Be Brave

Thank God for my children. If I hadn't had the sheer panic of motherhood thrown on me, I am sure I would look like the lady who hangs out by the gas station where I pump gas. I'm not sure if she works there, or if she has deemed herself some unofficial smoker-greeter, or what her deal is. But there she is, waving at me and talking through her exhale and wrinkles every time I stop to fill up, reminding me of my alter-future.

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