Day 1 /30 day of intentional acts. Connect with my daughters.

I started this blog entry the old fashioned way, awkwardly swirling the letters in my notebook, slowing my thoughts so I can get them out on paper. The cool morning air streams through the open windows as I sit in my car. The normally tranquil morning is shattered by the grr and rumble of a lawnmower, and I look up to watch my sons mow their client’s lawn. It is a good thing, me sitting and waiting, supporting their God-given right to create wealth.

Except it is a Monday Morning.

This brings me to my next 30 Day Challenge. DOING SOMETHING INTENTIONAL EVERY DAY. I am a rolling stone. From the moment my feet sink into the grey-ish plush carpet next to my bed until my nose starts to crackle and I go silent at night, I never stop. There is no time to stop. Four children. A passion I call my business. A marriage. And the rest of it. No time. Even now the thoughts nag me, the laundry and the taxes and the unanswered questions as I try to write.

And yet, among all the busyness, I am without intention.

So this is how I end up waiting for my sons to finish mowing lawns on a Monday morning. I wake up early to work out. When I return, the kids are up and slowly enjoying bowls of sugar cereal. No school today, some kind of professional development thing for the teachers. And since it rained all weekend, also a perfect time for the boys to mow lawns.

They don’t have their driver’s license yet, and normally my husband drives them for the two hours it takes to take care of their clients. Today he is burgeoning with his own Monday morning intentions and not available. The frustration in my son’s face propels me to offer my first unintentional act of love for the day: driving them to three places to get their lawns mowed. Maybe later I will get a chance to work, sometime after noon.

This is my criteria for success, taking care of things, making people happy. For many years, it has been my primary intention. I begin the day with bright hopes. I make lists in fresh notebooks; I know what needs to be done. Then someone says something, gives me a look, or implies that something else needs to be done to prove my commitment to work, my love for my children, my interest in a friend and I change courses. Anything to arrive triumphantly at the top of HAPPY MOUNTAIN.
And then I have to get my stuff done.

So I am choosing 30 Days of Intention. I know what I need to do. It’s a matter of deciding I will do it.

My first day of intention focused on my daughters. I planned to get some work done and then take advantage of these precious school-free moments. I am going to connect with my daughters. I am going to look them in the eye. I am going to hold their beautiful artistic hands, to breathe in their buttery skin. My intention seemed to be slipping away as we drove to the third lawn. Maybe tomorrow.

Then a park flew by the corner of my eye. I would begin right now. We would go to the park while the boys mowed their third and final lawn.

I sat on a swing and enjoyed the warmth of the sun as I watched the girls. They get along so well, older and younger sisters, separated by 2 years. The light dance on their chestnut hair, as they took turns swinging across the monkey bars. Younger Faith thrives on the encouragement of her slightly more intense older sister Kendall. In return, Kendall puffs up with Faith’s admiration. I call out and compliment their deft spring and dance across the bars and they look over surprised at the attention. They like it.

The girls encircle the entire park in their imagination, My swing is otherwise known as the ship. I can communicate across the park to the monkey bars/ space ship by tapping the steel bars. They chatter blithely, enjoying the unexpected crisp morning treat.

Faith came over to sit near me, aware of the my eyes following her around the playground. She swings for only a moment and then hops off, scampering around the wet patches of sand. Kendall calls out, “Faith come over here.”

She stops, “One more thing, Kendall, I need a hug.” And Faith turns to me, wrapping her cool wispy arms around my neck. Pulling back, she peers into my face. “I like you here mom. You are better during the day, I think.”

I smile at her always acute 7-year-old insight. No, Faith, it’s not that it’s the morning.

It’s just my intentions shining through.