Roar!

Do you know Amanda?

Well, if you don’t, you are missing something special. It seems weird to say this, but in a lot of ways, Amanda is my online conscience. She has three stunning girls and a marriage she works hard at, and she juggles a lot. But mostly what Amanda does is love.

I dare you to go to her place and not feel the love rising off the screen. Her heart comes through in every single word she writes. She lives fully and passionately, and from my perspective, quite fearlessly.

Amanda and I go back. In fact, it isn’t totally inaccurate to say that Amanda helped me make the decision to have a second child. And now, I have The Babyman.

Did I mention that The Babyman celebrated 365 days of marauding yesterday? He did, with his customary flair:

I know, right? Could you die from the cuteness? I did, until I had to clean neon green frosting off my family room carpet—which is, by the way, a good TEN FEET from where his high chair sat during the Cake Extravaganza.

Anyhoo.

Amanda.

Amanda asked me to roar a week or so ago. She asked me to stop looking at myself from the same old perspective. She asked me to see something sexy or strong or extraordinary about myself.

That is a tall order for me.

I’m not one for thinking I’m special. I’m usually a mess, with wet hair in a knot on my head and a dirty T-shirt. I usually smell like slightly spoilt milk and Leggo waffles. I need a porter for the bags under my eyes. Most days, I look like shit.

Just after Amanda asked me to roar, my sister snapped this photo of me at the ocean:

I looked at it for a moment, and then I saw my collar bone. It looks so delicate here. The big glasses hide the dark smudges under my eyes, but they also give off some elegance, some saucy attitude. I don’t look perfect, because I’m not. But those glasses and that collar bone still have a lot of living—a lot of roaring—to do.

So Amanda? Thank you. For asking me to find the extraordinary in my ordinary. Thank you, as always, for turning my perception on end.

And thank you for being such a dear friend.

Now who else? Roar for me, please. How about you? Or you? And definitely you.