Tony made fried pork chops for dinner last night. They looked and smelled delicious, but I didn't eat any because ever since I got pregnant with Holden I have had an incredible aversion to pork products. Which is a shame because I have an entire standing freezer full of pork. Oh the things I do in the name of love. Things like spending $100 on pork. A snapshot of my evening around 5:00 p.m. :

"Ham hock soup?" He inquires.

"No, I don't like pork." I reply. Five seconds pass,

"Ham steak? Pork chops?" He asks earnestly.

"Nope, still don't like pork." I smile.

"How about bacon? Sausage? Pork roast?"

"No honey, I'll just find something on my own. Make whatever you want."

This is the conversation we have had every day for the past week and a half. You have to hand it to him, he is persistent. And the man likes his pork.

"Everybody thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor but they couldn't possibly all have good taste and a sense of humor."

I decided today as I was looking at my blog that the pity party should be put on hold for just a few days. But don't worry, I'm sure it will be back in full force sometime soon. I know how much you enjoy my pensive, depressing posts.

I think everyone has a certain way they see themselves at the very core. Not necessarily a realistic part of themselves but an image that is really part of their soul, part of who they are and how they see themselves. For example: My husband is a major league pitcher in his soul (among other dreams).

I happen to be a book editor, a rancher, a missionary, a wonderful pastry chef, and a mother at the core. It's interesting how marriage takes a mirror and shows you these things, in some ways shows you how to mold yourself so a part of you can be the things you want to be--but for a myriad of other reasons--time, talent, money--you aren't. Could I be those things? Yeah, probably.

The important thing is that for this moment, I have chosen this life. In the future could I be called to mission work, work in editing, or have a ranch in Western Nebraska (I doubt the ranch thing unless I meet Ted Turner and somehow get him to leave me land in his will, since I think he owns a significant portion of the panhandle)? Yes, I could. And perhaps I will.

The lesson I have to keep on learning day in and day out is one of contentment. When one dream/wish/goal comes true, you can move on to the next one. But more than ever with an 18 month old child, the lesson has become:

Don't miss the moment in the process of following your dreams.