My voice has been escalating for the past half hour and I catch her stifling the third yawn. I demand that she gets to bed and she circles the living room for the fifth time. It’s been a glorious day for any kid (one of the best days of my life!) - a championship win, an mvp award, family cheering on the sidelines, a school centennial celebration with friends, games, lollipops, and a teddy bear to take home. The night doesn’t end on a high note, my patience and her will colliding.
As I consider what repair looks like the next morning, I’m suddenly struck by the thing I’ve missed. Her defiance wasn’t about stubbornness, it was about presence. Her fight to prolong the joy, to linger in the togetherness a bit longer, to squeeze out every ounce of the day. I wonder how often I’ve missed it, my mind on the next thing to cross off, the schedules to manage. A hug, and an I’m sorry - you didn’t want the day to end, right? Doesn’t this mean we’re truly living?
My last full week of being 9, Charlotte says before bed. And I don’t want to miss it, again. So this week we will linger, fight to extend that joy. Savor the last of 9, so we can fully usher in 10. Maybe it’s this regular practice of presence that makes it easier to let go of the day, our eyes closing with the wonder of experiencing another tomorrow. What a gift.
To this wild and precious life,
Pat
