A day devoted—at least in theory—to honoring mom {me} sounded like a good excuse to plan big. Two years ago I requested a family outing to the High Museum and I seriously considered the same this year, until a conversation with a friend on Saturday night made me stop and think . . .
Iris asked what we’d planned for Mother’s Day and I told her my big museum idea. Then she pointed to the recliner behind her and said, “I want to sit in that chair and read my book while everyone cleans the house,” and I knew in that moment that she was the wiser.
Saturday we’d bounced from birthday party to ballpark to another birthday to a class party before that visit with my friend. Was it really necessary to head downtown after church and continue the same level of activity on Sunday?
Her words challenged me to think smaller, and so I printed the map of a new greenway that our family hasn’t walked, imagining a leisurely stroll with plenty of adult conversation and photographic moments.
But rain in the forecast forced me to think smaller still . . .
All ten of us attended church together—truly, that was the gift of the day—and then we ate Mexican with my dad and stepmom. The rest of my afternoon consisted of a nap followed by a walk with my husband and kids.
Before bedtime I curled up in my reading nook playing Words With Friends with Holley, and spoke my wish that Barnes and Noble stayed open 24/7. What’s not to love about books, hot tea, comfy chairs, and free wi-fi?
My husband pointed to the chair where I sat and said, “Let this spot be your Barnes and Noble.” Sure enough, all of the things I desire are right here, although the wi-fi isn’t exactly free since we pay the bill.
I’m not saying I’ll never runaway to B&N again, but should I always yearn for an oasis that requires a 25 minute drive when I can create one at home? It took all day for the message to sink in: sometimes I need to think small.
