“A little seed to sow.
A little earth to make it grow.A little hole, a little pat.
A little wish , and that is that.
A little sun, a little shower.
A little while and then -a flower! “
As I listened to my youngest recite his poem — with so much excitement, so much confidence, after working on it all week — I couldn’t help but match his joy.
He was proud. So proud. And I was too.
But what surprised me most wasn’t just the moment itself- It was what happened inside me. I felt myself exhale. Fully.
Not the kind of exhale where I’m already mentally onto the next thing. Not the kind where I’m smiling on the outside but internally already organizing the next lesson, the next project, the next thing on the list.
A real, true exhale.
My shoulders dropped. My body softened. My nervous system, for once, didn’t leap ahead (and I noticed all of this)!
I just… stayed there. And if I’m being honest, that doesn’t always come naturally to me.
As a parent , and especially as a homeschooling parent — it can feel like life is one giant relay race.
I celebrate one thing, and before the confetti even hits the ground, I’m already mentally gone and onto the next: the next lesson, the next assignment, the next activity, the next thing they need from you.
And I think a lot of us do that not because we don’t care, but because I care so much. I get so excited. Which is great, but sometimes that excitement is shown in “ok, amazing, now lets move on to this poem.” or “Ok, now lets write it out!”
But sometimes, that is actually exactly how we miss the actual point.
The point isn’t just that he learned the poem.
The point is that he stood there, beaming, and felt proud of himself.
The point is that we got to witness it.
And even more than that — we get to be in it with him, so lets stay there a bit longer and let it linger.
Letting It Grow
A few days later, I find myself still celebrating that moment.
And that – that’s what I’m most proud of.
For the past few years, one of my biggest personal goals has been simple:
Be more present.
Savor the moments more.
Every couple of months, I write out my goals emotionally, mentally, and physically. And seriously, for the past eight years, some version of that exact phrase has shown up every single time.
It’s been a harder journey than I’d like to admit.
Because for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved lists.
I love making them.
I love crossing things off.
I love the little dopamine hit of done.
It’s satisfying. It’s efficient. It scratches some deeply ingrained part of my brain that wants progress and proof, movement and a pat on the back.
But after a lot of meditating on being more present, a lot of evening walks to let the day sink in, and a lot of trying to slow the f%# down… I’ve finally started to feel it.
And that feels huge.
Not because I’m checking off another box.
But because I’m finally feeling the effects of all that work.
Of slowing down.
Of noticing more.
Of lingering a little longer.
Of doing exactly what the poem says:
Taking a seed.
Giving it a little space.
A little time.
A little earth.
And letting it grow.
Learning Alongside My Kids
It’s a really exciting season for me, in a way I didn’t fully expect. Because I’m not just watching my kids learn and grow. I’m learning and growing right alongside them.
They are teaching me — every single day — to linger in the moment a little longer.
To celebrate more.
To rush less.
To let things sink in.
And as someone who genuinely loves motion — training, racing, parenting, teaching, planning, building, packing, remembering all the things — I know exactly how easy it is to treat everything like one giant transition zone. Because in this process of reflecting, slowing down and chewing on things a bit longer I have learned something else about me: that I find lingering uncomfortable, that I am the most comfortable when I am in motion, when I am DOING something. It’s a blessing and curse, as it’s a great skill to have for racing and getting things done, but when it comes to motherhood- especially the current season of it that I am in- it has not proven to be the most useful. Instead, it has lead to more anxiety for everyone.. which is never helpful.
But this feeling I had with Revel and his poem — this feeling of truly being there for it — reminded me that I am capable of changing. That I can make more space. That I can slow down enough to fully live inside this season with these two.
And honestly? That feels like a luxury.
Not because our life is fancy or easy or magically un-chaotic. But because this time with them is precious. And I want to actually be here for it.
Not just physically.
Not just logistically.
Not just as the one making it all happen.
But fully.
Spring, and the Reminder I Needed
Spring is always a season that lights me up.
It’s adventure.
It’s goals.
It’s races.
It’s plans.
It’s the big energy shift.
And I love that.
But this year, I’m trying to carry this lesson with me into it:
To savor the big, little moments, to let them sink in, to let them sit a little longer before turning them into the next thing.
And yes, don’t worry — I still make lists. I’m not that evolved.
But now they’re more full of groceries, chores, and the day’s training than every emotional or magical moment needing to be “captured” or turned into something productive.
Because for me, the bravest and healthiest thing I can do right now is stop at the finish line of these tiny, amazing moments and let myself fully feel them.
Not improve them.
Not optimize them.
Not turn them into content.
Not even catch every second on camera.
Just… be there.
The Little Things Are Not Little
I think motherhood keeps teaching me the same lesson over and over again, just in different disguises:
The little things are not little.
A poem practiced all week.
A child’s proud grin.
A full-body exhale.
A moment you choose not to rush past.
That’s the good stuff, that’s the stuff I want to remember.
Not just the milestones.
Not just the big wins.
But the ordinary magic that asks nothing from me except to be present enough to notice it.
And maybe that’s the seed I’m trying to sow right now.
Less rushing.
More noticing.
Less “what’s next?”
More “look at this.”
A little seed to sow.
A little earth to make it grow.
To who ever needed to hear this today and to my future self – keep working, stumbling, noticing, and observing- you are doing amazing.