My hands tell a story, I think. You know how you can look at someone's hands and even if their face looks young, it's the hands that give evidence of how many years have passed? So, I looked at my hands today. While the world can look at my face and see this cheerful, lighthearted person, my hands tell a different story. Don't get me wrong; I'm happy, blessed in a multitude of ways, but I would be lying if I said that having a child with special needs was not stressful at times. These last couple of weeks, with the applications and forms that come with Jared's growing up, have been a little rough, to say the least. And it is my hands, my dry, cuticle shredded hands that are telling a story of their own. So, what do I do? Yoga? Wine? Continue to chew my nails? No, I think I'll take the wine, and perhaps the yoga. But, I will also look at my children, my husband, all around the table tonight, and I will count my blessings. And for all you other mothers out there? It will be ok; you might just have to get a manicure or two...I guess that wouldn't be so bad now, would it?
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