I was telling a couple friends yesterday that I am actually looking forward to my kids being home from school over winter break. I’m not sure I’ve ever said that before.

I don’t really want to go slow. I daydream about slow evenings on a front porch (a front porch I don’t currently have, but would love someday) sipping ice-cold lemonade. But let’s be honest. It makes me anxious. Slow means fewer check marks. It’s unsatisfying and even painful. There’s no instant gratification.

My three kids actually napped simultaneously yesterday. It was glorious. I don’t think that’s happened in at least six months, because my twins have dropped their nap for the most part—and it came back to bite us last night when they weren’t asleep until 10pm. But for one afternoon, I savored the quietness while my kiddos slept. And by savored, I mean that I didn’t do anything “productive” and read a book the entire time.

Around this time every year, I feel frazzled and tired. I often feel like the year flew by with little fanfare and minuscule progress. Without taking time to actually reflect on the year, those feelings of weariness and discouragement scream loudly. But God once again showed he’s good. He taught me that “accomplishment” sometimes means getting things checked off a list, but other times it simply means tiny steps of growth that maybe no one else sees. And both the check marks and the baby steps warrant celebration and gratitude.