This Piece of Time

On our way to Ohio for a family reunion, I tell the girls that I don't think their cousin Cole will want to play babies.. Paige: Cole can be the dad. Brooklyn: Cole doesn't like to be the dad. Paige: Yeah, he likes to be the dog. Brooklyn: Well, he's not a very good dog. Brooklyn wants Paige to read her a story on our way home from Ohio.  Brooklyn: Please will you read me The Magic School bus? Paige: No, it's too long. Brooklyn: Fine then.  Just read me the New Testament.

I recently had a glorious kid-free lunch and shopping trip with a dear friend from college.  As we talked she said that of all her "mom" friends, I know my kids the best.  To be honest, it kind of stopped me in my tracks.  The next day I polled a few other friends.  They confirmed that, indeed, I do know my kids.  Funny how you have to have other people tell you who you are sometimes.  Even still I would argue that there are plenty of moms more versed in their children than I, but that is neither here nor there.  The point is, we have to know our kids.  Just living with them is not enough.  Caring for their every need won't do it.  Raising them to adulthood doesn't guarantee it.  The reality is that many mothers never truly understand their children.  They don't know the little people who follow them around and soon enough they have missed their chance.  As a mom, it is my job to help my kids understand themselves.  If I don't know them, how can I help the

Today I took Brooklyn to the dentist.  My mom came over to watch the other kids and, since she had parked me in, I drove her car.  As Brooklyn climbed out of the car she said "Mom, I love how these seat belts go back so quickly.  They are so nice!" As I smiled, both inside and out, I couldn't help but think of how much this 5 year old girl inspires me.  Brooklyn appreciates things that most of us don't even notice.  The curtains in a hotel, tile in a lobby, sparkles on the floor of Forever21, chandeliers in a jewelry store.  Sometimes I focus on the challenges of her sensitivity.  The crying, the whining, the hurt feelings.  Today, I was reminded of the good her sensitivity brings.  Brooklyn is grateful.  I hope that she stays that way.  I hope that she always appreciates the beauty around her.  I hope I become a little more like her.  

To my children: I recently saw this sign... "I am not your friend.  I am your parent.  I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare, and hunt you down when necessary because I love you and when you understand that I will know you're a responsible adult.  You will never find someone who loves, prays, cares, or worries about you more than me.  This is my promise to you." At first glance, I thought I might agree, but then I read on.  The words that followed didn't settle.  You are little and, right now, I am not your friend.  On day, I hope to be and so I am making you a different promise. I will give you the freedom to test your wings and the boundaries to keep you safe.   I will enforce constructive consequences that will help you better understand the choices you make.  I will listen to your fears, needs and desires.  I will treat you with respect, grace, and love always remembering that you are a work in progress just