embracing all this connection

The cowl I am making with the Yarnarchy yarn my MIL and her fiancee bought me.

We had a snowed-in weekend, mostly.

M and Remy played in the snow and I enjoyed not having to go outside except when we all went out to lunch/errands on Sunday afternoon.

We watched the 49er game together (yay, win!) and enjoyed some knitting time.

We were going to install our new kitchen sink/ faucet, but we realized we didn't have enough caulk on Saturday (and it was too snowy that day to go get some) and after we bought it on Sunday, it was time to watch the game. And the 9ers definitely take precedence to household chores in our household.

(Especially on a winning streak. Especially, knock on wood, in a season when we we will maybe make the playoffs. And maybe, just maybe, not even as wild cards. Knock on wood.)

At some point on Sunday afternoon, M came in to the living room where I was knitting and said, "I have some bad news, the french press cracked again." And I didn't even really mind, though I did immediately get on amazon and buy a replacement.

This time instead of buying another replacement glass carafe, I wised up and bought a stainless steel french press. Not having the glass crack again? Priceless.

And yeah, a large part of my nonchalance was that I have a backup system (a gold tea filter) for making coffee this week while we wait for our new french press. And of course, it also helps that buying a new french press isn't a major financial strain on us at this point.

(We are so lucky.)

But the larger picture is that a french press is just a french press. A means to a caffeinated end. So what if I need help waking up because I am not a morning person. I can still (eventually) wake up, even without caffeine.

In the larger scheme of life, things do not matter as much as people.

And so, with this gratitude for the people in my life, a broken french press doesn't really matter.

(Remy was absolutely the cutest when he heard that my carafe had broken and offered me a sympathetic hug.)

Yarn in a gorgeous colorway, caffeine, watching the 49ers win, a glass or two of very good red wine after kid bedtime, dark chocolate, watching a new season of Lost Girl with my love, the season finale of Survivor, a weekend of not-having-to-freeze. These are little things that do indeed, make me happy.

I surround myself with things that I love, instead of things that weigh me down. This is my so-colorful, sometimes cluttered version of minimalism.

And none of those things is as important, not one of those things made me feel as good this weekend as the plentiful moments of connection with my loves.

(Actually, notice how they are tied up to the connections we share? Everything is connected, really.)

M serenaded us with music all weekend  after he and I went to see a band play on Friday night before the snow started. Music is his knitting.

I love our new piano. I love hearing my love play. I love hearing him sing. Remy, on the other hand, is overwhelmed (and sometimes just plain annoyed) by his dad making music. And that's ok. We work on not yucking other people's yums and on helping Remy recognize the ways he can combat sensory overwhelm.

And sometimes it helps to learn how to play his favorite song. M learned how to play "What Does the Fox Say" this weekend. It isn't M's favorite, but it helped draw Remy out of a sulk.

(Oh yes, this embracing does make a difference. Yes, indeed.)

Life is never going to be perfect. But it has moments of incredible sweetness, which I feel I recognize best when I embrace the ebb and the flow.

I came downstairs after sleeping in on Sunday morning and watched M and Remy playing in the snow.

"I cleaned [the snow] off your Buddha for you, mom! Well, not all the way." He's so proud of what he can do on his own. So proud of his growing independence.

(And yet he still needs me to sit with him as he falls asleep. And I can either embrace that need or I can be frustrated by it. I'm choosing to embrace it. Which doesn't mean sometimes it doesn't overwhelm me, too. Sometimes it does. And then I breathe and I remind myself. Lather, rinse, repeat.)

I know that even when he's taller than I am, he'll be my little one, but right now he really is my little one. My growing little one. Seven and a half is still very little. In this moment, right now, he is little and he needs me sometimes. And other times, not so much.

In every moment, we have a choice. And I am actively choosing to embrace his needing me and his growing independence. The ebb and the flow. He is growing up and one day he will be an adult. But not today.

(Not today.)