Spinning dinner plates, balanced precariously on spindly broomsticks, wobble out of control. Multi-colored balls, handcrafted out of orphan socks, circle my head in erratic, elliptic orbits while I attempt to keep a hacky sack, stuffed with worries, suspended in the air, frantically hopping from foot to foot.
My life is a circus, and I am a Bag Lady Clown. Rheumy eyes milky from sleepless nights, dishpan hands shaky with stress, I juggle my wifely and motherly duties. Never letting any fall, always keeping them moving, so I don’t have to think about all of them at the same time.
Thin spiral notebook 
Ok, this has been happening a lot lately. Where I KNOW I read a post, and I THINK I left a comment, but I come back and there’s no comment from me. I guess my choices are, a) early onset senility, b) circus-life induced senility, c) a general lack in tech-savvy, or d) the internet hates me.
End rant.
This was lovely and terrifying. 😛
LikeLike
Once a mom(parent),always one, I feel:-)What a beautiful analogy you drew Tara,loved it:-)
LikeLike