When I was a kid my mom told me she'd give me something to cry about.

It's been years since I came home from work (chili's) every night on the verge of tears, sore, my butt sorely kicked and my feet aching. Probably 2 solid years. In the grand scheme of life, not that long. In the narrow view of my life, ages ago. I had totally forgotten what that girl was like, two years ago. What work was like, what life was like.

I had 14 tables last night, had 534.34 in sales and walked with about $80. Not the worst night, not the best. There was a time when the thought of 14 tables could make me cry. Anyone remember the old sections before team service? Anyone remember zone 5? I try not to. Two four top tables, one two top booth, one four top booth and a twelve top booth. Those were the nights I would come home to an empty dark house because I was there 1/2 the night cleaning. Everything near me smelled like Chili's, stale burgers and sweat. I'd peel off the black tee-shirt like a snake sheds it's skin, trying to get away from the dead weight. And I'd shower. Late at night, quiet as a mouse, I'd shower with mint body wash and cry in the shower about being tired. I was 18, and had no idea...

I had forgotten all of that until last night. The serving shift ran smoothly, it went pretty well. But when I came home and my baby was in bed asleep I realized that I'm more tired now than I ever was then. It has sunk into my bones and lingers there as I go about my day, as I have alone time in the car, as I sleep at night. Last night, for the first time in a very long time I took a late night shower. Quiet as a mouse, with baby scented body wash. And I cried in the shower. It felt good. It felt liberating. It wasn't a deep sob, it wasn't a contemplative churning of my soul, cathartic come to Jesus cry. It was an 21 year old girl crying because she's tired.

It felt nice. Only crying because I was tired. There are much greater, more important things to cry over. The situation in Egypt, starving babies in Romania, the hurts and pains of people in my life. There are much smaller things to cry about, that my room is a giant mess, that Jess took away my purse, that it's so bleeping cold. I've had a hard time justifying crying about my life, about me, in the last year. I made choices and I'm living with them. I deserve no self-pity, I've earned no right to whine. But for ten minutes in the shower I cried for me.

When I got out of the shower and peeked in on Lily sprawled out in the middle of her bed (which she loves to do in mine) my heart overflowed. I felt like a tiny little tea cup with pink roses sitting on a matching saucer, with someone pouring thick, tangible cream over the top, spilling out the sides, running all over the doilies on the table, forever staining the hardwood with this rich, enduring love. The little cracks that were starting to turn into serious stress fractures were filled in, making me strong enough to make it through another day.

That little girl is the most amazing thing I've ever done in my life and the only thing more awesome and incredible than her is the God who made her and gave her to me. And that is certainly something worth crying happy tears about.