It’s never a good sign when I’m reading while walking down the stairs. This happens in degrees: First I’m reading a really good book that I can’t put down. Later I’m just reading the news, which progresses into scrolling social media, all while willing myself not to trip. But how many times have I asked my children not to read while walking down the stairs, and why am I doing that very thing?! Why am I not noticing the small moments, the cat toys left on the stairs, the feel of my feet on the bare wood, the smells from the oven wafting into the stairwell?

I think about it. And I realize it’s been a hard several months. There have been so many big moments that the small ones have been hidden, hard to recognize. This is what it felt like:

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