things do not go as planned

i watched a man bleed to death the other day.

{strangely} 

it wasn't particularly gruesome or even dramatic in the way one might imagine.

everything had been reasonably contained and family was at bedside, holding his hand.

his last moments were humbling:

a medical team having to admit there was nothing more they could do

a family having to acknowledge it was time to say goodbye {we love you}

and a respectful quiet settling into a space that is otherwise bustling.

the patient's wife laid a final kiss on his cheek, squeezed his hand, and stood up

she inhaled deeply, with eyes closed and walked away.

as i escorted her away from the bedside, she very quietly said:

"this is not what we'd planned to do today"

the words were so ordinary and yet, so extraordinary.

 

and so it is with life:death.

we plan our days and nights {often} without regard for the unexpected. 

but the unexpected comes, i have learned; 

it always does.

and it is remarkable to witness how

{in those moments}

people find the strength and courage

to make more plans.

{outside my window}

 

{outside my window}

it is a rainy and cool fall day.  the leaves are soggy and trampled.

but they glisten ever so slightly as the sun tries to make an impression through the clouds

{i am thinking}

it is a great day to be alive. 

an elementary thought, for sure, but it was all that came into my mind as i sipped my coffee at the kitchen window

{i am thankful for}

my sister. it is her birthday today. i wonder what her day has in store?  i wonder if she will feel overwhelmed by the affection people feel towards her.  she is well loved.

{from the kitchen}

molasses cookie dough is chilling in the fridge.

it seems to be the perfect day for those. the oven is warming up and it is about to get delicious.

{i am going}

on a date tonight. 

we are trying a new place. i always worry that we will run out of things to say to each other {for real} but that has not happened yet. ever.

{around the house}

are piles and bins of things that need to be put away.  i think i would rather write letters.

{a message to my readers}

happy fall season to you and yours!

slowing it down

all my life i have taken comfort in the phrase "life is busy"

as though busy is something to be proud of

i mean, busy makes sense to me &

busy feels valuable and so

busy somehow became my antidote to boredom.

{you know that evil state-of-being from childhood}   

for better and worse, i have carried that value into my family life.

  

this summer"life is busy" started to feel like an albatross

something to be ashamed of

busy started to leave me feeling creaky in the mornings

busy began to feel like a sentence, less of a choice

busy left me feeling vulnerable

sure,

 i get lots done

{but there always seems to be a mountain of "to-do" left in its wake}

 we have fun in the moment 

{but the energy output often feels disproportionate to the the enjoyment derived}

i feel greater connection to the world around us

{but i've been feeling less connected to the "we" of my little family} 

so,

my husband and i decided to slow it down 

to be more intentional about how we spend our time and about our decisions for activities.

 and honestly, the result has been a mixed bag:

we cannot get away from some obligations to be busy 

{reality of working}

some folks reflect their disappointment

{"no" is hard} 

the requests and demands seem to be increasing as the littles get older.

but 

our boys don't seem to mind the added unfettered play time

we have time now in our "routine" to do things like read books together every night

or spend an afternoon pretending to be puppies

my husband and i get to eat dinner and talk and watch a show or listen to a podcast together after the boys go to bed instead of having to figure out a way to do those things all at once.

i don't creak as much in the morning when i wake up

i get to cook more and bake more

and we have been able to schedule regular massages with my dad instead of going from crisis to crisis

{it has only taken 6 years}

i have time to write a couple of letters

and sometimes 

i just sit with nothing to do

we talk more and rush less.

and

this season feels good.

 

part of me

"part of me wants to do all my ideas for today," he states, "and part of me just feels so tired."

this, our eldest's summation as he lies in bed surrounded by his stuffed animals, sucking his thumb, and completely covered in a blanket. i was lying next to him, debriefing his moments down in depths of despair from 20 minutes previous.

tonight

he had a difficult time going through his evening routine in a timely fashion.

he was easily distracted by everything.

he got lost in the bathtub, entertained for ages by the sound of water lapping at his ears.

it took him nearly an hour to meander back down the stairs to brush his teeth

and, once downstairs, he was

devastated to learn that so much time had lapsed, he would not have time to pick a show to watch.

we let him tantrum for a bit, after which he completed his night-time routine & crawled into bed. what he said makes so much sense;

his reflection of life's dualities felt at home in the core of my being.

we discussed how to manage those competing parts of ourselves 

&

the role of parents/adults to help kids confront the inevitable clash between desire and reality.

now, i sit here thinking

 about how the important conversations in life happen when you least expect them

and i am thankful