Time

I’ve never been good at finding that space between trigger and reaction.  At taking that time to process my reaction to turn it into a response.  I’m an all star at emotional reactions, at taking things personally, and saying too many words.  I’m an A-plus student at moving moving moving.

I fear I’ve passed this little gem of a gift on to my wonderful children.  Our moments go from sweet cooperative playing and learning to “MY BROTHER WON’T STOP!”  Quite an impressively swift transition.  

So I realize that my daily to do list is quite the priority in my head.  The tasks, ranging from changing poopy diapers to paying employees, are all important.  After all - noone else is going to feed the children.  But in the hustle of it all, and the seemingly in-the-moment importance of learning that letter or cleaning that mess, my mind doesn’t stop.  

So in the spirit of being consciously aware of the tiny little pieces that make the puzzle complete, I let myself sleep a little longer.  I give myself less to do.  I get rid of a few more things in the house to leave room for a calm life.  

Mostly, I free myself up to be available to watch my son run.  He wants me to notice that he is running so fast that his leg muscles are “juggling.”  I have time for my 2 year old to take her little chubby hands and cup my face and say “I love you, Mom.”  I slow down enough to realize my daughter doesn’t want to sleep alone because of where her bed is.  We move it.  I pull the emergency brake to have time to think before regretting...again.

Time moves fast.  But I don’t want to.