The Beauty in the Blah, Blah, Blah

Maybe I’m revealing a parenting flaw here, but occasionally, the kids bring me a book, and it is a big wordy book that I have neither the time nor energy to read. So I’ll “skip” a little, and leave out a few details, to move things along. The kids can read well enough that I can’t get away with this anymore. Recently, we were reading a book from the library about Cheetahs (Luke is obsessed with them) and sometimes on a particularly wordy page, I would hit the highlights, mumble, “Blah, blah, blah” and move on.

When we got to the end of the book, Luke said, “Mom, now can you go back and read all the blah, blah, blah?”

Of course, it was so adorable, I went back and read the “blah, blah, blah.”

And now, the tables are gradually starting to turn. The kids love to be with their friends, they are getting busy with sports, they are becoming more self-sufficient – soon, they won’t even need for me to read to them anymore.

And I am starting to regret every word that I skipped, every moment I “rushed.”

Pretty soon, the kids will rush past me, they will give me the Cliffs Notes about their day, when I want the details, and I will say, “Can you go back and tell me the blah, blah, blah?”

I’m feeling nostalgic because the new school year is so close. In a few days, all my babies will be out of my care for at least seven hours a day.

On one hand, I’m excited because this will be the first time in ten years that I will have this kind of time to myself. I have a LONG list of things I want to accomplish and I’m looking forward to this new freedom.

On the other hand, I feel a little lost. I’m so used to having the kids with me, and I enjoy their company. These “together” years are so fleeting.

Intellectually, I know that we are raising them to be independent. I gradually need to let go, give them more freedom, send them off into the world, etc. But emotionally, it’s a battle. I am not ready to let them go. I’m not ready for the world to get more of their time than me.

And although they are growing up too fast, I wouldn’t change it because I love watching them “emerge.” It is a joy to see their personalities unfolding, their interactions and interests and observations. They teach me so much because they all have their own unique way of being in the world and processing everything going on around them.

In God’s unexpected way of doing things, my kids have become my greatest teachers. I refer to them as “God’s secret agents” because they can see things in me and in the world around me that I can’t always see, and they can speak into my life in ways that get my attention.

I try to pay attention. I try to be a “mindful parent.” But inevitably, there are days that are just a blur.

And although I never intended to homeschool (this transition was chronicled in Aggravating, Awesome Life Detours), the past two years have been such a blessing. Maybe God knew that I needed more time, to help make up for the “blah, blah, blah” moments and mistakes.

Every year I become more painfully aware of how quickly the time is passing. This knowledge doesn’t keep me from screwing up and taking things for granted, but it does give me perspective and beautiful moments of clarity.

Every morning, when Luke wakes up, he comes to find me in the sunroom (usually finds me with a cup of coffee, reading or writing) and snuggles up with me, and I wonder how much longer this morning routine will continue. Right now he is seven — will he still sit in my lap when he’s eight or nine?

 

Carlie is eleven, and she still likes bedtime stories and being tucked in – how many more years before she is “too old” for this?

 

Lela creates elaborate games and books and pictures, and she requires rapt attention as she rattles on and on about them. I wonder if her imagination will always be this big and if she will always be eager to involve us in the details.

I don’t know exactly when, but I already know these sweet moments will come to an end eventually, so I’m just trying, in my flawed and distracted humanness, to savor these days for as long as they last.

I want to make more time for the “blah, blah, blah” before it’s gone.

Kids don’t always remember the things we might expect.  When asked about their favorite part of an exciting day-camp, they regale us with details about the food and snacks.  When we went to the circus, their favorite moment was getting to see an elephant take a giant poop. When I took them to Plymouth Plantation and The Mayflower, their favorite part of the day was briefly playing on the rocky beach right before we drove home.

Point is, we try to give them big, memorable moments, but they tend to focus on the things that are important to them – the fun, silly, gross, interesting things.   While we are busy looking at the big picture, like the beauty of the vast ocean, kids are often busy finding the beauty under rocks and in the sand.

So, when the kids are grown, I hope they recount all the fun vacations and field trips, appreciate the sports and camps and playdates, marvel at the toys and entertainment, remember fondly the days at parks and pools and playgrounds . . .

But all of that probably won’t mean much if they can’t recall dinner conversations, family game nights, roasting marshmallows and playing sports with Daddy in the back yard, reading stories together, going to church together, cooking together, praying together . . . being together.

I know we’re not supposed to sweat the small stuff. Instead, maybe we are supposed to savor the small stuff.

Maybe as we rush past the “trivial” — things or people or tasks or details — we miss the wonder that is hiding in plain sight. 

Because, without the “blah, blah, blah,” the story is incomplete.