~Letting her feed herself cereal. Despite the milk dripping off her chin and down her elbows, puddled across the countertop. She wants to do it herself. Let her.
~Feeling a little silly while she stands at the bottom of the escalator holding my finger, working up the courage to step on. I excuse us a number of times as people smile and step by. She watches them, glances at me with courage mounting in big blue eyes, pointing as she realizes she can do it. She can. Give her another moment. It’s worth the wait.
~Letting her wander around the bookstore as long as she wants. No rush, just wonder.
~Watching intently at least a hundred times, as she spins in the middle of the room ‘dancing’ until she topples. Laughing at her joy, sincerely.
~Letting her stir the pot with a wooden spoon inevitably splattering sauce everywhere.
~Gazing deeply into her eyes as she nurses. Holding her extra long, even after she falls asleep.
I could do it all so much faster. I could avoid the mess and extra time to clean it up. I could get more done today, accomplish more, check more off the list.
But that. Is not. The point.
And it’s also not living with intention, slowly and deliberately. Getting lost in her dimples, savoring each bite of a summer fresh peach, each sip of an iced coconut ginger tea, her squeals at the kitty scampering across the yard.
What’s important are these things. These simple, everyday, beautiful things.