I was (sort of) reading Wendell Berry's Art of the Commonplace this morning, while shoveling down a second breakfast and trying to actually get through a whole cup of tea (didn't happen) before Penelope completely lost it. But this jumped out at me and I love it:
[context - WB is talking about land and that a certain hill is like an old woman taking up embroidery. But this applies very much to motherhood, and I'm sure many other things in life as well. Cooking dinner for the ninety thousandth time?]
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