Do what's in front of you

A topic close to my heart and some encouragement for friends who are dreading all the New Year's resolutions posts on IG and FB.

The topic of goals comes up a lot in conversations with my friends. But it’s disguised as “I should” or “I need to.” I need to be healthier, I should read more, I should be a better friend, and so on. We say it with a sense of urgency in the moment but it’s easy to put off. Then we're frustrated because we aren’t making progress on the things we say are important to us.

What if we took a small, practical step this very moment? Drink a glass of water. Bring a book to bed rather than turning on the TV. Send a quick text now instead of waiting to make a 2-hour phone call.

It sounds so unglamorous and much less fun than a trip to the store for organic produce or buying a new healthy cookbook, spending hours on a want-to-read list, or waiting until our house is perfect to host an impressive gathering. 

I struggle with attentiveness in the moment (oh! a text! oh! I’m hungry! oh! I forgot to…) and often have to say out loud to myself, “Do what’s in front of you, do what’s in front of you, do what’s in front of you.” With two little guys, I walk by messes all day. I’ve started to focus only on the mess right in front of my face; that has a snowball effect throughout my day, and my house gets much cleaner than if I would have kept saying “I need to clean, I need to clean” while walking by the toys, dishes, laundry, and dirty diapers.

What two or three things are important to you, important enough to change the “I should” to “I want to” and what can you do RIGHT NOW to give it some momentum?

P.S. You might be saying "I should" about things you actually shouldn't do. I've been saying "I should grow a garden" for years but it's out of obligation and envy. Truth is, I love a good homegrown plant and it might happen someday, but I can think of five other things I want more than that.

You are two

Note: In the current mom-of-baby-and-toddler life I'm living, I look forward to time alone or aspects of when the present phase is over. Then I think of the irony of looking back, saying we miss something we were in a hurry to be done with. And then the irony of now missing the present because of so much looking back. Basically it might always be impossible to be 'fully present' but gosh-darn we try. My attempt to articulate some of this:

You were four weeks and loved the ceiling fan.

I loved finally going to the bathroom without needing a stool softener.

You were six weeks and loved baths.

I loved when you finally didn't pee everywhere.

You were three months and loved the music toy.

I loved that you finally tolerated 'tummy time.'

You were seven months and loved when the watermelon juice tickled your chin.

I loved how the floored shined when I cleaned it after you were done.

You were ten months and loved swinging in the hammock with Dada.

I loved filtering and framing you for more likes on Instagram.

You were twelve months, not walking, and still loved rolling and army crawling.

I loved that you could finally get what you wanted on your own.

You were fifteen months and loved your first lick of a sucker.

I loved when it was finally in the trash so I could wipe the sticky away.

You were sixteen months and loved doors and drawers and open and close.

I 'loved' bending down for the thousandth time to clean up your mess.

You were eighteen months and loved splashing in the bath.

I loved when you were contained long enough for me to check my phone.

You were nineteen months and loved sneaking into the pantry for the canister of raisins.

I loved that it occupied you long enough for me to take my belly to pee for the ninetieth time.

You were nineteen months and loved the spinny chair in Mama's hospital room.

I loved that it took your attention away from the cabinet I told you fifty times not to open.

You were nineteen months and loved and patted and burped Brother silly.

I loved that you had someone else to look at besides me.

You were two and loved books and trains and asked over and over and over for Mama to play with you.

I loved when you loved books and trains in the other room for pete's sake in the other room for pete's sake in the other room for pete's sake.

You were two and loved to name your blocks and the colors gween gween GWEEN wed wed WED oh-winge oh-winge OH-WINGE yeh-wo yeh-wo YEH-WO.

I loved that yes yes YES you knew your colors GWEEN RED OH-WINGE YEH-WO yes yes yes okay okay OKAY.

You are seven and love riding your bike.

I say I miss when you were a baby.

You are ten and love cookies and milk.

I say I miss when you were twelve months and walking or something.

You are thirteen and love teasing Brother and hurting him sometimes.

I say I miss when you were nineteen months and gentle and loved Brother more than anything.

You are eighteen and love books or girls or mechanical engineering.

I say I miss when you were two and loved fire engines or something.

You are twenty-one and ask one day if I ever got down on the ground to play with you, because you're writing a paper about childhood memories and 'need more material.'

I say of course, I can't believe you'd assume I didn't, who do you think I am, the devil?

You are two and love Mama, Dada, and Brother.

You are two and love ah-pains (airplanes) and two-wains (trains).

You are two and love books, oatmeal, doors, doors, doors, raisins, and poking brother in the eye when I'm not looking. You smile when I tell you no. You cry when I say it's not time for snack. You run away as we're about to board a plane. You hold Mama's face to kiss it with your yogurt lips.

You are two just this once. You are waking up from your nap and saying Mama and snack and Mama and poop and Mama and Brother. Go get your blocks and I'll play with you this time.