On or about Valentine’s Day …
They stole my thunder. But really it’s not about my thunder. It’s about yours.

It’s true: you don’t complete me. How could you? I’ll never be complete, and I’m the only one who can work toward finishing me. But you make me be a better me. For a couple reasons. I want you to see me. I want you to appreciate me. I want you to be proud of me, as a wife, as a mother, as a human. Your critical eye makes me think about what I’m doing and what I’m saying.

Except when I’m tired, then I might forget.
Still a work in progress …