The other night, as I was putting the kids to bed, my daughter was very upset. When I asked her why, she said innocently, yet tearfully,
"How come whenever we're with you, you send us away?"
She might as well have hit me upside the head with a 400 ton bag of bricks.
Send them away? Is that how she perceives their time with me? "Today we're with Daddy, tomorrow we're with Mama, so we must be going somewhere else again." I almost had a breakdown right then and there.
I explained to her that there are lots of people who love her and her brothers, and want to spend time with them, so I have to share them. I assured her that if she was with me 24/7 she would miss seeing other people, like her dad and grandparents. And sometimes there are things that I have to do and places I have to go, and I can't always be with them. I told her that although I sometimes get upset at them, under no circumstances whatsoever do I ever just randomly "send them away" from me.
While I was explaining all this, she was sitting on my lap cuddling in my arms. In my head, all I could see were the nights after work that I yell at them to get out of the kitchen so I can cook dinner, the bedtimes that I get frustrated with them for running around the house and goofing off instead of brushing their teeth, the mornings that I rush them to get out the door so I can be to work on time.
And then, there was that bag of bricks again, coming straight at my head:
"People never wish they had spent more time at the office."
So, as I dried my daughter's tears (and my own), in my head I erased those negative images of me yelling at them and being frustrated and angry. I thought of them sitting in the wagon, covered in leaves, pulling each other around the yard. I thought of them presenting me with beautiful bouquets of dandelions and whatever other random flowers they find. I thought of them laughing as we helped each other tell stories, sliding down a homemade snowbank in the front yard, pulling weeds with me in the garden. These are the things I want them to remember. These are the memories I have to make more of.
The Holstee Manifesto says that if you don't like something, change it. The past 2 mornings, I got up a little earlier than usual. I got the kids up a little earlier than usual. I smiled at them, hugged them, helped them get ready, ate breakfast with them. Then, I walked them to school. I haven't walked them to school in months. Ever since I went back to work, mornings and evenings seem to be a big blur of hurried-ness. Which really stinks, because that's the majority of when I see them, since they're in school and I'm at work during the day. It felt wonderful to be able to walk them to school again.
I am changing the way I look at my time with my kids. Of course, I always love when my kids are with me, but I'm going to be more aware of the quality of that time. Being at Mama's house and being with Mama are two different things. I want them to remember being with Mama.
I don't remember much (or anything, really) from when I was 3 or 6 or 11. I don't know if they will either, but I hope they do. I hope that whenever they think of me, their minds will be flooded with all kinds of memories of silly things we did together. Everyday, they teach me how to live young and play fearlessly. It's time to stop wishing things were different and make it so. Thank you, dear daughter, for the bag of bricks.
