Savoring the Moments

 With the kids heading back to school and the autumn weather settling in, September more than January has always felt more like a new year to me.  There's something about the starkness of the change from the lazy do-little days of summer to the run-a-gazillion-miles-an-hour craziness that September brings, that makes it feel like a more natural time to evaluate priorities and set goals.   I find that the good habits that I struggle doing consistently through the year almost always get a solid jump-start every September.

This September more than ever before,  has brought with it a feeling of renewal and moving forward.    With all the kids back in school for the first time in 9 months, I find my days feeling more familiar than they have in a long time.  Although the familiarity mostly stems from my time spent doing daily tasks that never seem to end,  somehow it all doesn't seem as monotonous as in past days.   I sense the fleetingness of it all a little more than I used to.  

Things seem almost normal. 

But not quite. 

Underlying the comfortable routines and new-found zeal for improving myself, there is still an pervading sense of unease in the air.  Every time Spencer collapses onto his bed after school for a long nap, I wonder if his fatigue is normal or if it's a sign of something else.  Never mind that he got 6 hours of sleep the night before, my brain now goes straight to the worst-case scenario.  And it's not just me. In the wake of Spencer's bout with leukemia, the whole family seems to have developed a minor case of hypochondria.  I see every rash, bump, and scrape not just once to evaluate its seriousness and to impart comfort, but I get updates on them 4 times a day with a questioning tone about whether they should be worried.    My new catchphrase is, "It looks normal.  It will probably hurt for a few days.  Let me know if it gets worse." 

Intermingled with the contended boringness of day-to-day life and the worry that we just can't quite shake, there are the ever fleeting moments of togetherness that I treasure.  It can be as simple as a family dinner with everyone there (a rarer occasion these days).  Or a night of board games and cookies.  Or even just a drive in the car with the whole family. 

These are the moments I live for. 

I know all too well that even in normal, no-leukemia life that these days are far too short.  A year from now Spencer will be away at college (he doesn't know where yet, but he assures us that it will not be a local school that he chooses).    Two years later it will be Cami. 

In the meantime I'm determined to take whatever time we can get...

and remember to laugh....

and to play...

and perhaps...

take as many pictures as possible...

And although Spencer may be have been the black sheep on that breezy day, refusing to fly kites with the rest of the kids, seeing him run and exert himself without getting sick was a magical sight for me to behold. 

"... if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.  ...don’t close your eyes and hearts to the simple and elegant beauties of each day’s ordinary moments that make up a rich, well-lived life."  
Dieter F. Uchtdorf