The Sweetness of Being Here
The other day, I went to the beach with my mom — just the two of us.
It struck me halfway through the day that I hadn’t done that in months… maybe even years.
Life with a young family moves fast — between kids’ activities, work, errands, and everything in between, time feels like a resource always running dry.
But something shifted this summer.
I started to see my parents differently. A little slower. A little older. It caught me off guard in a quiet, tender way — not as something to fear, but as something to notice. To honor. To act on.
So I’ve been calling my dad more. I made the space for this beach day with my mom. And in that pocket of time, something beautiful unfolded.
We walked along the water, and at one point, we got a lemon ice. Just a simple lemon ice — something we’ve probably done dozens of times before growing up.
But this time was different.
She suddenly recalled a memory of her own father buying lemon ice for her and her siblings when they were little. It came up so clearly, so suddenly, like a gift from the past rising up between us. We were quiet for a moment, just sitting with the warmth of that memory. And I realized how rare it’s been — these fully present, one-on-one moments with my mom.
No rushing. No multitasking. Just being there. Really being there.
As someone squarely in the sandwich generation — raising young kids while watching my parents age — I often feel pulled in all directions. But this summer is reminding me: even in the chaos, there are pockets of presence. Little windows of stillness. If we look for them. If we make space for them.
Aging is strange that way. Sometimes you notice it in yourself — a twinge in the knee, a new wrinkle. But sometimes, you notice it in your parents, and it catches your breath. It reminds you just how short and sacred this life is. How quickly it changes.
That lemon ice wasn’t just a treat on a hot day. It was a portal — to her childhood, to my gratitude, to a rare moment where time seemed to slow down enough for us to feel it.
We rush through so much. The scroll of social media, the daily grind, the calendar full of obligations. But connection — real connection — asks us to pause. To witness. To remember.
This summer, I’m trying to do more of that. And maybe this is your reminder too:
Call your parent. Take the walk. Get the lemon ice.
These moments won’t last forever, but when we’re present, they last long enough to become a part of us.
So if you're moving fast right now — caught between caregiving, carpool, and career — I hope this is your reminder:
Slow down, even for a moment.
Let the memory rise. Let the lemon ice melt a little slower. Make the call. Take the walk. Be where your feet are.
Because the small things? They become the big things. And presence — even in the in-between — is the most lasting gift we can offer the people we love.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you — how are you finding space this summer to connect, to slow down, to be?
Wishing you a season full of sweet, meaningful moments — and the space to savor them. 💛
Happy summer!
Your Coach,
Christine
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