Our richest memories contain an element of surprise. A perfectly predictable life is one we start forgetting even as it's happening.
Sometimes we stick our stake in the ground and hold on for dear life. Our dentist is a master collaborator, and all of his co-workers are exceptional. On our last visit, they had just moved into a brand new workspace. It was the first day in their new home, and life was a bit crazy. There were designers, workman and engineers roaming around the space. Lots of machinery wasn't yet operational and finding necessary tools were a bit like a game of hide and seek.
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So now, instead of futile reluctance to acknowledge that life is racing by or being regretful of the many, many days spent doing routine things I don't remember because they're mundane and not spiritually exalting, I plan things that will lift me up emotionally.
I remember those nights of trying to squeeze in two hours of sleep between feedings. I remember yearning for the day that I could sleep a full seven hours without being startled awake. Now that those days are here, I wish I had enjoyed those long nights of snuggling and holding her.
We have made listening to music in the car our special time together. It is something we even crave sometimes. We will take a ride in the car just because we want to, with no destination in mind. I sometimes thank God that his school and camp are at least a 30-minute drive away.
Perfect moms are everywhere these days, aren't they? You know the ones. They wear the perfect outfits, push the perfect strollers, respond to the needs of their babies at the perfect moment, and always flash a perfect smile. No? You're not familiar with the type? That's because the perfect mom doesn't exist.
Life is a series of deaths and rebirths. Death happens to our bodies every minute of every day yet; this process goes unnoticed because we are busy living life. Cells die. Skin dies. But the thought of the ultimate death stops us dead in our tracks.