If I could say one thing to myself twenty-five years ago, it would be this: “Gary, raising children is a season. It won’t last forever. Enjoy it!”
I always knew there would be an end to active parenting, but it seemed so far away. There were glimpses, however. Once, I was walking through a mall when I saw a little girl run up to her dad, his arms laden with packages.
“Daddy? Will you carry me? My legs are tired.”
The young father sighed, moved all his packages from one hand to the other, and scooped up his little girl into one arm.
That’s when it hit me: the days when I carried one of my children through the mall because their little legs were too tired to walk were gone forever. They had slipped away so slowly, so stealthily. A once weekly occurrence hadn’t happened for several years.
How I wish someone had told me, “Gary, this is the last time you’ll get to carry one of your kids through the mall. Take a mental snapshot of this moment. Relish it. Taste it. You’ll never experience it again.”
In a desperate, comical attempt to recapture what was lost, I returned home and asked my then 12-year-old daughter, “Kelsey, can I carry you through the mall one last time?”
You can imagine how a twelve-year-old girl would respond to that.
One day you’re looking for a changing table, a crib, a clean diaper bag, becoming familiar with the smells of baby wipes and Aquaphor; the next day you’re buying a bed that looks like a car, or decorating a room to make it look like a castle; then you’re purchasing shin guards or ballet slippers or a violin; one month later, it feels like you’re actually talking about whether to buy or rent the graduation gown (never buy the graduation gown).
And then it’s over.
The house goes quiet.
The backseat of your car is actually clean: no Cheese-its; no sippy cups. No fast food wrappers or sweaty uniforms. In fact, you can go 5,000 miles without anybody ever sitting in the backseat.
I wish I had known that all those vacuum jobs I used to hate were markers of rich family times. Instead of resenting the task, I wish I had spent more effort remembering why the car got dirty.
It’s hard to believe, but our now married son, who, after graduation worked on Park Avenue in New York City, and then for a large foundation in Seattle, graduated with an MBA and now is back in New York City with an executive-level position.
There was a time when we just wanted to get Graham to pee into a toilet bowl.
My wife had tried everything, but Graham preferred the diaper. Lisa looked at me one day and said, “You’ve got to do something.”
I drew a picture of a fire on a piece of toilet paper, threw the toilet paper into the bowl, and yelled, with great urgency, “Hey, bud, come here and put out the fire!”
Graham took one look at that fire and did what a fireman has to do…
Is it possible to miss toilet time?
I love it that I can call Graham and discuss Plato’s Symposium. I cherish that I can ask him to evaluate the financial company that is handling our IRA. But part of me still misses a little boy just learning to “put out the fire.”
The night before Graham got married, Lisa walked into our hotel room crying. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“That’s the last time in my life that I get to give Graham a goodnight backrub. Those were some of our favorite times together.”
“Why are you so sure it’s the last time?” I asked.
“I can’t imagine walking into his bedroom with his wife lying next to him and giving him a backrub before he goes to sleep again.”
“Good point.”
To be honest, there were some evenings at the end of long days that Lisa really did not feel like giving Graham a backrub; today, she’s glad she took advantage of every one.
If God offered my wife and me an entire month of luxury accommodations and an unlimited budget to explore Europe, or one weekend back in our tiny townhouse when the kids were all young and money had to be counted by the pennies, driving that same old minivan that always died if we turned too sharply to the right, we’d both take the weekend with our little kids, without even hesitating.
Young parent—this is a rich season. It’s tiring. It’s messy. It keeps you awake, but someday, like us you just might be willing to trade a luxury vacation to get one of these weekends back.
Lisa and I recently got to watch our granddaughter for a week when her nanny was on vacation. It was exhausting. We treasured every minute but slept hard at night and were a little ready for a “break” at the end of the week. So I don’t want to sentimentalize raising small children non-stop. It’s a lot of work. A ton of work. But one day, looking back, I promise you, you’ll miss that work. You may not want to go back entirely, but you’ll be thankful for it.
So, how do we learn to appreciate what we have too much of?
Take some breaks as a couple. Get away as a couple at least once a year. If your marriage always gets the leftovers of time and affection, you’ll start to resent your children instead of treasure them.
Provide time every week for each spouse to pursue a reasonable hobby. It may be just once a week, but your spouse needs time away to burn off stress.
Less is more. If every kid gets to do everything he or she wants, you’ll run out of time, money, and energy. If you’ve stopped enjoying your family, the first question to ask is, “are we too busy?” The second is, “what do we need to cut out?” However, don’t cut your time together as a couple or your one time away each week to recover as an individual parent.
These are just a few very minor suggestions intended to preserve the sweetness of this season, which will end. My prayer is that you wring every drop of joy and delight from it before it does.
Katrina says
Thank you for this. Such a great reminder because those crumbs in my car are currently building up! We have 4 kids under 12 and yes it’s relentless, but your message reminds me there are always moments to relish – whether it’s the story with a child on my lap or the back rub as you mention or just that nightly question from the 12 year old “Wait mum…. ummm…. so what’s happening this week”. He says the same thing most nights, even when it’s the end of the week, so I now know he’s really asking “Can I just have a few moments of your attention Mum while everyone else is asleep”. Precious. Thank you again for the reminder.
Wendy says
Excellent post! So much truth contained in it! Thank you! We have had our teenage granddaughter and I deal with a lot of pain and have felt frustrated that the things I did when my five were little are so hard or impossible to do. I, like you, wish I had treasured even more those moments with the kids. I grieve the times I was discontented an resentful and cherish the times I did it all well. So thankful for God’s grace in it all.