Bubbles. Stickers. Ice cubes. These things are magic. In a little kid’s world, anyway. When a parental unit whips one of them out, all is perfect...for at least 17 minutes. This morning, I stood in the shower and realized duct tape is magic in my world.

We all do it. We keep relatively innocuous foibles hidden. We are less than honest about rather innocent bits of ourselves. Why? We feel embarrassed? Perhaps. Fear of judgment? Of course. Afraid of ridicule? Definitely. Especially us parents, moms and dads who are juggling jobs and family and relationships, why do we spend so much energy — energy we don’t have — hiding certain things about ourselves?

“Mama, where is it?” She stands in the doorway of the kitchen, I believe with her hands on her hips. Her tone? A touch too accusatory for my taste. I sigh. Because I know. I know what she is talking about, and she knows I know. I always know. I know what today’s “it” is, just as I knew what last week’s “that thing” was and yesterday’s “what we had that one time with Catty and the tinker toy jet pack.” I know because I am Mom and, at some point, during my days of labor, I was infused the power to know by the Goddesses of Motherhood.

Sometimes, sometimes, Life is just there. Even when you are trying, striving to live a life that is true and honest and real, when you are following your passion and all of that mumbo jumbo, sometimes, life just isn’t fun. There are times in life when life is neutral, is sad, is bad, is depressing, annoying, that life can be just there.

I know what you are thinking. This is a total cop-out post. A “she didn’t know what to write about, so she inserted some You Tube video” post. The “it’s only Day 4 and she can’t figure out how to squeeze it all in” post. And, yes, though, all of those may have bits of truth to them, this is something that deserves a post. I need music to write.

I hurt myself playing Freeze Dance. With 19 five-year-olds. On my 40th birthday. The humor is not lost on me, this happening on my birthday. Why did I get hurt? Is it because I am now too old to play Freeze Dance? I refuse to think this.

I’m raising a hoarder.

My daughter. She is five and she is a hoarder. Not your typical five-year-old hoarder. She does not make piles of stuffed animals or Barbies or pink sparkly-things. No, she hoards empty paper towel holders, the cardboard dividers from Fresh Direct containers, wrapping paper inserts, old Kleenex boxes (we have 34 of those). We have a wall of toy bags filled with stickers she has found, used ribbons, and those crunched-up, triangle-shaped mounds of paper that live in the toes of shoes when you first get them (we have 22 of those).