The path we took to get here matters too, maybe

There's a little park near us that we really like. One route to this park is all main roads and busy crossings. The other is behind the post office and along a shady green walk by the railway bridge. Guess which we prefer?

Yesterday was one of those days when getting the necessary adulting done felt all uphill. The children took two hours of assistance, cajoling, and then tearful pleading on the verge of hysteria, to get their shoes on.

It didn't have to go that way. It didn't even start that way. One choice leads to another leads to another. Another occasion where I only realised I was heading for overwhelm when I was almost tipped over the edge.

The day got so much better from there, from that moment of, "I can't, but I have to," and taking time to calm myself.

I would like to tell myself, it would be easier to think, that the overall niceness of the day is the only thing that matters. I think it's probably all that the kids remember of today after all. I think it's more complex than that, though, and less convenient. The path matters. The moments matter. The habits of choosing matter.

Writing it out like this is odd. It helps me to process. It also often means the overall tone is distorted by my need to work through the small frustrations and mistakes. Maybe I don't dwell enough on the overall lovely and interesting and good facets of mothering?

We spotted five different species of butterfly. We talked about train tracks and railways. We had a picnic under a tree. We talked about nature, and fairness, and books that we're reading, and how to tell what kind of metal something is made from, and what defines classification of materials.

Maybe that's the part that really matters most after all?