Last week we had an epic (for the South) snowstorm here in Nashville, with the kids off the duration of the week.  The whole experience had me thinking a great deal about time. Not in the philosophical sense, but in the practical, every day, moment-to-moment ways that we spend it, plan for it, and place expectations upon it. I was home the majority of the week with my kids, my mothering ideals in stark relief to my actual ability to get work done and be present. This isn’t anything new, but it always feels new, because it never gets easier. We all have a finite amount of time here. So we make the next right choice in the next moment, and we love our children with a ferocity that can’t be measured up to or compared against, and we pour our hearts out to pursue what matters to us, and we call it good. We bless it. Because if we don’t, who will?

This Week’s Links

On women and anger. An ode to the home office. For the people pleasing mom. I am a sucker for lists and this one has been fun to listen through.  Meetings are time-sucking black holes of misery (duh). This letter from George Orwell on why he writes just makes me happy. What are your materials?