Sunday was one of those mornings. A morning where I used my imagination.
It was 7:45, and the Big Boy was only starting to wake up. He may fall back asleep, I thought to myself, but as I perused the kitchen, I pictured eggs and banana pancakes, stacked on plates. And me and the Big Boy sitting upright at the table, forks in hand, smiling at each other and enjoying the exquisite company. We were both clean and not squirming.
And then I came to.
I remembered all the times my imagination led me astray. I recalled all the images I created in my mind of happy, whine-free quality time, and how it always looked in reality an hour later. So I let the Big Boy sleep. Because now I will have some quality time with myself and God, and at least I have a little more control over that.
|The mess of reality.|
I’m not sure what it is about imagination. I mean, I love creativity. I love thinking differently, innovation, all that. But sometimes my imagination is a real drag. Disappointing. All those family picnics where no one needs a bath afterward and the breakfast where the Big Boy doesn’t end up with egg particles in his mane, those are simply that: imagination.
I’m left with a bummer afterward, trying to make peace with the gap between reality and the dream sequence that brought me here. Living in the moment is hard. Appreciating things as they are and not being crotchety about who or what they aren’t is one of the challenges of my life. I don’t want to give up on my imagination either though. But maybe I need to learn a little discernment? Like which of my ideas are actually “good”? My husband would agree. He’s always trying to talk me down from my latest adrenaline-rush, telling me I can’t bake cookies for the neighbors three times a week and still maintain the dregs of sanity. Oh yea? But I love a good challenge. [I did give up on that idea before I started, thank you.]
So back to the point here: the moment. What is. I want to love that too. So here’s to enjoying not the mess, but the person inside the mess. Here’s to loving the fact that after he falls over, he insists on getting an arms-wrapped-around hug. Here’s to appreciating the roly-poly character in the bathtub who love-love-loves water and stays in the tub long after it’s gone just to reminisce. Here’s to laughing at our mistakes and quickly forgetting crabby attitudes. Here’s to quiet time during a nap. Here’s to being all the way in the moment and not lost in resentment about a dream deferred.
And may you live this way too.