Sometimes I cook lots of vegetables and meals from scratch and new and interesting recipes and homemade bread.
Sometimes I make clothes and hats and art and cool projects.
Sometimes all our clothes are neatly folded and put away as soon as they’re washed and our laundry hamper is empty and our house doesn’t have any random piles of clothes and sheets floating around in various states of doneness waiting for the next step.
Sometimes I read wise books and clever articles and smart thinkers. And sometimes I even have smart thoughts and interesting conversations about them.
Sometimes our house is tidy and everything is put away and there are no toys strewn around the lounge.
Sometimes I stretch and practice yoga and do strength training exercises and take long walks.
Sometimes the dishes are all away and the benches are clean and shiny and the compost bin is emptied and the floor is mopped.
Sometimes I write, here or in my journal or on the mostly-abandoned novel that I still want to write. And sometimes what I write is actually good.
Sometimes our vegetable garden is weeded and tidy and the crops are harvested and used in our healthy dinners or blanched and frozen for later use.
Sometimes I write letters and organise thoughtful gifts well in advance of when they’re needed.
But sometimes surviving a 12 hour work day (including stupid mistakes and interviewing two job candidates and ringing seemingly endless tour operators to arrange tours that then get cancelled) without shouting at anyone is enough.
Sometimes getting my kid to daycare with a packed lunch and picking her up on time is enough.
Sometimes a packet of soup for lunch and macaroni cheese for dinner is enough.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that these things are enough.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I am enough.
But, sure enough, I am.
And so are you.
And sometimes we all need a little reminder of that.