I’ve received gifts so precious, so commonplace, that I stop seeing them as gifts at all. I’ve had spontaneous cups of tea with loved ones and watched my kids fling fistfuls of freshly fallen snow into the air. We have spent many hours this week cozied on the couch, reading aloud to each other. Meanwhile, in this season the evenings are dark and the mornings are long, and my children come into the kitchen each morning with sleepy smiles. ![]() I’ve become envious or suddenly bitten by perfectionism after seeing someone else’s child achieving something on Instagram. In the past I could tell myself a story of frustration about why the baby is waking in the night, or why the toddler is melting down. ![]() I can fall into visions of perfection, diving deep into homeschooling resources, sure that the doldrums or challenges we’re encountering could be solved if I bought just the right curriculum. I might over-schedule a series of “festive activities” and feel disappointed that my family doesn’t appreciate how hard I’m working or resentful that my kids are too strung. There are so many schedules, plans, activities, theories, ideas, dreams, and narratives that my adult mind so easily gets tangled up in that I can miss what’s happening right here, right now: life. I was recently reminded of this old John Lennon quote, but it had never struck me as so true as it does here and now in my life as a parent. ![]() “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”
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