{I am going through the 50-something posts I have saved in DRAFTS and finishing a few. This one was one paragraph long, from November 2012. It’s fun to see where a few months will take an idea…}

I had a conversation with a friend about…oh…six-ish years ago. Which means I was barely 30. Which means, I was practically a baby.

We were talking about the age difference between my husband and me (13 years, if you care to know), and I said it didn’t seem to matter much, (except when it came to parenting stuff, but I wasn’t ready to admit that then…)

My friend, around the same age as my husband, gave me gentle advice. It went something like:

I just know that the way I looked at things changed a lot between 30 and 40.

I have blinked, and here I am… closer to 40 than 30. The cute monikers I used to throw around for our family (“two in high school, two in diapers”) no longer apply. We are settled and grown up (all of us…except the ones who shouldn’t be yet), and we are not waiting for anything to happen to make us ok. We are simply… our family.

But you still can’t look at us and figure us out.

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You never could.

hulkus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because these are our kids:

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Some of them are old enough to bring me my favorite treats…on the same day! IMG_4937

 

 

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Some of them are still little enough that their weirdness is still adorable… IMG_0057  IMG_4932IMG_4863

 

And some of them just don’t care about being weird. They have taught me well…IMG_5018

They wear us out, daily…

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And they keep us feeling alive….

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I would not trade this weird family for anything.

I wouldn’t have traded it when I was 30, but now, I know more things, and my perspective has changed, and I realize the beauty in our blend, the grace in our glue, and the love in our lunacy.

Who needs normal when you have this?

theburtons

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