Week 40 | Accept the Present Moment


The present moment is always what it needs to be.  Perfet in so many imperfect ways.  Beautiful.  Tumultuous.  Never wrong.  Never quite right.  It is all that it can ever be.  

-Shawn @AA/P52

Learning that my neighbor let May braid her hair while they were all in front BBQ'ing, I inside preparing the rest of dinner.  I told her "No" so many times that day, so it made me feel sad to hear.  Not out of jealousy, not out of bitterness, but because she found her joy elsewhere when I had several opportunities to give it to her.  

Watching The Little Rascals mindlessly because the kids went up for bath.  As many times as it has been on in this house, there are parts I have never seen before. 

Driving home on Tuesday, the day of the week I talk and explain and educate all day long.  To come home and talk and explain and educate is not always what I have the energy for.

The burst of energy that seems to come from their two little bodies, right before bed when I am ready for them to calm down. 

The way she holds her pencil when she writes her name; the way she uses the eraser like she's been doing it her whole life.

The grey tooth that has found a home in her beautiful smile, it holds a story unlike its pearly neighbors. 

The way they say "I love you" to the sitters when they leave, and the genuine joy it brings me to know how lucky we are to have such great people influencing our daughters.

Their nails, that I just cut, that need to be cut again.

The occasional morning they wake up wanting to argue rather than play, where I wear my referee hat and have the whistle ready and never really feel like I make the right call.  

The drive to work, when I turn off the music because the quiet is more appealing.  

The drive to work, when I keep "Puff the Magic Dragon" on, because it makes me smile.

The cool breeze, ahhh, fall is finally here.  

Hubbs doing the dishes while insisting I take a break.

The way the night light reflects its red, yellow, blue, green and white light against their perfect slumbering skin.

The mornings I can eek 15 minutes of quiet to myself.

The mornings I just want 15 more minutes in bed. 

The moments that hit me sideways in realization that they are growing up so fast, in terms of physical growth, the things they say, and/or their thought processes. 

The feeling that the "whining" phase is finally phasing itself out. 

Pulling up to the house to see them playing in the rain, to my heart's delight.

"Can I have a treat?"   "Can I have a treat?"  "Can I have a treat?"

Feeling like I miss them, in the deepest way, when I check on them before going to bed.  

Letting them "read" the story, and listening to what they've been listening to for all this time … what they remember always delights me. 

 © Houseman 2013