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Nobody ever told you that being a mother is all about making what seemed like thousands of tiny decisions.

Liane Moriarty

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Liane Moriarty
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: November 15
Author
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Lian Moriarty
Told
Decision
Making
Mother
Thousands
Ever
Tiny
Like
Decisions
Seemed
Nobody

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They would think she was savoring the taste (blueberries, cinnamon, cream-excellent), but she was actually savoring the whole morning, trying to catch it, pin it down, keep it safe before all those precious moments became yet another memory.
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Falling in love was easy.anyone could fall. It was holding on that was tricky
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But maybe every life looked wonderful if all you saw was the photo albums.
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Everyone wanted to be rich and beautiful, but the truly rich and beautiful had to pretend they were just the same as everyone else.
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Some secrets are meant to stay secret forever.
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The medication, the hormones and the relentless frustrations of our lives make us bitchy and you're not allowed to be bitchy in public or people won't like you.
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All these years there had been a Tupperware container of bad language in her head, and now she opened it and all those crisp, crunchy words were fresh and lovely, ready to be used.
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If parents had children who were good sleepers, they assumed this was due to their good parenting, not good luck.
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Those we love don't go away, they sit beside us every day.
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Just because a marriage ended didn't mean that it hadn't been happy at times.
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They say it's good to let your grudges go, but I don't know, I'm quite fond of my grudge. I tend it like a little pet.
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Happy endings always made her cry. It was the relief.
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We'd traveled, we'd been to lots of parties, lots of movies and concerts, we'd slept in. We'd done all those things that people with children seem to miss so passionately. We didn't want those things anymore. We wanted a baby.
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Why did she give up wine for Lent? Polly was more sensible. She had given up strawberry jam. Cecilia had never seen Polly show more than a passing interest in strawberry jam, although now, of course, she was always catching her standing at the open fridge, staring at it longingly. The power of denial.
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So now I just assume that it won't work, and that if it does work, I'll lose it anyway. This is meant to protect me, although it doesn't, because somehow the hope sneakily finds its way in. I'm never aware of the hope until it's gone, whooshed away like a rug pulled from under my feet, each time I hear another I'm sorry.
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None of us ever know all the possible courses our lives could have and maybe should have taken. It's probably just as well. Some secrets are meant to stay secret forever. Just ask Pandora.
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You’ve been here before. It won’t kill you. It feels like you can’t breathe, but you actually are breathing. It feels like you’ll never stop crying, but you actually will.
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All conflict can be traced back to someone's feelings getting hurt, don't you think?
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Then he kissed her so deeply and so completely that she felt like she was falling, floating, spiraling down, down, down, like Alice in Wonderland.
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Perhaps nothing was ever “meant to be.” There was just life, and right now, and doing your best. Being a bit “bendy.
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