Another reason I can’t wait for summer…

I have been noticing lately that Ella has this  obsessive realtionship with her socks.  She takes longer to put on a pair of socks (correctly) than she does to get dressed in general.  The "hem" (is that what they are called on socks?) has to be across her toes in a completely straight line with no bunching of any sock material that may otherwise interfer with the alignment of the sock on her foot.  If the sock just happens to shift during the course of the day Ella will immediately stop and, in a tone similar to that only of an injured puppy, she will shriek "MY SOOOCK!" and fall to the floor as though the evil sock has rendered her foot useless.  This happened the other day while we were getting out of the car at my grandmother's. Ella could barely make it up to the door between limping on her "good" foot and sobbing about her sock.  The same drama occurred while in Target...all  I can say is, I am looking forward to summer...flip-flops!

Reflection

I was going through my junk mail box today and as I deleted multiple offers and solicitations for everything from clothing to various miracle weight loss pills, I came across a forward that I had long since forgotten.  The e-mail is written by Anna Quindlen, a Newsweek columnist and author.  I don’t know what made me re-read this e-mail today; sometimes I think the Lord works in funny ways, because the message in this forward was so relevant and timely…as if it had been hanging out in the junk mail folder waiting to be re-discovered at just the right moment.

Quindlen begins her essay describing her three, now self-sufficient young-adults and comparing their metamorphosis from childhood to present to “the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.”  I love that image—the idea that the “baby” is still there, yet just faintly visible is a comforting thought to me, as a parent who is beginning to struggle with the concept of my children leaving the baby phase.

The essay continues on, summarizing a mother’s drive to read every parenting book and article, the need to feel as though we’ve done everything in our power to consume all possible advice on child-rearing.  Memories of my all too frantic and frequent worries come to mind—the fear one of the children would choke during the night, the fear that they would injure themselves while learning to walk (which happens, it is just a matter of when), the fear that something would be wrong with them, the fear that Ella’s tooth would turn black, the fear that Keeton would never talk…all of these fears…how much time have I wasted worrying about what might be rather than concentrating on what definitely will be—that my children won’t be children forever and that I should enjoy each stage and moment.

 Just yesterday Jeff pulled two photos out of our diaper bag that our babysitter had found.  In them, a one year old Ella poses for a moment, staring at the photographer as if to say, “I’m busy, take the picture, already.”  I said to Jeff, “I can’t believe she was ever that small,” and Jeff said, “I remember that shirt.”  What we were really saying was, “three years has passed us by so quickly and we hope we “got it” all.” 

It is easy to get tangled in the “have to dos” and the “want to dos” of day to day life and in turn-- rush through the seemingly monotonous activities of each day.  There are many nights where I look at our house, neglected in upkeep over the course of a busy week, and want so much to skip the bedtime story to in turn pick up the kitchen and go to bed.  Quindlen says of rushing through her own evening routines, “I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”  Herein lays my biggest mom guilt.  This is the message I need to be continuously reminded of.  I look at Ella, now four and Keeton, almost two, with amazement, bewilderment, pride, and yes, sadness.  I wonder when the last time was that I held each of them “cradle” style…there must have been a last time, but I don’t remember it.  Keeton’s baby book is woefully empty and we have hardly any video of him over the last two years.  Ella is a little girl…when did she get so big?

I needed to read Quindlen’s article today.  I needed to be reminded that worry is a time-drainer, that the kitchen can wait for the bedtime story, and that my children will turn into amazing young adults in spite of whether I miss an article in Parent’s magazine.  Tonight I am going to spend more quality time with my kids and I’m going to "get it all" , at least for a day.