A basket of flowers

It was a busy day. All of them are, lately, and I don’t think there’s any way to avoid doing a lot of things, not at this season in my life.

I’m sure there will be quieter seasons, ones where I am teaching less, mothering from afar instead of up close, working at my own pace instead of ten different projects at once.

But I’m okay with a lot. It’s something I’m learning about myself. It’s okay to be okay with it. It’s okay to accept that this is for now, to settle into moments with seven different people talking to me at once, meltdowns and loud laughter, deadlines and burnt soup.

But especially, especially, if there is a moment at the end of the afternoon when five or six children flit from spot to spot, picking flowers to fill my basket. The sun going behind the hills, kids laughing, a little white dog. A basket of flowers.

I’m glad to be here and nowhere else.