The Tiny Moments Are the Relationship

The other day, my son looked out the window and said something about how beautiful our smoke bush looked in the rain.

He is 23. 

There we were, standing in the kitchen, looking at a plant.
A wet plant.
A purple, shimmery, slightly ridiculous-looking-in-the-best-way plant.

And I had one of those parenting moments where time folds in on itself. Because we have been doing this for more than 20 years: pointing out the moon, the weird bug on the sidewalk, the way sunlight comes through the trees, the smell of rain on hot pavement, the tiny green shoots that come up before anyone else notices spring is coming.

Tiny moments.
Mini-moments.

Nothing that would make it into a baby book.

Nothing that would show up on a transcript, report card, college application, or developmental checklist.

And yet: there he was, at 23, still noticing.

This is the stuff of relationship.

Not the big vacations. Not the perfect birthday parties. Not the carefully curated “quality time” that we exhaust ourselves trying to manufacture while someone is crying because the socks are wrong.

Relationship is built in the tiny pauses.

“Look at that cloud.”
“Come smell this.”
“Did you hear that bird?”
“Whoa. The smoke bush looks incredible in the rain.”

So much of parenting can become demands and expectations. Put your shoes on. Finish your homework. Say thank you. Stop licking the grocery cart. Use a napkin like a person who has seen civilization.

And listen, we need some of that. Children do, in fact, need to learn how to put on shoes, do some homework, and not behave like feral raccoons in public spaces.

But if the whole relationship becomes demands, corrections, reminders, and expectations, then we’re not really having a relationship with the child. We’re having a relationship with the task list.

And task lists do not gaze out the window with you when they are 23.

Wonder does something different.

Wonder says: I see something beautiful, and I want to share it with you.

That is attachment in real life. That is attunement without a worksheet. That is nervous-system-to-nervous-system connection. It tells a child, “You and I belong to each other in this moment. Not because you performed. Not because you complied. Not because you made me proud. Just because we are here, noticing the world together.”

Here is something you can try at home:

Add in some noticing of tiny beauty. Not in an annoying, “Let’s all be grateful now, children!” way. Nobody likes forced gratitude. Just notice out loud. “That leaf is the size of your face.” “The sky looks like cotton candy.” “This soup smells cozy.” No lesson. No quiz afterward. Just a little offering with nothing expected in return.

Because here’s the long game: one day your child may be 23, standing beside you, noticing the smoke bush in the rain.

And you may realize that all those little moments counted; more than you knew.

If your relationship with your child feels like it’s gotten stuck in correction, worry, or constant management, we can work on that. Schedule a 1:1 coaching call with me and we’ll find some simple, real-life ways to bring connection back into the daily chaos. And if you’re an employer who wants to support the parents on your team, I’d be happy to talk about a workshop that helps reduce parenting stress so people can show up at work — and at home — with a little more breathing room.

The smoke bush is waiting.

xo G