Thursday, March 8, 2012

Present and Awake

This morning, I got up and out of bed when really all I wanted to do was sleep in.

Rainy days are good for that.

I'm on the go so much that it's more than the rain that makes today seem like a good day for staying in bed.  There are six other reasons I have, though, that remind me that it's probably better to go ahead and get up.

So I did, and here I am, and today I want to live vigorously, joyfully, present in each moment with a thankful heart.

My littlest comes to me with a paper where she's making a list of activities like piano lessons, games, dancing, singing, cooking, arts and crafts, and exercising.  She's six, and she'll likely be a program director of some sort.

She started this last night and had us each sign up beside an activity or two or three or four.  Before the evening was over, she had most of us involved in a short game of Twister (who knew how much core strength that game requires!!!) and then she and I played two rounds of Master Mind before we settled in to watch the rest of the episode of Mission Impossible.

She's growing up.  At our Monday co-op she has ballet.  Our routine involves going to the basement to the bathroom with a lounge where she can change into her ballet clothes.  Then we go sit outside her classroom, and she draws in my journal, continuing her drawing from the week before.

Used to, I never let my children draw in my journals.  It was mine and my special place to write down my thoughts.  I would usually find them their own notebook or scrap of paper from my purse to draw on.  That is until I realized that I like looking back in my journals and seeing drawings and doodles from kids now grown.

Now I turn to a blank page and hand over pen and markers and pencils, and she draws and colors and creates until time for class.  I kiss her and hug her and watch her go in.

But last Monday, she tells me that now she'd like to walk herself to her class.  All alone.  I can walk her to the basement, but I must stop at the bottom of the stairs and allow her to walk on unassisted to ballet.

I asked her what about drawing and sitting together before class.

She replies that, well, she'd just like to go by herself.

So I smile and comply and watch this big 6 year old walk herself to class, so grateful that I didn't hold my journal too tightly those Mondays before.  That season is over already and I didn't even see the end coming until it was there and done.

What moment am I living in today that may be near its end?  I'm here and present and awake and accounted for and aware, oh so aware right now, that these fleeting moments are gifts to be savored and treasured and...

What's that?  Time for my piano lesson I signed up for? 

Gotta run.  Here's a moment to savor presenting itself.


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