I think parenting young children (and old ones, I have heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave souls try it because they have heard that there is magic in the climb. They do it because they believe that finishing, or even merely attempting, the climb are major accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the discomforts, the views are breathtaking. They do it because even though it hurts and it is hard, there are moments that make it worth it. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning to climb again, even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous and exhausting. My guess is that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers -- "Are you enjoying yourself?!? If not, you should be! One day you’ll be sorry you didn’t! Trust us!! It will be over way too soon! Carpe diem!" - those well-meaning cheerleaders might be thrown from the mountain.
Now I am not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to “enjoy every minute” be thrown from a mountain (well some days maybe some of them – just kidding – not really), but just the other day, a woman approached me in the grocery store and said the following: "Hun, I hope you are enjoying these moments. I loved every single second with my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast." At that particular moment, Madelynn had just pushed half of the canned vegetables to the back of their shelf, causing the ones nearest to them to surge forward and crash onto the floor. She also had just asked me for the 12 millionth time to buy her some candy, or cookies, or a toy; and somewhere she had found some pink feathers and had stuck them all in her hair, making her look just like a contestant from “Toddlers in Tiaras”. This after we had just spent another hour plus in the pediatrician’s office with Isabella, who is still not “over” her bout with pneumonia/RSV and is now on yet another round of antibiotics plus a round of prednisone. (Anyone who knows anything about prednisone and/or has children knows the joy of the drug’s impact on people, especially little ones.) So, I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, "Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you."
That's not exactly what I wanted to say, though.
There was a writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, "No but I love having written." What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't mean you love having parented?"
I love having parented. My favorite part of each day is when the kids are in bed and the Hubs and I sink into the couch to watch some quality TV, like “The Big Bang Theory”, and congratulate each other on a job well done. Or at least a job done.
Now I know some people will read this and might even post a comment that I am being negative or that I chose to be a mother, not once but twice, and that I also chose to stay at home. The fact is, though, parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it is hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she is negative or is not doing it right? Maybe the fact that she is willing to admit that it IS so hard means that she IS doing it right...in her own way...plus she happens to be honest. I am reminded of the scene from the movie “Sex and the City 2” where Miranda and Charlotte are in the bar, talking about motherhood and how incredibly difficult it is. “Drink!” I got misty-eyed during that scene while most of the other women in the theater were laughing. I got misty-eyed because I got it – and like Charlotte, I felt terribly guilty about admitting that sometimes motherhood just isn’t too fun.
The Hubs is a fireman and because it pays peanuts, he owns and operates a construction business on his days “off”. His jobs are hard, especially in this economy, and he comes home each day and talks a little bit about how hard it is. I don't ever feel the need to suggest that he is not doing it right, or that he is negative for noticing that it is hard, or that maybe he shouldn't even consider taking on more responsibility. I doubt anybody stops by a jobsite to make sure he is enjoying himself. I seriously doubt any of the senior firemen come to him and say, "This career stuff...it goes by so fast...are you enjoying every moment of it???? Carpe diem!"
My point is this: I used to worry (and honestly still do at times) that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn't enjoying it enough. Double failure! I felt guilty because I was not in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn't making the most of every moment like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and grumpy and ready for the day to be over quite often and because I knew that one day, I'd wake up and the girls would be gone, and I would be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? Nope.
The fact remains that I will be that lady one day. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. What I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in the grocery store is, "It's really hard, isn't it? You're a good mom, I can tell and I like your kids, especially that one stuffing candy into her pockets. Carry on, warrior goddess! Six hours till bedtime." Hopefully, every once in a while, I'll be able to add: "Let me pick up that grocery bill for ya, sister. Go put those kids in the car and pull on up. I'll have them bring your groceries out to you."
Anyway, clearly, “carpe diem” doesn't work for me. I can't even carpe fifteen minutes solid in a row, so a whole diem is pretty much impossible.
Now that I have thought about it, here is what does work for me:
A little Greek lesson: there are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It is regular time, it is one minute at a time, it is staring down the clock until bedtime time, it is ten excruciating minutes in the grocery line time, it is sixty-ish minutes at the pediatrician time, it is four screaming minutes in time out time, it is two hours until daddy gets home time, it is 72 more hours of prednisone time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in. Then there is Kairos time. Kairos is God's time. It is time outside of time. It is metaphysical time. It's those magical, almost miraculous, moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day and I cherish them.
Like when I actually stop what I'm doing and really look at Isabella and how much she is growing and changing each day. I notice how perfectly smooth her baby skin is. I notice the perfect curves of her tiny mouth and her brownish-greenish-goldish eyes, and I breathe in her soft baby smell. In these moments, I see that her mouth is moving but I can't hear her because all I can think is -- This is the first time I've really seen Isabella all day, and my God -- she is so beautiful. Kairos.
Like when I quietly watch Madelynn work hard to read a “beginning reader” book to her baby sister, showing her the pictures, and changing voices for each character, when neither of them knows I am in the room. Kairos
Like when I'm stuck in chronos time in the grocery store and I am anxious and annoyed. Then I look at my cart and I'm transported out of chronos. Suddenly I notice the piles and piles of healthy food I'll feed my children to grow their bodies and minds and I remember that most of the world's mamas would kill for this opportunity - this chance to stand in a grocery store with enough money, albeit barely enough sometimes, to pay. Kairos.
Or when I curl up in my cozy king-size bed with the Hubs by my side and I listen to him breathing. For a moment, I think - how did a girl like me get so lucky - to go to bed each night surrounded by this love, this peace, this warmth? Kairos.
These kairos moments leave as fast as they come, but I note them. At the end of the day, I don't always remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I do remember that I had them and that makes the pain of the daily parenting climb worth it.
So, fellow frazzled parents, follow me and carpe a couple of kairoses a day and try not to stress over the chronoses! After all, it does go by fast!
Until next time, peace, love, and (((HUGS)))
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