January doesn’t feel fresh to me. Pieces of the past year nag me all month long: graded papers from my girls’ backpacks, expired coupons and holiday sales ads, lingering Christmas scraps I overlooked during un-decorating. Empty Lego boxes are stacked in our dining room (I managed just today to relocate the assembled works upstairs), the corner of the living room where our Christmas tree stood is still empty (I haven’t yet dragged the armchair back to its place) and a rogue Elf on the Shelf accessory mocks me from the bar in the kitchen. I have to use a stepladder to reach its storage bin and I just don’t have that kind of energy or ambition right now.
It’s not just post-Christmas chaos. Laundry, folded and not, covers our couch and recliner. There are enough dust bunnies and well, I’ll just say it, dirt on my floors to mold an impressive work of art if I was creatively inclined. “Sweep floors” is number five on my list of things to do today. We’ll have to see if I cross numbers 1-4 first.
Whatever chaos I live in the weeks after Christmas is of my own making. The last seven days of 2022 I slept late, took naps and spent my waking hours immobile, watching football or reading the illustrated Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Sleeping, reading and general laziness are hard habits to break when the January sky is a gloomy gray and the temperature outside requires fleece-lined leggings. (Jeans are too complicated with holiday pounds hanging around.) So, I procrastinate or make piles to put away later… maybe when it’s time to spring clean.
What is about January anyway? The new year sells itself as the Super Bowl of fresh starts, swaggering onto the calendar dressed in confidence and confetti, full of pomp and the promise of possibility. It’s the only midnight guest we welcome with a party, and since I like to sleep I have to wonder: why do we give January 1 dibs on our success? Why do we let one day determine what we want to accomplish and when?
I don’t have a single success story that’s been written in January. When I decided to lose weight five years ago, I started in August. I launched my website and began to write regularly in May three years ago. I’ve (mostly) maintained both. January isn’t a magic month for habits and consistency, yet out of custom or tradition we allow it to convince us we need to be better or do better right now. On your mark! Get set! Go!
Parenting pulls us into the same pitfall. We splurge our money, energy and attention on the “big” days. Gender reveals and first birthday parties. The start of Kindergarten and end of high school. Sweet 16 cakes and college acceptances. Don’t misunderstand me; these are precious, once-in-a-lifetime milestones. But what about the days in between? We live an exceptional amount of ordinary days yet somehow, those slip by without notice or fanfare. In fact, the ordinary days shape our kids in ways we can’t always see.
Two years ago (in October, not January!) Jeff and I decided it was time to buy a new car as our family had outgrown the one I’d driven for more than 10 years. We picked a roomy SUV and started to map the inaugural Reyburn Family Road Trip, destination the Grand Canyon. For 10 days we explored the beauty of Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. It was without question or debate the best vacation we’ve ever experienced. Still, it was only 10 days out of 365. Not every day can hold that kind of adventure unless we win the lottery and even then it’s not likely because Jeff and I are happiest when we’re at home.
We’ve passed that preference on to our girls. They’re happy to go and do but are also content to enjoy lazy days at home. One Wednesday night at church, Lily and her friends designed a construction paper quilt. Each child was asked to draw something about their family that was important to them. Lily’s quilt square showed off two things: a car and a bowl of popcorn. The car probably makes sense to you; it represents the road trip(s) we’ve taken. The popcorn? Well, that’s her usual after-school snack.
Popcorn became the preferred snack during COVID when our schools were closed. Every afternoon around 3:00, we piled into Abby Kate’s room to read a chapter from a Harry Potter book. It was an easy and fun way to interrupt their screen time without complaint. I narrated the tales of Harry and his friends at Hogwarts while Abby Kate and Lily munched popcorn and M&Ms. At a time when the world was uncertain, their snack was not. Its continuity created comfort, a cadence they could rely on. Storytime stopped when school re-opened but the girls continued to ask for a popcorn snack (with M&Ms, of course) when they walked in the door. Three years later, popcorn still fills their stomach after school. The rhythm nourishes their souls. Years from now, when they have families of their own, I hope they will smell popcorn and think of home.
The calendar flipped to February last week (finally!) I wasn’t sad for January to be finished. The sun is hanging around longer and, at least for a few days, the weather will be comfortable. My motivation is gaining, if only because the sun is illuminating all that dirt I still need to sweep. I suspect as the temperature warms up, I will too. Spring Break will be here in a blink with summer hot on its heels. But you know what? Tuesday will be here tomorrow. And Tuesday matters, too. There are no insignificant days, even the ones spent at home.
Maybe it’s impractical to expect every day to feel fresh. Some mornings we want to ignore the alarm and trash our to-do list. So when you wake up to one of those days, decide what matters the most and then just do that. Every day doesn’t have to be an action-packed adventure. But if we give every day its due, we are certain to find a small piece of purpose no matter what day is on the calendar.
We might enjoy a little bit of fun, too.
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.“
(Psalm 90:12)