This is my kingdom

Ada in Piazza Galvani, one of our favorite hangouts.

 I'm not sure what caused the switch. Last semester during Mike's midterms I was moaning that I never got enough time with him and the simple tasks at home were making me crazy.

This time around, I feel like a powerhouse. Maybe it's part of becoming more adult—learning that you are in charge of your reactions, learning to take on more responsibility, and understanding that you're responsible for all of your actions (and consequences) no matter how unconscious (or conscious) you were that you were actually making a choice.

Does any of this make sense?

I guess I don't feel like I need to be on the defense anymore. My choices are my own and they have brought me to this point in my life: married, with a baby, living in a foreign country, sticking to a strict budget, trying to figure out how to paint again, learning to cope with life as a nomad, learning that I am stronger than I knew. . .

Mike and I have talked about how so much of maturity is being comfortable in your own skin; of just knowing that you are who you are; not feeling the need to prove your worth or mystique or beauty or brains to anyone.

Today, I feel comfortable.

I'm coming to better understand that this is my kingdom.

I rule here. In my kingdom, those dust bunnies that crawl under the couch and make as bunnies do will get swept up nightly (and morningly, depending on how busy they were) because I'm in charge. I see my job of sudsing down Ada's highchair as a daily, personal decree that my toddler's stickiness will not take over like the sticky, thorny brambles of fairy tales. Each piece of laundry is carefully hung because here, no detail (or sock) goes missing.

I set the mood. (I set the table.) I make sure my kingdom is fed and well. I make sure my kingdom is happy and bright.

These aren't the burdens of motherhood. They're the responsibilities of a queen.

So I'm off to conquer the kitchen floor. I feel a victory coming on.