July, 2007 Treasuring the Time

July, 2007

I keep telling myself that I am doing this right. I mean, it was my intention to raise my kids to leave, so why am I so surprised that she is ready to go? My kids have to leave before they can cleave and I’ve figured it’s my job to get them ready to fly. So why am I so sad that it appears I’ve been successful? In all honesty, if my child weren’t ready to go, I’d consider my work a failure.

Abby has one year left here in the nest, yet the look in her eyes tells me she’s ready to go now. Why does she have to be that ready? The anticipation comes through in nearly every conversation and is almost palpable when I watch her around her friends at church or school. Though I love all of my five children, the truth is that with each additional one, a little less individualized time goes to the others. So this summer, I decided to take a one-on-one trip to Italy with my oldest daughter. Our time was incredible as I watched this beautiful young woman handle various situations with grace and maturity. I listened to her dreams, watched as she explored, sat amazed as she demonstrated amazing photographic skills, and followed dutifully as she shopped. Then toward the end of the trip, she began to gravitate toward the others on the tour who were more her own age. My heart was torn – happy that she was so joyful doing what teens do best (socializing) and yet grieved to realize that it was no longer I who was the object of her admiration.

I returned home with a renewed and deepened love for my precious daughter. And now I find myself wanting to milk every moment that I have left, suck the marrow of our time together, lick the bottom of the frosting bowl of this last season… You get the picture. Unfortunately, habits that I started early on in my parenting are now coming back to bite me. When Abby was a toddler, I didn’t want her needing a story to get to sleep. No bedtime rituals. You go to bed, you go to sleep. It worked. She’s still sleeping soundly.

I also have been the type to hit the floor running, burning myself out by about six o’clock so all I could do was fall into bed two minutes after the kids. I rarely tucked them in, just hollering good-night from my own bed over the intercom. And even though I had read many times that bedtime is the best time for talking, that it is when they let down their reserves and are most open and honest, I was too pooped to try. Now I find I want to be more intentional about saving some energy so that I can be there to talk, lingering before they drift off; I want in on those thoughts and dreams. I still have a chance with the other four, but I am afraid it may be too late with Abby. Her independence is deeply ingrained and her personality is one that doesn’t open up easily. Yet she is such an amazing person, I find I want to know her more. Sometimes I feel such pride in who she is becoming that it literally makes my chest ache. I hope she knows that. (Maybe, after reading this, she can tuck it in a corner of her heart.)

Everyone told me that the time with your children flies by quickly. And in one sense I acknowledged the truth of that statement, yet the truth of it didn’t change how I approached my parenting. (Yes, Mom, you told me so.) My to-do list is still too long and I’m always trying to cram in “one more thing” which makes me always run a little late. I am trying to take more time and smell the roses with my kids these days. And I am seeing that Abby is not the only child of mine that is amazing. How could I have gotten so blessed? I am just grateful that I am learning these lessons while I still have one year left with Abby and before the others are all grown and gone. Now if I can just nail Abby’s feet to the floor….

Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise

Amy Shane

P.S. If you’ve got more than one child, I highly recommend the one-on-one trip, whether it is to Europe, to another state, camping near home, or to a local McDonald’s. There’s something about that focused time that opens new avenues of communication and makes it very special.