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I heard someone describe their children this way today, and it seemed like a poetic (albeit cheesy) capture of how I feel about my own brood.

I’ve been solo parenting since Sunday morning while James is away at a conference, and it’s been exhausting and humbling and strangely fulfilling. My life has had to be so carefully scheduled and orchestrated to survive coordination of all of our activities and demands, all during my craziest work season, that I haven’t had time for the superfluous stuff. And that superfluous stuff is so often so unfulfilling that it’s been unexpectedly pleasant to only have room for the necessities. I’ve had intimate one-on-one time with my girls, in my home, in a way that is empowering (I can do this!) while also serving as a reminder of how grateful I am to have a supportive partner so that I don’t have to do this alone regularly. (Let’s not pretend like I haven’t had some seriously ungraceful, ugly moments over the course of the past three days).

Single parents are motherfucking super heroes.

I do so love these bits of sparkling humanity.