One Ordinary Day

My youngest just started school.
She walked in proudly with her too-big backpack and soft curls bouncing, and I stood there wondering—how did we get here already?

Wasn’t she just born?
Didn’t I just carry her through the house at 2am, whispering lullabies over her squishy, sleepy head?

I feel it now more than ever:
The ache of time. 

The way it moves in quiet waves, even when you're paying attention.
I want to freeze her.
And yet—I’m so deeply grateful to watch her grow.

This is the paradox of motherhood:
Grief and joy in the same breath.
 Wanting more time, while being proud of how far they’ve come.
 It’s the ache of presence, the stretch of letting go.

The Chaos of the Everyday

Last week, I found myself unloading the dishwasher in the middle of total chaos.
Kids yelling. My husband talking to me. Their playroom a mess.
I felt like I was bouncing between 10 emotional states in 10 minutes.

This is motherhood.
Not just a rollercoaster—more like a spinning teacup ride where you’re laughing, overwhelmed, and trying not to throw up, all at the same time.

One moment I’m overstimulated.
The next, I’m wiping tomato sauce off a cheek and thinking, Please don’t grow up just yet.

It’s a lot. 

It’s everything.
And sometimes, it’s hard to be in it.

A Reframe That Changed Everything

I recently read this and it’s changing how I show up in these ordinary moments:

Imagine you’re 99 years old and get to come back to one ordinary day—not a milestone, not a celebration—just a regular, messy, beautiful moment like this.

What if this is the moment I came back for?

It softens everything.
The tension in my shoulders.
The urge to rush through the hard parts.
The belief that I need to be anywhere else but here.

You Don’t Have to Love Every Second

This isn’t about pretending it’s all magical.
It’s not.

But there is magic in it—if we pause long enough to feel it.

• The smell of your child’s hair after the bath.
  
• The way the light hits the floor as they build with blocks.
  
• The sound of their voice mispronouncing “soon” (aka spoon).
  

This is what we miss when we wish it away.
This is what we’ll one day long to return to.

A Gentle Practice

Here’s what I’ve been doing when I feel like I’m spiraling out of the moment:

1. Pause.
   
2. Close my eyes.
   
3. Ask myself: “If I were 99, what would I miss most about this moment?”
   

Then I open my eyes—and really feel it.

The tired in my bones.
The noise.
The sweetness.
All of it.

These are the days we’ll look back on and whisper:
“One more time, please.”

So let’s be here now.
Not perfectly.
Just honestly.

With love - xx, Satya