Rope.

Sometimes we need a rope thrown to us when we need to pull ourselves out of a hole.  My preferred rope is a silk rope with loop holes making it a bit easier to hang on to.  Sometimes the rope can do double duty and be used to hang ourselves.  But I am only speaking metaphorically. Perhaps.

My rope - these days - is made out of warm soil and tomato seedlings.  It is made out of chocolate chip cookies and homemade patchouli soap and even homemade crackers.  My rope is made out of friends - many of whom I've never met - who are there to comfort or for comfort; to bounce ideas off or to make laugh or make me laugh.

Being a mother is the toughest job there is.  I know that there are lots of rewards in being a mother - but the rewards are not the things that hurt, break my heart, or make me cry right now.  It doesn't matter if your daughter is 2 or 12 or 13! or 28 - she still has the ability to say just the thing to crush you.  And I would be willing to bet that there is at least one person reading this who says that raising 48 year old daughters can be just as brutal.

So for today I am grabbing ropes in any form that I can.  And hoping that tomorrow I can tie this rope up into a pretty bow and forget about today.