for three minutes

For three minutes today, I stood at the kitchen table wearing my favorite apron, drinking a fizzy cherry coke, and gathering supplies for a new project that I can't wait to begin.

For three minutes, the windows were open and the sun was coming through them and ideas were buzzing about.

For three minutes, I was touching at the edge of getting into a flow while she napped.

Then, suddenly it became clear that she hadn't really fallen asleep and had no plans to.

So everything shifted.

Outside we went for sunshine and ball bouncing and snacking and that fizzy coke spilling all over my favorite apron and a quick change and more snacks and lots of seeing how fast she could run into one of mama's big hugs on repeat.

And really it was all just as it was supposed to be.

An invitation: Give yourself the gift of letting it be just as it's supposed to be today.