Mother May I.

May is my mountain.
My Everest.
It’s celebratory, exhilarating and exhausting. It’s the month that gave me my babies and now every year it brings us its share of summertime heat, partygoers, and  always seems to find me chewing on pen caps while I budget and try my best to create dime-store magic for my two sweet monsters. They’re believers, those two, and now that my oldest is becoming so engaged and interested in the world around him, the one I can share with him, then I’ll go down swinging if it means watching them as the magic takes hold and that thing they’ve played make believe over is living and breathing and theirs for the day.
We battled with lightsabers, bounced in castles and we dressed up like royalty, whether it was as a princess from a storybook or one from a rebel alliance.
And then Mother’s Day always follows right on the heels of the Birthday Gauntlet that is the first two weeks of May. So, we went to Disney. And I celebrated myself.
I’m Mom. I climb the mountains and guard the magic.

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