This past week was a full one for our family, in the best and most exhausting way. My husband is Jewish, I'm Catholic, so when Passover and Easter fall in the same week, we lean all the way in.
On Wednesday night, we had a small Seder at home. We took turns reading, asked great questions, and of course were very focused on opening the door for Elijah and checking his cup to see if he had stopped by. It was meaningful and, like most things with young kids, it ran later than planned. The next morning reflected that.
Then came the weekend. We traveled to be with my family for Easter. More traditions, more family time, more excitement, and again, a schedule that drifted well past our usual routine. By the time we got home Sunday night, it was the familiar scramble to get everyone settled and somewhat ready for the week ahead.
At some point, usually when I'm tired and staring at a calendar that feels too full, I find myself asking: why do we do this? Why lean into traditions that we know will disrupt the carefully managed routines that keep everything else running?
The answer, at least for me, is that these moments matter.
Passover and Easter, while different in many ways, both center on renewal and salvation. They are reminders, through different stories and traditions, of freedom, hope, and new beginnings. And they both bring people together, around tables, across generations, in ways that everyday life often doesn't.
It would be easier, in a very practical sense, to scale it back. To protect the schedule. To keep bedtime intact and the Sunday reset untouched. But there is something about these traditions, the stories, the rituals, the time with family, that feels worth the disruption.
This year, though, I found myself thinking less about the logistics and more about the idea of renewal. Not in the abstract sense, but in a very practical, day-to-day way. What would it actually look like to start fresh in some small but meaningful way?
For me, it comes back to something I, and I suspect many of us, struggle with: the pull toward getting everything just right. The right schedule. The right traditions. The right balance between work and home. The perfectly executed week.
And yet, if this week was any indication, that version of “right” doesn’t really exist. The Seder ran late. Bedtime got pushed. The Easter weekend routine was far from our usual reset. It wasn’t perfect. But it was good. Really good.
It was kids laughing and asking questions. It was family gathered together. It was traditions being passed down, even if a little messily. If renewal means anything, maybe it’s this: letting go of the idea that things need to be perfect to be meaningful. Maybe it’s recognizing that “good enough” isn’t settling, it’s what allows us to actually show up, participate, and enjoy the moments that matter.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was good. Really good.
Because the truth is, the perfectly planned week might look great on paper, but it’s the imperfect, slightly chaotic, very full weeks like this one that our kids will remember. So as we come out of this holiday week, my reset is a simple one, aiming a little less for perfect, and a little more for present.
