My mother is the master of cleaning up as she cooks. After all these years, I still don’t know how she does it. Whether it’s lasagna, pot roast, or chicken enchiladas, by the time that little masterpiece is in the oven, her kitchen counters are spik-and-span, complete with sparkling dishes laid out on the rack to dry. My sisters and I marvel at this talent of hers, wishing we could somehow summon this superpower for ourselves.

But for all of my trying, I can’t seem to figure this one out. Flour on the floor, spaghetti sauce on the backsplash, a mountain of dishes in the sink (and littering the counters), and two or three dishtowels in major need of laundering. This is the picture that comes to mind when I think of my kitchen during and after I cook a big dinner, bake a dessert, etc. But unless you possess the same uncanny ability as Momma Reeves, I imagine your experience is at least somewhat similar.

Silly as it may sound, I often need to remind myself that the kitchen gets messy when you cook. That’s just how it is. Like with a lot of other things in life, you can’t have the masterpiece without the mess, the prize without the pain. My preference for healthy, home-cooked meals on the regular is not compatible with an always-clean kitchen. The cooking process is messy; it requires dirtying dishes and the occasional spill or splash. And that’s okay. It need not frustrate me that it looks like a sugar bomb went off when I’m whipping up Half-Baked Harvest’s simple chocolate birthday cake. Or that my counter space is full of tomato stains and Worcestershire sauce as I’m prepping Pawpaw’s famous spaghetti sauce recipe (sorry, you’re not getting the link to that one!). The kitchen gets messy when you cook.

I wish I could say that this is the extent of the silly reminders that I need on a regular basis. But such is not the case. There are a few other things I’m currently trying to be a bit more sensible about. Maybe you can relate (if not completely, perhaps just a little?).

1) Not all errands are created equal.

We all have those errand-running days that we love. For me, those look a lot like this: I have more than enough time and Starbucks in tow. The sun is shining while fun songs fill the car and slip out my open window. I pick up fresh flowers while I’m out and about or swing by the bakery for Ty’s favorite treat. I’m able to find everything I need and am greeted at home by a husband who helps to put it all away.

The reality, however, sometimes looks more like this: a hurried 15-minute trip to the store after work where I clumsily gather ingredients for a recipe I just Googled for that night’s dinner. Or a Saturday morning where I roll out of bed and wear last night’s t-shirt to the grocery store, only to find that I have to make an additional stop to complete my list (after running by both the bank and the post office). Oh, and it’s raining and the umbrella is at home.

Errands are a necessary part of life. And unfortunately, they can’t all take the shape of our dream scenario. There are days when I have to remember this and reset my expectations. Even when I’m ahead of the curve and have lists made and meals planned, this part of life can be pretty mundane. There’s not always time for coffee or an extra ten minutes for perusing Target’s kitchen section. And that, I remind myself, is okay too. Because not all errands are created equal.

2) Growth is gradual.

I tend to be a pretty results-oriented person. Seeing the immediate effect of my efforts is a big motivator for me. The problem with this mindset, however, is that there are a lot of things in life that don’t produce prompt results or have automatic outcomes. This is where my fight with discouragement comes in.

The reminder I need: just because I can’t see something, doesn’t mean it isn’t working. I know I’m not going to shed those five pounds after two thirty-minute runs on the treadmill. Nor am I going to master a recipe or memorize something after only one or two tries. But somehow I still believe that this should be the case. It’s in these moments that I need to trust the process and give it time. Because growth is gradual—and I don’t gain anything by giving up simply because the effects are not instantaneous.

How about you? What silly reminders are you having to speak to yourself over and over?

It was 1pm before we got out of bed that day. And by “out of bed” I mean rolled off the mattress we had stripped of plastic and quickly made up nine hours earlier. With tired bodies and even more exhausted emotions, we had collapsed onto that mattress at four in the morning.

It was our fifth move in four years. And, not unlike the majority of our other moves, it was one we had done almost entirely by ourselves. This one was a bit different, though. It signaled a big transition—both literally and metaphorically. The details withstanding, it represented the end of a particularly difficult season—one that we were all too ready to leave in the rearview mirror.

It’s hard to put into words what we felt when we awoke that afternoon. But no words were needed as our slowly waking eyes finally made contact underneath the random assortment of towels and blankets we had heaped on top of ourselves for warmth—the smiles spoke for themselves.

Climbing over boxes and tripping through the mess, we made our way out the front door and hopped in the car. A quick trip down the street and we stopped at the first place we saw. Breakfast for lunch? Perfect.

We sipped hot coffee and ate meals that tasted better than anything we’d ever eaten—even though that most certainly was not the case. It didn’t matter—we had made it. Through another move. Through a really trying season. Through several months of hard lessons learned.

The other day I passed the maroon and white awning of this particular pancake house, and my heart swelled with this sweet memory. But more than the relief we felt, more than the much-needed caffeine we sipped and fluffy pancakes we ordered, what I remembered most was this: it was the place where we started to dream again. The spot where healing began for our little family of two. Where our minds found clarity and we were finally free to consider things beyond the logistical decisions that had so consumed the prior months.

I chuckled as I thought about how we haven’t been back since the day we first visited. But somehow that feels just right. The day we swung into that little pancake house was the day we started moving forward. And we haven’t stopped since.