“The days are long, but the years are short.” As a mother I have lived by this motto, often repeating it to myself ad nauseam between, say, four-thirty and six p.m.
But recently I have had the distinct feeling that the days are getting shorter, too. (And no, I’m not talking about the impending solstice.)
We are running out of time in our days. It’s lunchtime before we’ve finished building the zoo. Or we still have math left to do after lunch. Or it’s time for swim team, but we haven’t all practiced piano.
I have so much in my back pocket that we aren’t getting to– good books (always more books!), a sewing curriculum, crocheting, cooking, geography, another composer– but I have to remind myself that what we ARE doing is a feast. A wonderful, rich feast.
Perhaps, instead of adding more to the table I need to “schedule” in a little more time to digest it.