A Letter to My Daughters About Life…

Dear daughters of mine,

Today was rough for both of you. You must have some sisterly connection or universal alignment in play. But that’s okay because I have the same message for both of you.

It’s important, so listen up.

There will be days…

There will be days you will breathe fire and scale skyscrapers and save the world from boredom or sadness with your smile and humor. There will be days when you shine brighter than the sun and nights when the moon is jealous of your light. There will be days when there is dancing and brownies and laughing and tattoos (but only for the adult aged one).

And then there will be days like this. Days when you drag yourself out of bed and drag yourself to school or work, only to realize…

It’s a whole lotta “Nope.”

There are those days when you want to cry for no reason and days when the world seems to be out to get you.

It’s Murphy’s law that it always happens on the day you have a million things to do, a long work schedule, a test to take, and a dance performance you have to be at.

But it’s okay. Here is what I want to tell you about life.

The world will keep spinning when you take a sick day. Your school assignments will still be there tomorrow and your job will somehow figure out how to manage without you for a day. Yes, even your dance friends will be alright without you on the stage.

It’s okay to spend the day on the couch. Read a book, play your Xbox, watch Disney Plus, and take a nap.

I know this because I’ve lived waaaay longer than both of you, and one of these days I’m going to be wise enough to follow my own advice.

I remember the week I had an emergency appendectomy while pregnant with you (youngest one).

I was calling work from the emergency room to make sure my teacher trainings still went off without a hitch. (Never mind that I was so high on morphine at the time that the poor secretary probably thought I’d lost my marbles.)

While 20 weeks pregnant, and after my appendix rupturing in the ER, emergency surgery, and a week in the hospital, guess what I did the following Monday?

I went back to work.

At the time, I was thinking, “I HAVE to keep going! The state assessments are in a matter of weeks and I MUST be there! I have teachers to train and schedules to make and test booklets to count.”

The truth, though? No one needed me at work as much as I needed to be at home. I was growing a human inside of me at the time for crying out loud!

My boss, my friends, my babysitter, your father, my SURGEON, they ALL told me to take it easy. Rest.

But I couldn’t. Or rather, I WOULDN’T.

So, there I am, driving 150 miles to and from work. Six staples still in my pregnant, bulging belly (now full of constant contractions, which in hindsight was probably just the dancer girl in you saying, “Let me out! I’m done with this confinement!”), stopping every 30 miles to literally get out of the car, park, walk around (to avoid getting blood clots—by strict order of my surgeon since I INSISTED on going back to work), and put in the time at my job.

I would go home exhausted. My boss saw it and told me he would literally pay me to “work” from home. My babysitter saw it and came to my house to do my laundry. Your father saw it and told me to slow down.

I didn’t. Thankfully, I was ten years younger then and my body managed to heal despite my refusal to slow down.

But what if I hadn’t taken that chance? What if I had taken the time to rest, heal, take care of myself? Would everything in the world have stopped, fallen apart, and turned to ashes?


The truth is…everything would have been fine.

I worked in a school of smart, competent teachers who could have run the entire testing protocol without any coordinator at all.

My boss could have done the “official training”, and the test booklets could have been counted out by literally ANYONE who worked there.

My point is this: It is okay to take care of yourself.

It is fine to throw in the towel once in a while. I wish I had done it more often. I wish I could convince myself to do it more often even now.

As you both grow up, there will be countless times in life when you are too tired to go on.

Sometimes I’ll tell you to buck up and keep on going because you’re tough. But other times, you need to listen to me and your body when it says, “No more. Today, you rest.”

You can conquer the world tomorrow.

Tonight, let the world take care of itself.


Your miraculum seeking mom

Be grateful, water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

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