Driving home from a short time away the thought crosses my mind: "I haven't yelled all day today."
And I sit and marvel at the words. And I sit and am horrified by the words.
How can not yelling for less than twenty-four hours be enough of a milestone to warrant its own thought?
What kind of mother am I where raised voice and frustrated words are more common than patience and grace?
And I realize that I have been living in the hurry-up rather than in the joy.
The faster he goes to bed, the faster I can relax and enjoy the evening.
Rather than enjoying the moment that I am in.
Rather than treasuring the reading of books and the singing of songs, I hurry through, waiting for my "time off". But the reading of books and the singing of songs is what I longed to do, not so long ago.
When did my ideals change? When did I get off track between what is important and what is immediately satisfying?
So, I stop, and I marinate in how it feels to not yell, to not rush, to not expect so much. And this, THIS is how it's supposed to be.
And that moment carries me through the days and I find myself slowing. And I find myself enjoying. And I find myself treasuring. And it has made all the difference.
Linking up with Heather of the EO's just write.