I came downstairs this morning to find my kids embracing the November-means-Christmas philosophy. Curled on the couch, both wrapped in blankets, they were more than halfway through Home Alone 2.
I hadn’t even poured my first cup of coffee.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Home Alone movies, but I’m not mentally prepared for Christmas joy at this point. Truthfully, I was planning to pilfer a KitKat for breakfast, not listen to a well-crafted argument about why the second movie beats the first, mainly based on how badly one of my kids wants to go to New York City.
(Spoiler: I still cried when Mrs. McCallister realizes she’ll be able to find Kevin at the tree in Rockerfeller Center.)
I thought I’d use my day to hunker down and do some writing. As usual, time galloped away from me, wearing the cloak of workouts and orthodontist appointments, local elections, and driving duties. If I want writing to happen, I need to be more deliberate about when and how much I need to do each day. These moments help; they prime the pump for the drafting I need to do.
I’ll edit later.
Time warps in funny ways when you expect to have a little more of it than normal. A bit of extra sleep. Meditation in the middle of the day instead of at bedtime. Unloading groceries in a methodical way instead of rushing to get them into cupboards and the refrigerator as quickly as possible. Like everyone I know, those extra hours never become fully realized, and I’m left looking at my planner and wondering how there’s so much left undone at the end of the day.
I want to find those hours during the next two months – or at least find a few extra minutes to enjoy unplanned moments, like crying over Richard Gilmore’s funeral with Abbey or encouraging Dylan to turn off his video games for a few minutes to join me for a brief meditation. Those little moments, stacked together, can combat the busy nature of the holiday season.
At least I hope they can.
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