Pretty much every other moment I just want to grab my kids and hold them in one spot and prevent them from growing up one inch, one minute more. Alternating moments are spent trying to help them (push them?) to grow up right. I've spent plenty of time being an annoyed and harried parent, spread too thin and not guided enough by love. I think that has really been changing these last few months, and now I wish I could go back and do so much differently.
This guy was in the middle of the floor when I got home.
The old me would have just seen another mess to be cleaned up, I think. Now I see an artifact of my kids' fleeting childhoods. Another freaking paradox to contend with.
I should mention that I'm able to be in love a little more now because 1) we have a cleaning lady 2) we are in therapy every other minute fighting to make our marriage work and 3) my tenure package is in. The material matters. Having a bit more time for love, for loosening, really helps. Not that I couldn't have done better. I could have. But I could have done worse, too. We all need help sometimes.