It’s early. It always is when my son requests breakfast. Caedmon and I walk into the hotel lobby expecting an empty room, yet are surprised to find a small crowd eating breakfast at 6:35 on a Saturday morning.

I do a quick inventory of my appearance and shudder. I tie up the drawstring on my yoga pants and straighten my hair after I get Caedmon settled into his high chair. I breathe a prayer of thanks that I’m wearing solid color, non-bleach stained pants.

I sprinkle a few fruit loops on the table so I can adequately survey what the hotel has to offer for breakfast. I consent to “french toast” sticks and sausage, then plunk down next to my little man as I slice a banana.

I’m a little flushed with embarrassment over my attire. The woman over my shoulder is showered, wearing cute jeans and a t-shirt. Further inspection revels her shirt says “Superior Mother.” Interesting shirt, are you friend or foe woman?

When I get up again to grab “syrup” she asks me about Caedmon. How old is he? (20 months) How cute is he?! (too cute for his own good)

I apologize about my appearance and she gives grace and jokes that she’s only showered and dressed because the kids are with grandma.

I sit back down and reflect on seasons, suddenly it strikes me that I’m in the PJs in public, sticky crayon season. It’s only a blink on the timeline of life. It will be gone before I know it and I’ll be the showered one, sighing over a teenage daughter.

We’re attending a wedding today, Kel’s best friend Andy, a brother to both of us, is marrying his gorgeous Katie today. Kel’s the best man and as I write is downstairs in the lobby working through his toast.

Andy and Katie are in wedding and honeymoon season. They watch each other across crowded rooms and the sparkle is contagious. Kel and I were in that season once, and now, we’re in little kid season. Where we miss each other more than we collide.

If I catch his eye across a crowded room it’s rarely romantic and mostly to send a signal to bring a clean fork or take Noelle to the bathroom.

We were honeymooners, now we’re novice parents, we will blink and be empty nesters, then grandparents who traverse Europe (fingers crossed).

I think of all these seasons, past and present as I dunk another “french toast” stick into my “syrup” and try to fluff my bed-head bangs into decency.

I smile as I watch Caedmon push sausage slices around his plate, relegating fruit loops onto the table. I’m in the season where PJs in the hotel lobby is my uniform, my only choice. I want to learn to savor the lovely parts of this little people life instead of wishing it away.

Every time I go to a wedding I envy the newlyweds, all the firsts, the giggling, the mountain of wedding gifts to break in.

Yet the wisdom of this morning reminds me that each season brings gifts and challenges and that they always, always change.

And like the sheep I am I always, always forget this fact and get lost in jealous daydreaming about how my life would be better…if.

When will I learn to love the blink of a season I’m living in?

So, today I soak in a wedding and make the choice to love what I have with the sexy best man instead of wishing for some past or present life I have no access to.

Today I eat “french toast” sticks because it’s the choice before me. I load the iPad with kid apps in case I need it to quiet Noelle during the ceremony.

I will dance with her at the reception, fully knowing that she’ll likely have punch all over the front of the dress I spent so much time sewing her.

My heart will sing a brave anthem of contentment for my season. To fall in love with it a bit deeper and soak it in like summer sun, fully knowing that one morning I will wake up and find it gone.