The last few months have been crazy. I once had a small non-stressful contract with a digital publisher that never pushed too hard for crazy revision or overnight edits, and self-published on a somewhat ridiculous schedule… but then I signed with an agent. And while that has been a relief in some ways, it brings a completely different kind of stress. Now I feel like it’s been FOREVER since I’ve had a release, but I’m working twice as hard behind the scenes.

And things are not getting done.

And my kids are growing up so fast.

And a lot of days I wonder if maybe I’m being selfish, trying to get this dream launched when I should be present. And available. And not stressed out because I’m trying to do ALL the things.

But I think I’m too selfish to wait. It took me almost 40 years to get the guts to follow my dreams (I think about 35 of those were spent figuring out what my dreams actually were! Okay, maybe five of them were spent just having fun and running around NYC with my girlfriends…)

Right now I have a book to revise. And there’s a part of me that wants to run around with my hair on fire and get it done right effing now. Because that’s kind of how I am about everything. But the problem with that is that I have so many other PLANS. I want to finish the guest room before Christmas. I want to redecorate the front room… I want to make curtains for the front room. I want to continue nagging the hubs to hang our new dining table light and to set up the home gym in the basement. (Because it turns out I’m supposed to like, exercise, sometimes.)

But for a little while, I’m trying to just BE. To be a mom. To be a person who loves the holidays. To be a grateful wife who knows that these days will not last. More crazy and crisis will come our way. Christmas is only a short time — a month, really, if I get the tree up soon after Thanksgiving. And I know it’s just shiny lights and jingly bells, and that isn’t what the season is about.

But you know what? Those fleeting shiny decorations are representative of so much more to me. They are joy and light, innocence and peace. The sheer mad helpless excitement that my children feel during this month is priceless — and like the season, it is fleeting. I know that they won’t be eight and six forever. Cynicism will set in (after all, they are my kids). And soon the magic will fade. Reindeer won’t fly anymore, Santa will be just a guy in a cheap velour track suit with an unconvincing beard. No one will be wildly excited about a candy cane or beg to help me set up my little village. The glitter will be just shiny dust, and while they’ll always love the tree (because they are my kids), they’ll turn to being excited about different things. Material things.

And so I’m going to pause in my frantic efforts on the publishing treadmill. I’m going to get the book back to my agent in a timely fashion… but before I do, I’m going to hold my children on my lap and read the holiday books they bring home from school. I’m going to light a fire, pour hot chocolate and talk to them about their stockings, muse about where the elf might pop up next, and plan what little treats to stick behind tomorrow’s door on our advent tree. I’m going to take this month and live with my beautiful family, basking in the knowledge that what we have now is good. Is magic.

And this tree–my shiny glowing Christmas tree–makes me think of all of that. I’m sharing it with you in hopes that you will remember to slow down and reflect a little bit this month, too.