As posted on Soul Parenting…
Many nights, I am hurrying my kids to bed, ready to relish the last hours of the night. To finally get something done or sit in front of a favorite TV show. Or just to get to bed myself at the end of a long day.
But some nights, I sit in my child’s bed and awe hits me. Awe at the beauty that IS this little person. At the love I have for them. Awe that they love me in spite of everything I hate about myself. How can they?
Some nights, I ask if it’s okay for me to grab my camera, because I want to remember them as they are right then. And they don’t mind because it means they get to play for a few more minutes.
Make up stories about their Paul Frank magnets. About how the poor bottom magnet is mad because he’s getting smushed by the other magnets. (And I don’t care what spell check says, “smushed” is TOTALLY a word.)
And I resolve to have more of those nights.
To remember what they mean to me and to my child.
Dang. Balance is such an impossible goal.
Or so it feels…