It turns out that a person doesn’t necessarily need to be able to speak coherent sentences to be an effective tutor. Case in point: the pint-sized spit-up machine who is currently teaching me that sometimes being is better than doing.
I am a planner by nature. I like to make lists and, even better, cross things out. I enjoy the anticipation of thinking ahead…dreaming and scheming for tomorrow or next week or next month.
But when your schedule revolves around a twelve-pound person who can’t think about the future beyond I’m hungry, I’m sleepy, or I’m poopy, planning ceases to be very effective. You don’t know if the baby will nap (or for how long). You don’t know if he’ll wake up smiley or moody or you’d-better-hold-me-or-I-will-scream-like-a-banshee.
And so my tutor reminds me that sometimes we need to set the to-do list aside. Perhaps that’s one of the things children know that we grown-ups have forgotten: we can’t live in the future. We have only been given today. Children (and those with childlike hearts) have a way of inviting us—practically daring us—into the sacred now.
My little guy wordlessly tells me what God has been trying to say to me all along: that while there’s merit to hard work, it doesn’t define me. My worth isn’t predicated on my productivity. My identity isn’t determined by the number of things I crossed off (or didn’t cross off) my to-do list.
In the quiet hours of the night, after my little one is full and content, I sometimes hold him for an extra moment before stumbling back to bed. I marvel at the way he nestles perfectly into me, with his head tucked under my chin and his limbs curled up against me. I’m all too aware, the second time around this parenting rodeo, that he won’t fit there for long. I’ll blink and his arms and legs won’t fit on my lap. I’ll turn my head for a moment and he will be much too sophisticated to snuggle with his mama.
And so I try to soak in the moments as they come. Not every moment, because heaven knows it’s only possible to savor things one drop at a time, not when they come in a virtual tsunami. But I will try to seize the little moments—a dimpled smile, a tiny sigh, a contented gurgle—and freeze-frame them in my heart.
So maybe we don’t need to throw out the to-do list altogether. But perhaps we’d be better off if we could lose track of it for a bit. If we could look into the eyes of the person we’re with and be all there. In the sacred now.
I have calmed and quieted myself, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.
Psalm 131:2
Beautiful! Love that photo of your handsome little guy, Stephanie! So sweet. Yeah, back when I was mothering a baby boy, a two-year-old boy, and a four-year-old boy, older women would take in the wild look in my eyes and the state of my hair and say: “Cherish every moment, Honey. They’re only little once.” And I would nod or sometimes even shout over my shoulder, “I am!” as I chased my toddler across the park. Of course I knew they would grow, of course I was cherishing the moments. Didn’t it look like I was cherishing the moments. Well, now I have three teenage sons and they are truly delightful, I love teens. But while I knew that the snuggles would be replaced by sarcasm and the declarations of love with requests that I please not sing or whistle or even hum while I’m in the kitchen. I knew that, and watching them grow is bittersweet. But what I didn’t realize was that as I watched these big boys launching into the world that every mistake I’d made would raise its ugly head and remind me that I could no longer get better at that with my toddler … because he is not a toddler. I could no longer improve on taking time to play trains with my six-year-old, because that boy is not going to play trains again until he has a six-year-old of his own. I could no longer get better about letting them walk down to the tree fort alone (even though it scared me) because by the time I was comfortable with them being in the tree fort by themselves … they were no longer interested. There is a terrible battle with regret that older mothers understand. We would be more patient if we could. We would stop and admire more slugs. We would try to go on that five mile tricycle ride that they wanted, even thought we knew what was going to happen, ha! We would yell less and apologize more and let them make that soup recipe they made up that had both eggs and jellybeans for dinner. But what us older moms must also remember is the sacred now as you have said. I have three beautifully grumpy teenagers that I can be patient with right here in my own house. I can make them snacks and annoy them with my singing and tease them about video games and why they insist on wearing socks that don’t match and that shirt they cut up with scissors that’s clearly three sizes too small. The sacred now is truly Holy. Thank you Stephanie for the reminder!
OH Kristen, you made me cry. This is beautiful and heart rending. I want to read your motherhood memoir someday!
Yes… thank you Stephanie! I love my “to do” lists but I need to remember what matters more.
Thanks, Christel!