Today’s prompt comes from Reverb 13: What went right in 2013?
Maybe you didn’t quit smoking or lose those pounds or go to Paris, but something did work, did happen, and/or was realized. What was it?
I’m not quite ready to reflect on the entire-yet-presently-happening year. The end of the calendar year is, well, still on the calendar. In my commitment to living in the now, I can’t – or won’t – go too deep into what went on during the past eleven-plus months.
But it’s pleasant to think about the good stuff when I tend to focus on the bad stuff. After all, I’m a recovering optimist.
This year’s highlights (or lowlights) include a move-that-was-not-to-be-resulting-in-extra-clean-home, initiation into homework, entertaining spring and fall (kid) soccer matches, fantastic local (adult) soccer matches, tremendous learning through independent contracting work, the blessed end-of-diapers-forever, and navigating the evolution of the three-and-six-year-old boys with whom I share a home.
I guess a lot went right this year. There have been some challenges, some of them ongoing, but I am still up for the holiday season and the red, green and sparkle it brings. This morning’s task was to clean the living room and move furniture around to make space for the tree.
The Christmas Tree.
On a side note, yesterday I was telling our oldest about how Christmas is the birthday party for Baby Jesus, a sweet innocent born long ago in a manger who grew up to do good works and make meaningful change. This was discussed in the context of how not everyone celebrates Christmas, and that’s ok, and some people celebrate Hanukkuh, and that’s ok, too.
The baby’s full name was Jesus Christ, I explained.
Mom! That’s a bad word!
Yeah. So, then I explained about how Jesus was a real guy whose name is special and we don’t say it when we’re angry or upset, because then it makes it a bad word.
Okay, moving on. It’s been a very full year. Full of hard stuff. Full of real. Full of wonder as I watch my kids grow and learn and move and be.
Following every dark night there is a moment of brightness. We sleep in a room with pitch dark black-out curtains. I adore them and the darkness they provide. I cannot imagine living (or sleeping) in a place where the sun doesn’t slip out of view for several hours every day. Yet as day breaks, slivers of light make their way into the bedroom, flirting with us and tempting us to shake off sleep and move.
Every day breaks anew. We wake refreshed, exhausted, or somewhere in between. Many times of late I’ve woken on the latter part of that equation. What I love is that daily we’re given the chance to start over. It gives me the opportunity to experience a morning like today. In the chilly sunshine, we loved being a family, selecting a tree and coming home together.