I am the color.

You know the color right after a storm? The one that sounds like tranquility and looks like damp tulips peeking out from a weed filled garden. Some days, I am that hue.

You know the color after winning a race that you have trained your whole existence for? The one that must feel so relaxed and look so proud and saturated. Some days, I am that shade.

You know the color of a messy house with kids and nose prints on the windows as well as on your heart? The one so bright that only a woman who has experienced the hard labors associated with motherhood could actually see. Some days, I am of that palette.

You know the color of two scoops of homeschool with a full time job on top? The one that looks like dollars and memories all shoved into the savings, under the mattress and in the mom vault. Some days, I am that tint.

You know the color of forgiveness of self and of the self-worth-thieves of the past 40 years? The one that started out dull and defeated and is now glowing in garage sale clothes, un-brushed hair and heavy perfume. Some days, I am that tinge.

Some days. Many days. All days. Long days.

I am the color.

The color: Me