I wake at six o’clock most days to drag tired legs across the bedroom carpet, feet angry at the shock of chilly bathroom tiles as I push through the threshold. I take my position at the sink, hair wild and pillow lines stamped onto my face. I squint to inspect hazy features in the mirror, bracing for additional cold as I ease my hands under the running water.
As I stumble through the beginnings of my routine, I can’t help but to notice that my family has followed me into the bathroom. You see, I’m wearing my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes this morning. Even my pajamas are fitting a little differently these days. My body has softened into the curves of my grandmother since "thirty" arrived.
When I was nineteen I had a jacked-up Jeep with big tires. I bought it that way, trading in my sensible, tan, automatic Corolla for a stick-shift Wrangler. To this day I don’t know what possessed me, but I drove that green monster off the lot, lurching and stalling along the way. (Did I mention I had no idea how to drive a stick?)
They've been jagged edges and gracious smiles. Nurturers and "get-it-done" types. Teachers and challengers. Some incited giggles and others served in quiet strength, every one of them considered heroes and none of them perfect. Boisterous, calming, or motivating; they've arrived in all shapes and sizes, colors and ages. Truthfully, none have been exactly alike.
** Please note, the giveaway will be lottery-style! **
An excerpt from Bare-Boned:
Quiet yet alert; she’s enveloped in the comfy armchair that conceals her tightly crossed arms and legs. She wishes she could disappear, the weight of words settling on her young shoulders. The very men who raise and teach; her father and friends, they eat and drink together at the party, joking and unfiltered about the attraction of women and the shapes of their bodies.
M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy. Earns Crossfit participation trophies. Disaster cook. Enthusiastic wife. #Boymom. Clutches her faith, not her pearls.