Monday, July 7, 2014

What will I remember?

It's Monday. Blah. It's the Monday after a nice, long, fun-filled, relaxing holiday weekend. Double Blah. I turned the page in my planner last night and was surprised to find that Isaac has basketball camp starting at 8:15 Monday through Thursday this week. No one in the house was impressed with this information since we are a roll out of bed and be lazy in the morning kind of family. None of that for us this week. It's up and at 'em and join the craziness of rush hour to get him to camp on time.

I am in total disbelief that it is July 7. What in the heck happened to June and how do I get that back? I was reading with Elliot before bed and he was kissing my face and singing a song about Asher and time stopped for a moment while I just stared at him.


I have so many moments like that. Moments where I realize just how precious this life is and just how fast it's blasting past and just how good it is and just how ridiculous I am to get caught up and stressed out about anything that takes away from my pleasure and passion about the moment I'm in right now.

I'm reading Anne Lamott right now. Can you tell? She is such a wise, sensitive soul and her writing exudes an acceptance that life is brutally unfair and spectacularly splendid. That we can't keep the pain and heartache away entirely, but we can choose to use it to teach us the lessons that will help us get through this life. Today I read that she wants her tombstone to say that she helped people and she danced. Now that's a woman with whom I can relate.

What am I going to remember at the end of the day as my head hits the pillow? At the end of the year as we watch the ball drop? In 2017 when I reach another decade of life? At the end of the decade when I watch some of my kids graduate from high school? In 2031 when my youngest turns 18? When I attend their weddings and Jim's retirement and hold my grandbabies? At the end of this life when I feel the strength leave my body and take my last breath?

Will I remember that I finally nagged Elliot until he started chewing with his mouth closed? (But really, is there a correlation between amazing dimples and inability to chew with mouth closed? He tries so hard, but it's like he can't!)

Will I remember that the kids brought their socks upstairs instead of leaving them on the steps?

Will I remember that I wrote another blog post?

Will I remember that Jim weed whipped the yard just when I wanted him to?

Sure, there are things we must do. Punch the time card, finish the math test, visit the doctor's office.


But mostly there is just a really big life waiting to be lived. We get reminders about it every single morning when the sun greets us with beauty, pomp and circumstance. We get nudged again when we hear babies giggle about bath splashes and big sisters squeal in delight. We get another notice when brothers take bike rides, making sure they splash through every puddle with lots of boisterous laughter. And finally, at the end of the day, the sun sets, all coral and purple and red, and the moon greets us before we say goodbye to another day.
Hopefully another day well-lived. Another day where the head hits the pillow and we breathe the deep, tired sigh of contentment.
What serves to remind you that life is beautiful and ready to be lived fully? What would you like on your tombstone? Let's make Monday great!

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