Life Is In the Little Moments

. . . but sometimes those little moments get lost in the hustle and bustle.  Part of the reason I started this blog (and the blurb books before that) was to document life's little moments.  You generally remember the big things, the feelings you had during certain periods of your life, but sometimes the small things get forgotten.  

I didn't want my kids--or myself--to forget all those precious little moments that seem like nothing, but which make up our life together.  

But once in a while life gets hectic and the little moments seem like they are getting in the way of life, instead of creating it.  In those moments I start wishing school would start and order would return, and that silence might make its way back into my home.

Then something jars me back on track and reminds me those moments ARE life, and in fact, they are actually BIG moments.  

Today, I sat down at my computer [my desktop computer] and found myself staring at a flashing question mark.  This is NOT a good thing.  And while it may be solvable, the quick steps that should have fixed it didn't.  I will have to take it in and see if my hard drive is damaged and my files are lost, or if someone can resurrect my life--at least that is how it feels sometimes, that my life is on that computer.  

All I could think about were the pictures that aren't backed up (luckily most of them are. . .or at least a large portion of them are), and about papers I wrote for school that I never printed (because the classes were online), or other documents that are only in that thin little box. . .

I thought of all those little moments I had not blogged about, but had planned on including in my girls' blurb books--one day.  Many of which I can't think of now--which causes small shocks of panic even now, at the thought of not being able to preserve those memories in neat little books that are easy to refer to and reminisce over.  

I may or may not be able to retrieve those files and pictures, but in the meantime I realize that my life is not on that computer.  I can still remember to appreciate the little moments now, as they are happening--to savor them before they are gone.  In a matter of weeks the girls will both be in school all day long.  Silence may reign, and my house may be clean on a more regular basis (both of which I will appreciate on so many levels), but those aren't the moments I will look back on and smile over.

When summer has gone and chaos with it, I won't look back and wish I'd had more clean laundry, I will think of the day the girls (along with 9--NINE--neighbor kids) sold cookies and lemonade for THREE hours and were tickled to make $16.50 from generous neighbors--and a sheriff and the UPS guy.  Never mind that they had to split it 11 ways!

Or I might remember how the kids started their own weeding business to earn money so they could buy a new wii game, and then worked so hard in my yard for five dollars each.

Or how excited they got to have a sleepover on the family room floor and make a tent out of chairs and blankets.  Not to mention the pure pleasure they got from spending days at mana's or grammy's house, swimming or playing with cousins.  

Signe's giggles still echo in my mind as I remember watching her chase Addy through the back yard, trying to retrieve the frisbee so she could throw it for him--giggles that lured the other kids from their activities to join in hot pursuit.

And nothing seems to beat the times they just wanted me to watch them sing and dance to music playing on the ipod, or read stories to me that they wrote themselves.  

I hope I never forget that all summer long Signe has insisted on one last goodnight hug and shared simultaneous kiss, after a whispered "one, two, three" to get the timing just right.  Some nights I just want her to go to bed already. . . but when she does one day without the need for that hug and kiss, I will miss it.  I know I will.

So maybe the computer does not need to hold all my memories for me.  Maybe I need to live in those moments so they can live in me.  

But really, cross your fingers for me, will you?  One day when I am old and my memory is frail I will need concrete evidence that my life was well lived! Like tomorrow.