A 5:45 am toddler wake up call on Saturday after a night of very little sleep and a long week of battling The Sickness was NOT how I imagined starting my weekend. Do I need to say how tired I felt? How badly I wanted to fall back in bed, pull the warm flannel sheets around my neck and hide? But. My kid was in my face and beginning to cry. And. In an instant I remembered that the moment was my destiny.
I was being called–literally and figuratively–to show up for the morning.
In the darkness while my toddler whined at me to open the blinds, and start breakfast, and read a book on the couch, and and and… I remembered that this moment was being delivered to me by every past feeling and thought and action I had ever had. This moment was an aggregate of everything I had lived before. The magnificence of its magnitude humbled me. What could I do? I was left with two choices: outright refusal of my life as it was, or acceptance of my reality without resistance.
So, I doubled the pot of coffee. Put on on our new favorite Spotify radio station, Zen Indie Folk (Spotify has us pegged). Carried my toddler around the kitchen while prepping ingredients for oatmeal, his sleepy head nestled into my neck, and caught sight of our reflection in the window above the sink. I sent a sweet blessing of thanks to my reflection for waking up. For staying awake. For being present for this fleeting moment with my beautiful, precious son.
And you know what? Throughout the morning I “found” time to work on a special knitting project, time to chat with Simeon about taxes and family traditions, time to fold the dry laundry and put in a second load. All while padding around my cute little bungalow in my pajamas.
It was wonderful.