It was a month or so after our second child was born, and my almost two-year-old decided he wanted to join the rest of the family and stop sleeping too. Fighting bedtime, skipping his nap, waking up at night, you name it. We were all feeling cranky and out of sorts.

I’ve never been a person who really relied on or noticed patterns in my life. I never struggled with feeling too scheduled or the opposite feeling of overwhelmed with no structure. That is, until I became a parent. Our first daughter was born during our year of vicarage, and so, when I left my in-person job for maternity leave, I also left that position permanently. Navigating being a new mom with no weekly or daily sense of rhythm (except the endless time-loop of feeding every two to three hours), I felt that I needed to mark time passing in a new way.

“In 2024, I plan to . . .” Fill in the blank. Maybe you’re hoping to exercise more, eat healthier, start a new job, go on a big family trip, spend more time with your spouse, spend less time on your phone, finally finish that house project, read the Bible every day, join the church choir, make a friend, call your parents more, and so on.

I never had any interest in watching the 1946 James Stewart Christmas classic, It’s a Wonderful Life, until college. Many adults and teens in my life had droned on about how boring they found this particular movie, so when one friend insisted we watch it as a group, I was ready to pretty much zone out. Instead, I was blown away. Now, for my husband (who also watched it for the first time that day) and me, it’s a tradition. (Though we do have to overlook the whole thing about people becoming angels when they die, and then angels having to do good works to earn their wings.) As George Bailey rushes into his home full of life and cheer, I am always holding back at least one tear. And maybe one or two spill over. Why does this happy ending elicit a tearful response?

We say the word thanks a lot in a day. We thank our spouse for filling up our coffee, we end emails with the word thanks, and we thank people for holding the door for us. As parents, we teach our kids to say thank you when someone gives them a cookie, compliments their new dress, or shares a toy with them. Giving thanks is actually a pretty common occurrence.

I have no idea what or who my seventeen-month-old daughter will dress up as for our upcoming Halloween events. These days, it’s a big responsibility to make sure that your family costumes are aligned with your values and that the character or theme you are portraying is moral and upstanding. Will we show up as the princess of the year or the cute cartoon character? What if, down the road, the princess is no longer thought of as a good role model for young girls? Or if the cartoon character teaches (whether purposefully or not) a lesson with which I disagree?

“Don’t you see how hard I’m working?”

“I feel like my work goes unappreciated.”

“It seems like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. There’s always one more thing.”

Before having kids, my husband and I believed that family dinners would come naturally. Neither of our parents seemed to have much trouble making this happen, so we thought we wouldn’t either. Veteran parents might laugh at us for being so naive, but it hadn’t been difficult for us to eat dinner together before. Boy, did our baby girl change things.

 “What dis?” my son asked, pointing to the ultrasound picture of our baby, due next month.

“Baby brother!” I said, pointing to the picture and pointing to my tummy. Then I dug around in a special wooden box we keep in my son’s room and found his ultrasound picture from two years ago to show him too.

“What dis?” he asked again.

“This is Ben!” I said, pointing from the picture to him, giving him a little tickle for good measure.

There’s a joke in my family that my older sister was baptized in the kitchen sink by my maternal grandmother. I have no idea whether the tale is tall or true, but I can imagine it might have a speck of honesty in it.