But it goes so fast...
I know the day is going to come. I know it. I live and breathe expectantly, anxiously.
There will come a day when they won't want me around. I know that. I will be dropping off and picking up, instead of parking and hanging out. I'll be knocking before entering. I will have to call them to the dinner table rather than asking them to get out of the kitchen.
I know there will come a time when they won't want to breathe my air or share my allotted cubic feet of space. They won't interrupt me to tell me they need to go to the bathroom/need a drink of water/heard a funny joke today/that they love me. They won't interrupt me at all.
They won't come barging in to our bedroom before sunrise on Saturday mornings just to ask if they can put a movie on or start breakfast. They won't spill the mix while crowding me at the counter. They might not spill anything at all.
We probably won't hear the same DVD playing over and over again. They probably won't enjoy (or tolerate!) our music anymore. We will no longer be the authority on what is cool. We will probably cease to be right all the time. We will have used up all our answers. We won't have to pick out their clothes, their shoes, their hairstyles.
Soon, their homework will be too hard for us. Their activities will be competitive. Their hearts will be fragile, and probably a little private. The phone will ring and it will be for them. We will hear from others what is really going on.
There are few things I hate. I hate knowing that.
I hate it because it's sad, and I hate it because of the pressure it puts on me to live in every. single. moment. I want their life with mom to be a series of perfect moments. I want them to know in every moment that I appreciate them, I love them more than they can imagine, I think they're beautiful and brilliant and creative and funny...I want to help them to learn to love God, to find truth and beauty everywhere, in everything, to be well-mannered and grateful. I want them to know they are wanted and needed, they are important, they are inestimably valuable.
That's a lot to pack into a moment. Especially when there are LOTS of moments, and I am LOTS of kinds of tired. Tired of being stepped on, climbed on, interrupted, whined to, negotiated with. It's in those moments that I have to remind myself that one day, the moments will be gone.
I wish I could say that made it easier instead of harder. I wish it was some kind of magic switch - that we could say "it goes so fast" to each other and voila! parenting is a joyful piece of cake again. But it's not. It's the most wonderful position in the world, yet it has a looming, definite end, and the quality of your work is of, quite literally, vital importance. P.S. You may or may not be rewarded. How's that for a job description?
What I have been wishing for this week is that, instead of them entering a "time" in their lives when they don't want me around - why can't they just be programmed to have short times like that every day? I guess that's what naptime is for?
There will come a day when they won't want me around. I know that. I will be dropping off and picking up, instead of parking and hanging out. I'll be knocking before entering. I will have to call them to the dinner table rather than asking them to get out of the kitchen.
I know there will come a time when they won't want to breathe my air or share my allotted cubic feet of space. They won't interrupt me to tell me they need to go to the bathroom/need a drink of water/heard a funny joke today/that they love me. They won't interrupt me at all.
They won't come barging in to our bedroom before sunrise on Saturday mornings just to ask if they can put a movie on or start breakfast. They won't spill the mix while crowding me at the counter. They might not spill anything at all.
We probably won't hear the same DVD playing over and over again. They probably won't enjoy (or tolerate!) our music anymore. We will no longer be the authority on what is cool. We will probably cease to be right all the time. We will have used up all our answers. We won't have to pick out their clothes, their shoes, their hairstyles.
Soon, their homework will be too hard for us. Their activities will be competitive. Their hearts will be fragile, and probably a little private. The phone will ring and it will be for them. We will hear from others what is really going on.
There are few things I hate. I hate knowing that.
I hate it because it's sad, and I hate it because of the pressure it puts on me to live in every. single. moment. I want their life with mom to be a series of perfect moments. I want them to know in every moment that I appreciate them, I love them more than they can imagine, I think they're beautiful and brilliant and creative and funny...I want to help them to learn to love God, to find truth and beauty everywhere, in everything, to be well-mannered and grateful. I want them to know they are wanted and needed, they are important, they are inestimably valuable.
That's a lot to pack into a moment. Especially when there are LOTS of moments, and I am LOTS of kinds of tired. Tired of being stepped on, climbed on, interrupted, whined to, negotiated with. It's in those moments that I have to remind myself that one day, the moments will be gone.
I wish I could say that made it easier instead of harder. I wish it was some kind of magic switch - that we could say "it goes so fast" to each other and voila! parenting is a joyful piece of cake again. But it's not. It's the most wonderful position in the world, yet it has a looming, definite end, and the quality of your work is of, quite literally, vital importance. P.S. You may or may not be rewarded. How's that for a job description?
What I have been wishing for this week is that, instead of them entering a "time" in their lives when they don't want me around - why can't they just be programmed to have short times like that every day? I guess that's what naptime is for?
Comments
But be encouraged that as you point them to Jesus in every area of their lives, you can rest knowing that as a parent you've done and continue to do what God has called you to. And take comfort knowing that the rest is up to Him.
Of course I'm not a parent so I can't understand that that might not make you feel better when they do push you out of their lives or mouth back or slam their door in your face.
But just as God does, you love them unconditionally and you not only talk about the love of Christ, but you live out His love in your life everyday. They will see that, and that will never return void, even when they seem lost.
Anonymous, who are you? Your comment is so beautiful and encouraging - thank you! That is just it, pointing them to Jesus at every opportunity.
You put into words something that I'm not even brave enough to face yet. Seriously, I seem to think denial will work in this case, because when the feelings and thoughts start to enter my mind about the day when my little girl isn't so, well, little - I just push them away. Can't. Deal. With it.
I'm not saying it's the healthiest approach. Just saying it's mine. I still like reading your post, though. I might have to come back if and when I ever get the courage up to acknowledge that these moments won't last forever...
:)