"Hey Momma, Look at My 5!!"

So I have a confession.  Last night, I laid in bed talking to my husband, and out of nowhere, mid-conversation, I cried.  It was the first time in ages that we didn’t have a tiny human squished between us.  Our little guy has slept with us almost every single day of his life, and he turned FOUR last week.  But last night, he actually stayed all night with his big brother in his actual room.  This was like a real life miracle.  But at the same time, I'm the weird kind of mom that actually enjoys the cuddles that sharing a bed with a baby brings.  So I missed my cuddles, and sometimes I am sad because 4 isn't really a baby anymore and I know my days of cuddling are dwindling away.  But that's not why I cried last night.

I also cried earlier in the day because I just felt totally overwhelmed, so much so that I didn't even sit down with my family to eat the Sunday dinner that I worked so hard on, and that just made me more sad.  I had a million things I wanted to do that I couldn't do because of all the things I had to do.  Do you know that feeling?  It's like there just isn't enough time in the day to get it all done, and a lot of times the things we really want to do get put on the back burner to all the things we feel like we have to do.  Yesterday was one of those days.  And it was Sunday, which is supposed to be a day of rest, right?  No rest for the weary, they say.  No rest for full-time working moms either.  Earlier that morning I had Pre-K at church, and we had 17 kiddos crammed in our tiny space.  Some of them are still 2 and not potty-trained, so that makes it especially interesting.  I certainly didn't leave feeling the same refreshing feeling I normally feel when I am in the regular worship service, but we survived.  After church, we had to run a few errands.  My dad recently had open heart surgery, and his 75th birthday is actually today, so we went to get some things for him, and then we stopped by the hospital to visit him before heading home.  By the time we finally got home, the day was half-over and I hadn't even started cleaning the bathrooms or doing the laundry or paying the bills or dusting, and I still had dinner to cook and things to get ready for the week (disclaimer: my husband is a huge help around the house and I really couldn't do it without him).  What I really wanted to do was take a nap and make some crafts and read my book and read a book with the kids and curl up on the couch and watch some football and write a blog.  But no, life called.  So I found myself crying on the floor in my laundry room like some kind of dramatic Cinderella as I folded one more basket of laundry when I realized how late it was and how much I still had to do and how much I wouldn't get to do, all while my kids ate the dinner I slaved over... without me.  And I felt miscellaneous in that moment.  Even in my own home.  But I know they were just hungry kids and they didn't mean to make me feel that way and that's nothing but the devil talking.  Anyway, that's why I cried then, but that's not why I cried last night either.

So why did I?  I think it started because of Canyon's tablet.  I found it on the craft table, not on the charger where it should be, as I was heading to bed.  I went to check the battery life, and opened it up to a picture he'd taken of himself.  It was adorable and impressive.  The boy just turned 4 last week and he can work a camera better than most older adults.  I started to close the Tab-Tab as he calls it, but instead I started browsing through his album, and this boy has taken dozens of selfies and so many videos that I had NO CLUE about.  Some of them were taken in the very same car as me.  You can see my arm or hair or hear me talking in the background, and I didn't have a clue. Not one. I sat there giggling at his toy reveal videos and silly faces and double chins and cute dances, but then it hit me.  He was videoing himself like a you-tuber all this time, and where was I?  I was there.  But I wasn't there.  That is part of what caused my tears last night, but that isn't the whole story. 

As I was sitting there skimming through his album, I looked down and saw the white board he'd been drawing on earlier.  A moment from earlier in the evening popped into my memory and glared back at me.  As I was cooking dinner, I had seen a glimpse of Canyon at that same craft table.  I remember thinking how adorable he looked, but I went right on chopping broccoli, peeling carrots, and seasoning chicken.  He was sitting where he could see the numbers that big sis, Jurnee, had written on her bigger white board and practicing his numbers just like hers.  At one point, I remember hearing him excitedly saying, "Hey Momma, look at my 5!!" I acknowledged his excitement with a "Good job, buddy" without so much as glancing up.  I went right on prepping my dinner.  And it didn't even hit me until I sat there hours later at that same craft table looking at his "You Tube" videos that I'd totally missed out on that moment too.

And, that's really why I cried.

Because how much have I missed out on because of my "To-Do List"?  How many memories and moments have I let slip by?  How many times have I returned complete and utter joy with a simple "Good job buddy" and not even a glance in my kiddos’ direction?  How many times have I been there… but not really?  Physically present but mentally a million miles away. Tell me I’m not the only one.

I heard a statistic recently (and I'm not sure of the source), but according to this statistic, kids only receive about 15 seconds of eye contact total throughout the day, and that includes eye contact from their parents.  This has stuck with me and broken me, and as a teacher and a mom, I have made a point to really look at my students and my kids more.  But in this moment, on this day, I was a reason for the statistic. And I didn't even have my phone to blame.  Just me.  And my crazy, never-stopping brain. And my endless to-do list. And well, life.

So, I sob-cried all of this to my husband, and he just listened.  For a long time.  Silence.  Which I appreciated.  I hate being interrupted when I'm pouring my heart out.  I also hate being told that it's okay or that it doesn't matter and feeling like my feelings aren't validated.  He has learned that about me.  So he just listened, and just when I started to think, "that little joker fell asleep on me," he spoke up.  And he said these simple words, "You just have to make the most of the time you do have." And while he is so right, all I could say in response through my tears was, "I know, I just don't know how."

And it's true.  I don't know how.  How do you cram more into the already overloaded day?  How do you squeeze 30 hours of living into 24 hours of life?  How do you eliminate what seems vital?  How do you balance it all?  I still don't know.  I'm no expert.

But I do know that I can do better.  I can take it day by day, and when that feels like too much, moment by moment is good enough (my dad reminded me of that in the hospital a few weeks ago).  And more importantly, I can pray for wisdom and help with this whole mommin’ thing and somehow being in the moment while also getting all the things done. After all, Jesus promises to make a way where there is no way, and sometimes that’s how it feels in the middle of the mounting to-do list.  I mean, if He can literally part the sea, he can certainly help me. 

So today, I was thinking: what can I do?  I missed that moment completely, and my heart was breaking over it.  I had to try to fix it or the guilt would consume me.  So, I stopped right in the middle of cooking dinner tonight.  And I asked my little guy to come here, and I sat him up in my lap at that very same craft table.   

Just look at those sweet little numbers!

And I told him I was sorry that I didn't pay much attention to him when I was cooking dinner yesterday.  I told him that I'd love to see his numbers now. So he sat on my lap and he wrote his numbers. And  I told him I was proud of him and I said, "Good job, buddy," but I said it with feeling.  This time I meant it.  And I looked at him.  Really looked at him.  And he said, "I still love you, Momma."  Sheesh. I don't deserve that kind of love.  But that's the kind of love our kids give us, and that's the kind our God gives us too.  And I'm forever grateful that I'm loved, in the midst of the tears and the not-so-good days and the days I become a statistic and the days I'm here but not here. And I’m grateful that God promises to make a way even when it really seems there is no way, which is a lot lately. And I'm forever grateful for new days and new moments and second chances to learn from my mistakes and make up for the memories I missed.

"Remember not the former things, 

nor consider the things of old.

Behold, I am doing a new thing;

Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert."

Isaiah 43:18-19