Presence
I have become acutely aware over the past little while that I am living through the time that I will wish back one day. Moreso since the horrible Humboldt tragedy. All of those moms and dads haven't left my mind, and I know I'm not alone.
Not very long ago, those big hockey players were little boys. Their parents had to tie up their skates and they were unsteady on the ice. They would use their sticks to help them stay up and slap the puck around clumsily. And all of a sudden they're teenagers and they're gone on hockey tournaments. And now this awful, unspeakable tragedy has happened, and some little boys are gone forever. It makes me want to squeeze my kids so tight for those parents with empty arms.
This is the time we will miss.
It's happening. Right now.
Brad and I are the most important people in our children's lives. They cry for us, they need to be read to and snuggled to sleep, they need their hair washed and kisses goodbye. They need their chicken cut up and their doll's hair braided and help doing up zippers. Avery still struggles with laces and Liam somehow never puts his boots on the right feet.
They need us.
We are here. In that precious time where the biggest stress is packing lunches and planning birthday parties. Our children have yet to be tainted by broken friendships or broken hearts. They still talk to us. They tell us everything.
They miss us when we are gone. They are so excited when we return.
These days are numbered. They are slipping away. Soon bedroom doors will be closed and eyes will be rolling and we will be on the outside. They will run out the door to beeping horns and come home after dark and go to bed with no stories and no kisses and no back rubs. There will be no bath night or frantic searching for special blankets. No comfort knowing our children are snug in their beds on the floor above us.
These days are exhausting between activities and homework and work. School projects and recitals and maintaining composure while trying to teach them to read. But all we did was blink and we were here. And soon we will blink and they will be gone, and we will wish for this very day.
I remember standing at the altar in the church on my wedding day. I looked at Brad, and then looked at all of our family and friends who were there, and I thought, "This is it. This is your wedding. Take it in. This is happening. Right now."
In ten years I will never wish I had spent more time checking my phone. I will never wish I spent more time doing damage control on facebook group drama. I will want to be back here, with chubby hands on my cheeks while Liam tells me he loves me. Here with Avery pushing her doll stroller on our walk, while she chats to me about what kind of birthday party she wants.
These are those days.
.
Take it in. They feel awful sometimes (most times), but these are the best days of our parenting lives. Hang on to them. Be present in them. Because every bedtime is one bedtime closer to them not needing a story or a kiss. Every bedtime is another one of these days gone.
There is exhaustion and lost patience and never enough caffeine, but hang on with both hands. Our babies are growing so fast. And tomorrow is never promised.