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Proud to be you

Catherine, Peeper, Littler J and me last summer

Catherine, Peeper, Littler and me 

Catherine and I met over ice cream when my younger son, now two, was only a few months old.

I’m sure the ice cream was great, but I don’t honestly remember it. What I do remember from our meeting is the feeling of being free to be exactly as I was, all the good, the bad, and the messy, without fear of judgment or admonition.

In fact, if Catherine were here, she’d tell me I’m not actually a terrible mother because I snapped at my older son for not giving me just-three-for-the-love-of-god-three-little minutes to write a teensy-eensy post without being harangued.

This isn’t supposition, either. Compassion for ourselves as mothers is something she and I have discussed across many blogs. (See, e.g., this related post she inspired.)

Please visit me over at Catherine’s place today, and stick around to see why the very thought of her makes me smile. Why this particular love letter could only have been inspired by and shared in a place of such compassion, wisdom, and love.


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