Today on our East Coast travels, my sister and I took our children to Dutch Wonderland. She rode on roller coasters and log rides with my 5-year-old while I chased after my younger two.

And as we explored the park, I delighted in how easy two children are. Because it’s all relative.

With your first child, you’re overwhelmed. But when your second arrives, one seems manageable. And then, by your third, two is a walk in the park. Because two fit in a stroller; nobody tags along ten feet behind you so you can set the pace.

Sometimes I wonder what motherhood would be like if I had children in my twenties. I’d be less financially secure, but would I live more in the moment, be more willing to go their pace?

What do you think? Does age matter?

What I love most about visiting Ithaca is here our children play with their cousins. And it doesn’t matter who started it, or who had it first, because you’re bound by blood and you have to work it out.

And that teaches you to stand up for yourself when you’re right, and give in if you’re wrong, because if you don’t, your momma’s coming after you.

What memory do you have of cousins?

Today we’re leaving for Pennsylvania to spend a few days at Hershey Park and Dutch Wonderland. But first, a freshly brewed cup of coffee, thanks to our new Kalorik coffee maker, courtesy of CSN Stores and Lindsay Lou! Blogs.

I felt heroic, almost, traveling cross country alone with three. Installing three car seats in a taxi. Clearing security. Dashing from gate to gate on a layover. But then upon arrival he opened his back pack to show grandma his toys, and I wondered how I’d gotten so lost in the details.

A friend gave me a photo she’d snapped of me recently. She’d taken it before I’d had a chance to wake up. And I looked horrible. In it, I wear an old sweatshirt that had belonged to my mother, and I’m eating out of bowl while standing up. My hair is parted down the middle.

Not actual photo. That one has been burned.

What she gave me was a snapshot of my life. While I do shower most mornings and put on make-up, what I don’t take care of is me. My body. And as I looked at the picture, I realized that’s not what I wanted my life to look like.

I don’t mind aging; I mind weakening. While my body was never perfect before, I owned it. And what I find now is it’s hard to feel you can take on the world (or your children) when your body is failing you. (I’ve thrown my back out lifting our toddler from her crib.)

Earlier this year, I struggled with getting older. Now, somehow, that thought has freed me. Because I know that this is it; this is my one shot at life. We don’t get do-overs.

And when you take care of yourself first, the rest follows. Only like most women, I put myself last on my list of priorities.

So today I am running around the lake. And I’m taking the dog, too. (I took her to the vet worried she had arthritis, but apparently she’s just carrying around too much weight. Another casualty of three kids.)

How do you put yourself first?

Today our children refused to nap, and I was so tired I took it as some sort of mutiny against me. Not that they cared. So I filled my thermos with coffee, packed everybody in the car, and drove to induce naps.

While they dozed, I turned off into an exclusive neighborhood I was curious to explore. I’d heard about it from friends, but never actually been in it. The homes there intimidate. They stretch over the lawn and rise up above you, so I stopped and gawked. A car came up behind me, and for a moment, I felt foolish, as if the driver knew, just as I did, that I didn’t belong in one of these homes.

Homes that require you to shower. Or that he not wear his Batman shirt every single day.

When I first stayed home, I struggled to define who I was by fitting in because I had lost sight of myself. And I missed knowing who I was. My parents were the sort of people who cared more about what you save than what you show. Yet in today’s culture, sometimes I feel what you spend establishes your position in society. It’s your handbags. Your shoes. Your hair. And I took my spending cues from our neighbors.

But that’s not how true friendships form. What I’ve since learned is you can’t sustain a connection through a shared image. Because it’s your rough parts that define who you are.

And there is beauty in the chaos, reminders of our humanity: unkempt moms pushing babies in strollers with toddlers ambling behind them, bicycles toppled in front lawns, a plastic pool in a driveway, a hose accidentally left on. Because that is what life looks like. Life is not still.

Do you fit in where you live?