It is weird to think, isn't it, that these little people will likely be here so much longer than we will? My oldest daughter is six and when I think of her, I think of my perception of my own mom at that age; she seemed so old. She seemed so certain of the world and herself. To think that in thirty three more years I will be where she is and my daughter will be where I am makes the rapidity of the passage of time so very glaring.
This week I rushed through too many things. I have made a very dear and new adult friend (a true treasure!) and I mean to stop and look at her and pause the other things on my plate and ask with a truly open mind how she was and what new things she could tell me.
I intended to ask my kids more direct questions about school and how they're feeling. But if you are not there, the time passes, and the day moves on around the well-intentioned asking.
And per usual, Tim and I have been ships in the night, mostly relaying essential information to the functional workings of a household with three young children. We always send these essential messages congenially and with kindness, but it is often like some sort of business relationship, "I can do school pick-up, but if you run to the grocery store, don't forget to pick up waffles."
(Also: the waffles are so that I can sit with the kids on the couch on Saturday mornings while they make their own frozen toaster waffles and I don't have to move: cooooool MOM TRICK!)
I don't think I even went out of my way to pet the damn dog. Moments in which I noticed grace? Probably twice. Moments where I expressed true gratitude for the kindness of others or relationships which feed me? Probably zero. Moments where I felt overwhelmed and guilty and wished I could be three or four different selves to get all the things done? Nearly all of them.
There is next week. And perhaps I can be more intentional about being present. About noticing grace. Perhaps, even, about finding time for rest and recovery and relish in a true absence of obligation.
No comments:
Post a Comment