This Moment
As I did the dishes tonight for the one bazillionth time this year (I really am looking forward to our dishwasher!), I found myself wondering what I wanted to share in this post. What do I most want to remember about this moment in time? More importantly, what do I want to carry forward into real life?
As I washed, I paused and started to notice. The toasted marshmallow scent of our newest candle, picked up on a little breakfast date with Aaron in Mystic, fills the camper. Sayer is quietly working on his Legos. Grier is at a sleepover with her BFF, and above the sound of the rain on the roof, I can hear snippets of Demory's phone conversation with her own sweet bestie, who is excitedly awaiting her return home. It's a rare quiet moment in the camper, and I keep catching myself noticing this moment... and this moment... and this one too.
Because here we are, wrapping up one of the most epic years of my life (and I hope my kids' lives too).
When we embarked on THE Trip over a year ago, we wanted to show the kids how beautiful our space in the world is, teach them how to be flexible and truly embrace adventure, and model for them that it is okay to not know how to do something and figure it out along the way. But over and over I’d find myself adding "and I really want to slow down."
The funny thing was, I'm not sure I even knew what I was asking for. Along the way, I remember thinking Sayer was trying to teach me as he literally slowed my movements with the weight of his precious, giant five-year-old body, climbing on top of me for snuggles and constantly asking for piggyback rides.
It took me a loooong time, but I think I finally figured it out.
For me, “slowing down” is a little bit about doing less and embracing stasis more, but is a lot about noticing more. It's taking the time to pay attention to the tiny details that are so easy for me to rush past.
Every New Year's, my wise friend Debbie chooses a word to guide her year and invites the rest of us to do the same. For the past three years, my word has been the same: savor. I think I've finally realized that, for me, savor and slow down mean the same thing.
This month has felt like the grand finale it deserves to be, filled with visits from family and friends. The Bernards met us in Mystic, followed immediately by the Posts in Cape Cod. It has been such a sweet way to celebrate this incredible season before it comes to a close.
As I look ahead to our final week, it feels like one last, silent shooting star at the end of a Disney fireworks finale. Aaron is joining us for one final travel day as we make our way to our last campground in Acadia, where we'll spend one final week with just our family. I imagine soaking up the quiet moments, laughing together, eating campfire-cooked food, and simply being us one more time before reentry into real life.
The past year has given us something that normal life rarely allows: the gift of simply being together. We've shared almost every meal, every adventure, every boring errand, every campfire, every hard day, every inside joke (every boob and/or nipple in this family has a name), every conversation, every creative workaround, and every breathtaking view. There haven't been kids' activities pulling us in opposite directions, work schedules competing for our attention, or calendars dictating our days. We've simply been together.
As I've been trying to put words to everything I'm feeling, I've realized I'm not just grieving the end of our trip. I'm grieving the end of this version of our family. But you know what? Grief isn't static; it's evolving. Even as I've been writing, these drafts have changed. I started out full of sadness, feeling like I was saying goodbye. Four drafts later, it feels less like grief and more like integration.
In so many ways, this feeling of wrapping up reminds me of the end of my pregnancies. Maybe that's why it feels so familiar. Those final weeks were always full of excitement, like Christmas Eve, and yet the moments were so sweet and tender because I knew they were so very fleeting. I knew I would soon have to share my babies with the world.
These past few weeks with friends and family have given me the sweetest glimpse of what being home again will feel like. After a year of making memories all over the country, these sweet moments of reconnection remind me how much we've missed our people and how excited I am to step back into the life waiting for us.
I realize that my favorite part of this trip doesn't have to end. Yes, our little cocoon is about to open. We'll step back into the beautiful, full lives we've missed, and I truly can't wait. I'm so excited to hug our people, settle back into “the yellow house”, and see what this next season holds. School, kid activities, friends, jobs, and all the wonderful pieces that make up our lives will once again pull us in different directions. And that's okay.
The greatest gift of this year wasn't just the cozy camper, the nearly 40,000 miles we traveled, or the epic views. For me, it was learning how to pay attention. This is a lesson I seem to relearn over and over again. But aren’t all the best lessons on repeat?! If I can bring that home with me, if I can keep noticing the individual moments that make up my beautiful life, then maybe the best part of this adventure isn't ending after all.
What a privilege this year has been. To have had uninterrupted time with Aaron and our crazy, loud, wonderful, sometimes super annoying kids. To witness not just the big milestones, but the quiet, ordinary moments in between. To know them a little more deeply, and to let them know us.
So tonight, I'll breathe in the toasted marshmallow candle, listen to the rain on the roof, and memorize this moment... and this one... and this one too.
And when we get home, and when New Year's rolls around again and Debbie asks us to choose our words, I think I'll choose "savor" one more time. I hope I remember.
