are at school. Some days, I lock myself in my room because I just can’t deal with their wild, crazy kid behavior anymore. Some days, I say the wrong thing to my kids. Some days, I sit them down, again at the breakfast table, and explain to them the meaning of life, or my version of it. I explain to them what it means to be healthy, to be lazy, to be happy, to be sad, to be poor, to be blessed, to be human, to live in America, both the good and the bad, because I’ve been and done all those things. Then I explain to my kids how we all have choices to make and that they make mistakes, I make mistakes, but it is okay because tomorrow is another day.