One Fainting Robin

We took a walk around the neighborhood the other night, something we always intend to do more often, as we intend to wander the forest paths that beckon right outside our front door.  We’re working on making these walks a priority.  Everyone loves them, we all feel better when we arrive home than we did when we left, refreshed either by the trees and the soft dirt path beneath our feet, or the communion with neighbors.

I’ve been thinking a lot about priorities and treating ourselves well since reading this post by Amy McCracken (scroll down to the third post, though really, read it all, just know I’m referring to the third one).  She writes about taking care of her feet, sitting on the edge of her tub and rubbing them with lavender oil, but only when she had been running, as though only after pain and accomplishment were they worthy of these brief moments of care.  And I think of my busy life, and my house always a mess, and for me, it’s big, warm sweaters and cups of tea and a good book.  When my house is clean, when I have gotten everything on my never ending to do list done, then I’ll sit in a big, warm sweater, I’ll tuck my legs up under me, a good book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.  But that list never gets done, my cabinet full of different types of teas is rarely opened, and I can’t even remember the last book I read (for adults), though reading has always been such a huge part of my identity.

And I think of what other things fall by the way side, as things I only deserve after some sort of accomplishment, but what gives me pause more than tea and books and warm sweaters, is how many things I say I will do for my children once we are not quite so busy.  And as we walked around our neighborhood the other night, I heard two dads speaking German to their  little girl, and felt a pang of regret.  We were going to raise our children bilingually.  We were going to start speaking German to them one day.  And it always seemed like that moment would still come, the one where it felt right to make the effort, when adding German into our lives would be the only new thing, the only adjustment for them.  Just as we’ll be more spontaneous about messy art projects, and we’ll have friends over more often, just as soon as the house renovations are done, the baseboards are scrubbed, the papers are filed.  Seriously?  The papers are filed?

Meanwhile, my little girl is almost nine, and all these things I’ve intended to do, all these rituals and traditions and memories for the future, those opportunities are slipping away while I wait to deserve the time it takes to be the parent I want to be, and after the kids have gone to bed, to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea.  And so many times, I feel like we have our big priorities straight — our time together over money, experiences over stuff choices, but it’s the little priorities that make up the days, and the days that make up a childhood, a lifetime.  And maybe my cup of tea and my good book can wait, but my children can’t, or at least they shouldn’t.