Moms, I have a gift suggestion
for us all. For Mother’s Day, let’s give ourselves permission to live in the
moment.
Too many of us live in the past,
reminiscing about babyhood or toddlerhood or any day but today. We stare
misty-eyed at Timehop photos that reveal innocent eyes, chubby cheeks and
seemingly simpler times.
We also live in the future,
looking forward to milestones and independence and any event but today. We envy
parents who no longer change diapers, then those who no longer pay for daycare,
then those who no longer need to ferry their children from place to place.
Our children deserve our
attention and adoration today.
On a recent Saturday in Dallas, I
woke up to the glory of my children right now.
 |
| Katie, Tyra & Cooper at Klyde Warren Park |
Together we walked the row of
food trucks at Klyde Warren Park, each of us gravitating toward a different
cuisine. In the old days, we would have all stood in one line, then another,
then another. We’d finally sit, 30 minutes later, crabby and hungry, two-thirds
of us eating cold food.
These days, though, I can hand
cash to each child. They are old enough and responsible enough to stand in line
alone, to order their own food, to pay, to pick up and meet back at a
designated table.
We meandered to the playground
after our Tex-Mex/Vietnamese/barbecue feast. I was inching toward wistfulness,
thinking of days gone by, when Cooper and Katie would have raced to the giant
climbing structure, would have begged to jump in the water, would have waited
in line for the giant swing.
Instead, Cooper settled in on the
bench next to me. (He chatted with me in between Snapchat posts.) Katie
wandered to the merry-go-round, not to hop on but spin the little kids as fast
as possible.
As I soaked up the sunshine, I
worked on soaking up that very moment. A teenager who (most of the time) enjoys
my company. A preteen who finds happiness in helping others.
After Katie was worn out from one
too many turns of the merry-go-round, we walked a few blocks to the Perot
Museum.
We were always on the same floor
at the museum, but we weren’t always together. While Cooper was battling with
robots, Katie was designing her own light show. While Katie was composing
music, Cooper was building towers.
We enjoyed some shared
experiences, but I didn’t feel the need to corral and hover nonstop. When we
eventually hit the gift shop, I didn’t have to pry tiny fingers out of the bins
of shiny rocks or explain 27 times why we didn’t need another stuffed animal.
Do I miss those days? Absolutely.
I don’t have to stare at a photo to remember exactly what it was like to push
tiny Cooper on the bucket swing at our neighborhood park or to remember tiny
Katie falling asleep among a nest of 27 stuffed animals.
The fact that those days are long
gone makes my heart ache a tiny bit, yet longing too much for yesterday steals
joy from today.
This Mother’s Day I’m choosing to
celebrate how those bygone days have accumulated to reveal the quirky,
thoughtful, slightly mischievous children who call me, “Momma.” I won’t spend a moment wishing away the
day, though I trust more celebrations are in store.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. You can reach her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment