Spring is finally on its way, baby! The weather this week was finally more inviting, and I found my mood initially rising with the outdoor temperature. There is something about leaving the winter coats behind as we swing out the front door in the mornings that is an immediate morale-booster.
Not that it’s been a cakewalk as of late… I’ve felt even more overwhelmed than usual. A sink overflowing with dishes, stacks of undone laundry, and a massive pile of unpaid bills- all of it demanding attention in the midst of the childrens’ needs- it all plagues my sense of peace. AS I mentioned in my last post, trying to do the best that I can without being consumed by looming “mommy-guilt” is a delicate balance that I try to maintain.
And can we take a moment to address Daylight Savings Time? Forget society’s attempt to dress up the concept by coining the cute lil’ term “springing ahead”. Here’s why I object to this psuedo-attempt to manipulate time:
- 6:30am arrives even earlier than it did the day before, which was EARLY.
- I’m guaranteed to hear the phrase, “But it’s still light out!” whined in protest as I attempt to put the little ones to bed.
- At least two clocks in my house will continue to have the wrong time, which will result in confusion for at least two weeks.
Thanks for nothing, Daylight Savings Time…
So Thursday was an exceptionally busy day. I spent the majority of it sifting through health insurance paperwork, struggling to devise an comprehensive family budget, and nursing the silent anxiety that these tasks generally produce for those living paycheck to paycheck. I managed to plant some pansies into our front window boxes, but took no joy in the perfunctory task; one of countless other tasks still waiting to be completed.
As a result, I was generally oblivious to the beautiful weather, lost in my own worries.
…until I witnessed a short but glorious illustration of just how wonderful spring can be for the spirit.
I was parked outside of the elementary school, waiting for #2 to emerge from her Girl Scout meeting. The late afternoon sunshine was streaming through my car windshield, but I was fixated on my internal concerns, and didn’t notice.
But then #2 popped out from the school’s front door, flanked by her fellow Girl Scouts. Once the girls spot their parents’ cars, they are free to leave. Some walk, some amble, some run.
#2 broke into a trot. As she crossed the school’s front yard, trot morphed into a skip. The skip was then transformed into a jump-kick into the air, with a fist raised and a raucous “whoo!” blurted into the air.
I burst out laughing, because I LOVED IT. And I knew exactly what it represented. #2 was in the moment; the sun was shining, it was warm, it was that perfect time of day and she felt it. She was overjoyed and went with it. The feeling inside over something so simple was just too good to contain, and she could care less who witnessed it.
As she tumbled into the car, I kissed her through my tears of laughter, & told her how much I loved what she had just done. She turned to me with a grin and said, “I knew you would, because you get it- you’re just like me!”
And she’s right.
In the midst of my very adult problems and tasks to manage and complete, there is that very same part of me that still has joy. There is the part of me that knows the incalculable value of being in the moment, and appreciating the simple, perfect beauty of lovely spring day.
There is the part of me that often lies dormant as of late- the silly, impulsive and fun side that immediately understood my daughter’s joy and probably would have done the very same thing.
Did I figure out our budget that evening? No. Did the laundry all get washed and folded? Unfortunately, no. But instead of consuming me with gloom, I was able to peel my mind away from the oppressive hold those tasks had on me to enjoy the moment with my girl.
And on our way in front door, I paused for a brief moment, and sniffed the earthy, sweet smell of my newly planted flowers and their surrounding damp soil.
It was refreshing to “take time to stop and smell the roses.” (or pansies)
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