Last week, we adventured north to one of our favorite spots: Bearwallow Mountain. I've been in love with this place for two years now, and it's truly a little piece of heaven. This trek up was different than all the rest for several reasons...
1. There were two kiddos with me this time, and I carried Bethany in the Osprey pack for the first time (big girl!).
2. The wind was blowing at least twenty miles an hour, making the 50 degree weather feel more like 30 degrees.
3. At least one of my two children were screaming at all times, both on the way up and on the way back down.
4. We didn't get a group photo of all of our crew together because the brutal wind forced some to cut out early.
5. Several of us made a post-hike pit stop at Starbucks to help us warm up after being frozen for three hours.
Basically, if there was ever an imperfect hike, this may have been it.
But that's just part of the fun! If we only hiked in perfect conditions, we'd be missing out on the funny stories we can tell for years, the character we build as parents as we love on our kiddos when they're acting crazy, and more. The same is true for life in general, too -- our days are too short to wish away the "bad" ones. Every day, every breath, is a gift, and it's far too precious to waste or wish away.
That's a lesson I've been learning for a while, and every day it becomes more ingrained in my heart and mind. I'll only be able to hike with my children for so long.
I'll only be able to hold their hands while they make new discoveries for so long.
I'll only be able to help them climb mountains for so long.
Because one day, sooner than I'd like, they'll be doing all of these things on their own.
Instead of pushing away when emotions are high, frustrations are following me around like a shadow, and tears are plenty, I want to push in, to press in. To the hard stuff, the messy stuff, all of it. Because you know what they say -- "the days are long, but the years are short." And it's already been nearly a week since this particular day, the day that while I was living in it felt like it might last forever.
But that day didn't last forever. None of them do -- the good ones or the bad ones.
And this is why I don't want to wish away even a second of my time with the babies who call me Mommy. Sure, I'm tempted to do this often, especially since I'm with them all day most days. But I want to keep getting better at being grateful over grumbling, present over distracted, and maintaining a good balance between going/doing and staying/being.
I want our diary of days to be full, even if not all the days I write about are pretty. Because better than being perfect, they're ours.
And that'll always be good enough for me.
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