A Snapshot of Today
I am extra tired today. I think it is mostly just what happens after a three-day weekend when routines are paused and we spend an extra day together. Now we recover. Now we get back to our regularly scheduled days.
I wake up and work with more urgency. I help with buttons on a shirt and get breakfast ready, preparing for the day ahead in record time. After listening to “Backup Plan” by Plested, “My Little Prayer” by David Archuleta, and “Here’s to You” by Rascal Flatts, I say “Have a fantastic day. I’ll see you after school. I love you. Remember who you are.” The boys are off to school.
Another “Have a wonderful day!” as we drop off a friend at her school nearby.
My daughter and I take our 30-minute walk around the lake, admiring the ducks and the squirrels and the majestic old trees that canopy the walking trail, protecting us from the bright, rising sun (and probably a good breeze). I notice the tree beside the trail that looks like two big, gnarly, brown crossed fingers. I take a picture.
We take a restroom break.
Then we go to greet our fish friends in the little pond by the miniature golf course. They usually peek up at us, rushing to the surface in a flurry of excitement, expecting us to be the ones who feed them, though they never act disappointed when we’re not. Today there are buzzards perched all around the gate and we shoo them away as we approach. The fish stay deep below the surface. No greetings for us today. My baby girl sighs a forlorn “aawww,” and we head back to our minivan.
I lift her from the stroller into the van where she begins chanting, “I do it! I do it!” to let me know she wants me to put her down on the floor inside the van so she can climb into her carseat by herself. We are in no rush, so I acquiesce. She climbs into her carseat, then stands, not wanting to put her seatbelt on just yet. I encourage her to sit while I open the back of the van and fold the stroller up and stow it away.
I grab my purse and return to Maddie to help her finish her buckle. I have a 9 o’clock commitment I need to keep and my watch reminds me of it. I silence the alert and climb into the back of the van with Maddie. I look around to make sure no one is staring at us and then I put on the dress I brought with me, sliding it over the clothes I wore to go walking. Once the dress is on, I can easily peel the sweaty walking clothes off without any indecency.
Maddie patiently waits in her seat while she plays with a plastic ring she brought home from church on Sunday and her “owl” (it’s really a seatbelt cover in a soft velour fabric with an owl print, but she calls it her owl and so that’s what it is).
I climb into the front seat now dressed and I spend about 20 minutes online keeping the commitment I made.
I text a friend to confirm our playdate for today and we head over to her house.
Typical is Not Forever
This is a tiny snapshot of a typical morning for our family right now. I know from experience that these snapshots change very frequently with each literal season and in each season of life. Only a few short years ago I had four boys 4 and under who kept my days filled with their energy. Back then I thought that my life would always be that way. I thought that was the definition of motherhood for me. Now I can see that my typical morning is not forever: it is typical for now. So I choose to enjoy it. I choose to appreciate the opportunities I have and recognize (sometimes I must consciously remind myself) that some opportunities are not mine right now. Time continues to move on.
I was reminded of this movement of time several months ago when our friends lost their custody battle to keep a sweet baby girl they had fostered in their home for the first year of the baby’s life. It was heartbreaking. My heart ached for my friend and I knew that she was devastated and I was at such a loss to know what to do for her and her family beyond prayers and encouraging text messages. I just felt sad.
The night I got the news, my husband, sensing my sadness prevailed even after my tears dried, started a little game. He knew that I had been an avid country music fan throughout my early teen years. I loved those old songs—I still do! He searched for 90s country songs on various music streaming apps and challenged me to name the song and the artist. I was amazed that even after all these years, I knew most of the words to most of the songs! As I sang along to these various songs that had once been so important to me, I recognized memories attached to the melodies. I remembered situations in those early teen years and how I dealt with them through the lyrics and tunes of those songs. I felt like I’d gone into some sort of time portal and I vividly remembered how it felt and what it was like to be 13 again. But then came the message: time marches on.
Time continues to move. Through celebrations and through heartache, through challenges and bliss, time keeps moving. We are not able to pause the clock or extend the minutes. We can only live them. We can accept what happens in those minutes, recognizing that the next moment will be filled with something else. The world does not stand still for us, even when we feel like continuation is impossible or wrong. Time moves on, even when we can’t.
A decade ago I was teaching 8th grade Language Arts, wondering if the twins in my belly would actually come. I had waited so long!
Five years ago, I was scrambling to protect my baby from his milk protein allergy while caring for three other little boys. And two dogs.
Today I have one little girl at home with me while my four boys go to school. I never could have predicted this life ten years ago!
And time is still moving. I do not know what the future contains. I do know that today is only coming once and then it will be gone.
I hope you find joy in your time today.
Challenge:
My challenge to you is to record something about today–it could be something completely “ordinary” or something unique about today. If you think about it, the two aren’t really that different. There’s only one today.
