“Parents are often so busy with the physical rearing of children that they miss the glory of parenthood, just as the grandeur of the trees is lost when raking leaves.” Marcelene Cox
I was thinking this past week about the extraordinary autumnal colors taking full effect around our home. I watched over a few days the maple tree in our front yard make an amazing transformation in its foliage. My favorite part was not the deep burgundy color it developed before dropping to the ground, but instead the mid-transformation when the veins of the leaf were still green, and the color progressed outward to yellow, orange and then red. It resembled something I’ve never seen before, as if I was seeing fall for the first time this year. It was so striking to me, in fact, that one day during the boys’ nap I collected some tie-dye leaves and scattered them throughout the various rooms of our house for an autumnal feel inside.
That same day when he came home from work, Jason looked at me more intensely than usual saying very non-verbally “You’ve really gone off the deep end today,” when I explained to him how amazing leaves are as if once again this was a new discovery to be documented on Wikipedia. Then he verbally uttered, “Haven’t you ever raked before, Steph?”
“Of course I’ve raked, Jason, but I’m too busy staring at the brown carpet of decay on the grass to have ever realized this process before.”
“Oh.”
I’ve thought lately about maybe how many other things I’ve missed out on because I was hurrying through life, and dreading the raking. Probably too much to count. And I’ve relayed that to my life as a parent.
Mason just turned two yesterday, and it was a fantastic day. It was reminiscent of the very early Wednesday morning he was born two years ago. Absolutely crystal clear, and seasonably warm outside with the colors of fall all around us. Standing misty-eyed in our driveway as he rode his brand new tricycle for the first time I was saddened not only by the rapid pace my life has moved since his birth but regretful for any moments I wanted to speed up in the midst of their difficulty.
The early infant days that felt like eternity. The constant feeding. The constant crying. My negative energy levels. My toothbrush that would go unused for a day. But then it got easier and he grew and became mobile, and suddenly the infancy stage was packed up in the storage bin in our basement. And now I no longer will ever refer to him in terms of hours, days, weeks or months old. He’s a toddler now and he’s two. Two.
This entire week before Mason’s birthday I told myself I was going to be over the top for the boys. To just enjoy them. Four out of the five days I was at the gym at 5:15 am as usual, and though I knew my energy levels would be depleted before Sesame Street [at 9 am], I wanted to have fun. Regardless. I worried less about picking up around the house, vacuuming, or scrubbing toilets during Elmo’s World. And amazing results came. Peyton has always been enamored with me, so I saw no change in his personality. But Mason, my tried and true Daddy’s boy, parked himself on my lap while we watched Cookie Monster scarf his favorite snack. It was Mason draping himself around my neck, yelling “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” trying to ensue a wrestling match. And suddenly I knew it wasn’t just the leaves I’ve abandoned the past 26 years, but I’ve wasted so much energy doing the daily crap and griping, that I haven’t enjoyed as much of my children as I should have. And thus, another life lesson learned at the mercy of my kids.
I feel heartbroken for the people walking past me on this earth who have had the sudden wake up call in the face of terminal illness, who quite abruptly view life in a different light, and who learn to appreciate the changing colors of the maple tree outside their living room window. Thankfully it didn’t take the floor being pulled from beneath me to open my eyes and appreciate the autumn leaves or the blooming spring irises, or the simplicity of enjoying the art of sidewalk chalk. My kids, my ever-draining but endlessly giving and teaching bundles have given such clarity to my life, and although I certainly don’t always appreciate the little moments I have learned to love each of them for too soon they will fade away. So instead of grumbling over the hardships every day brings with the ungodly energy of two mobile toddler boys, I’ve learned it to be more draining but far more rewarding to enjoy the gift of being a parent.
That same day when he came home from work, Jason looked at me more intensely than usual saying very non-verbally “You’ve really gone off the deep end today,” when I explained to him how amazing leaves are as if once again this was a new discovery to be documented on Wikipedia. Then he verbally uttered, “Haven’t you ever raked before, Steph?”
“Of course I’ve raked, Jason, but I’m too busy staring at the brown carpet of decay on the grass to have ever realized this process before.”
“Oh.”
I’ve thought lately about maybe how many other things I’ve missed out on because I was hurrying through life, and dreading the raking. Probably too much to count. And I’ve relayed that to my life as a parent.
Mason just turned two yesterday, and it was a fantastic day. It was reminiscent of the very early Wednesday morning he was born two years ago. Absolutely crystal clear, and seasonably warm outside with the colors of fall all around us. Standing misty-eyed in our driveway as he rode his brand new tricycle for the first time I was saddened not only by the rapid pace my life has moved since his birth but regretful for any moments I wanted to speed up in the midst of their difficulty.
The early infant days that felt like eternity. The constant feeding. The constant crying. My negative energy levels. My toothbrush that would go unused for a day. But then it got easier and he grew and became mobile, and suddenly the infancy stage was packed up in the storage bin in our basement. And now I no longer will ever refer to him in terms of hours, days, weeks or months old. He’s a toddler now and he’s two. Two.
This entire week before Mason’s birthday I told myself I was going to be over the top for the boys. To just enjoy them. Four out of the five days I was at the gym at 5:15 am as usual, and though I knew my energy levels would be depleted before Sesame Street [at 9 am], I wanted to have fun. Regardless. I worried less about picking up around the house, vacuuming, or scrubbing toilets during Elmo’s World. And amazing results came. Peyton has always been enamored with me, so I saw no change in his personality. But Mason, my tried and true Daddy’s boy, parked himself on my lap while we watched Cookie Monster scarf his favorite snack. It was Mason draping himself around my neck, yelling “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” trying to ensue a wrestling match. And suddenly I knew it wasn’t just the leaves I’ve abandoned the past 26 years, but I’ve wasted so much energy doing the daily crap and griping, that I haven’t enjoyed as much of my children as I should have. And thus, another life lesson learned at the mercy of my kids.
I feel heartbroken for the people walking past me on this earth who have had the sudden wake up call in the face of terminal illness, who quite abruptly view life in a different light, and who learn to appreciate the changing colors of the maple tree outside their living room window. Thankfully it didn’t take the floor being pulled from beneath me to open my eyes and appreciate the autumn leaves or the blooming spring irises, or the simplicity of enjoying the art of sidewalk chalk. My kids, my ever-draining but endlessly giving and teaching bundles have given such clarity to my life, and although I certainly don’t always appreciate the little moments I have learned to love each of them for too soon they will fade away. So instead of grumbling over the hardships every day brings with the ungodly energy of two mobile toddler boys, I’ve learned it to be more draining but far more rewarding to enjoy the gift of being a parent.
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