My daughter is a fresh fruit fanatic. She is the pickiest of eaters, so when she finds something she likes… she does not let go. She will be the college student that still needs the divided plate because she does not want any ingredient touching another. Casseroles are out of the picture. If she did not have a mom urging her to each a little bit of protein and vegetables, she would likely live off of bread, sweets, and fruit. Knowing how bad bread and sweets are for our bodies, I try to keep fresh fruit in the house so at least something unprocessed is filling her stomach.
Among all the fruits that Annika adores, peaches are her favorite. I realized the other day that I have yet to buy peaches this season. Given that it is already the first week of August, this is a problem. A few times I have scanned over them at the grocery store, but they never seemed like they were in good shape. Compared to the ones at the Farmer’s Market where I have frequented in previous summers, they just looked like they would disappoint. If it were not for her grandmother’s two surprise deliveries of peaches this summer, Annika would have been peachless. Thank the Lord for Grandmas!
As I allowed the mom guilt to surface, I realized that I had not gone to the Farmer’s Market for two reasons. One, we no longer drive that direction on a regular basis. Two, we have just been too busy. Busy in the summer? Sigh. Summer is over and if I am too busy for peaches in the summer, what does that say? Peaches do not need to be over-spiritualized, but to me it represented the question, “what simple pleasures am I overlooking each day?”
As moms, we can even be guilty of this as we scurry around preparing to make a memory. The last week before school starts, the week of the birthday party, the entire month of December… We race around trying to make sure we have everything just perfect hoping for that staged moment that will create a memory. In reality, we have probably missed twice as many memories (and offended twice as many people) that would have occurred along the way, if we had just slowed down long enough to enjoy the process.
In an effort to fail forward, I must have a new outlook. Not a new plan. Not a new schedule. Not a new appointment for peach purchasing on my phone. I must choose to treasure the simple pleasures in life enough to make time for them as they are occurring. Farmer’s Market, anyone?