Monday, March 9, 2015

Making Memories

The other day, I was doing laundry when Little Man called me to look at something he'd done. I was halfway up the steps with a basket full of clothes when I panted, "I'm busy, ok? *grumble* I'm always busy." (Not true, by the way.) 

I still don't know what he wanted me to see. My kids are always, "Hey, look at this," and, "Ha! Did you see that?" And sometimes I look, and sometimes I see. But not always.

Last week, I talked to a friend with a nine-month-old baby boy. I mentioned that earlier in the day, my son asked me to get something off a high shelf, and I couldn't reach it. I told him if he can't reach it, I probably can't, either. He's up to my cheekbones now.

My friend said she's afraid of that; time goes so fast. As it turns out, babies don't stay babies forever. Someday you'll give away your collection of cloth diapers or half a pack of disposables. Someday you won't own a single onesie. Someday you'll sleep through the night. And you won't wake up in a cold panic to check on your baby when he's slept past the midnight feeding.

I know because I'm there now.

But then, I do still have little ones. Even though my son is halfway to adulthood (*sniff*), he's got the second half to go.

And I think I'm pushing the limits of not being available lately. I want to be more present. I need to notice these days before they're gone, too. 

Now, sometimes I do. Sometimes I notice my kids can work together when they want to.
This is the puppet stage they made a few weeks ago. (Guess I wasn't doing laundry at the time.)

I notice Princess isn't just reading but also writing books now (with her name edited out here):
Princess wrote books and books and books. The end.
Today at church, I noticed she wrote a letter to God:
I love God and for the four cats. The end.
And then there was the day Little Man got into big trouble, the day he disappeared. He asked if he could go with a friend to look at a snow fort one street over. I told him he could go, look at it, turn around, and come right back home. And he did turn around and come back home. 

About 45 minutes later. By the time he got back, I'd bundled up Princess and myself, turned off the stove, grabbed the keys and headed out the door to hunt him down. When we walked outside, he was skipping down our street. He shouted, "Hey, Mommy! Where are you guys going?" 

So he was in a little trouble. I sent him to his room, and grounded him from leaving our yard for a few weeks. 

When he came downstairs from his room, he was penitent. And he gave me this: 
Supermom Statue. The work of a creative genius.
Before he went back to his room, I gave him a hug. And I noticed he was sorry.

Sometimes I do notice. Sometimes I don't. I'm not going to lay the shame on myself and say I always have to notice all the things all the time or else I have failed as a mother. (Name that show.) 

But I will say what I told my friend with her sweet, crawling son: 

Make memories. Make lots of them; they're the things you can hold when your son's too big to carry. I want to make memories, no matter how big my kids get.

And there's no way to make memories without paying attention, is there? 

Sounds like motivation to me. 

Opening up some time, 

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