musings on wasting time

or how I look at my mothering time now

She read to me until I fell asleep, a beautiful turn of events in the land of mothering. The afternoon sun felt decadent. The floor pillow was extra plush. And Old Mother Westwind had never sounded so dreamy. My daughter adjusted her own floor pillow, tapped me on the head, and crooned, “Mama, mama, you’re missing all the good parts.”

We never had had an afternoon like this. Our oldest three were with my husband at church, doing what we affectionately called “churching” in our family—all the church liturgies we sign up for and so trot back and forth to our beloved parish, a little over a mile away. The three year old was sleeping. She and I were just co-existing, not cleaning up a mess or hustling off somewhere. We were simply in each other’s space, reading and receiving.

And she was right, I had missed many good parts and the sneak of sleep had robbed me of how Sammy Blue Jay showed once again his naughty character. Good thing Old Mother Westwind was coming to make all right in her little world. And me waking up was my chance to do the same.

This daughter had complained of stomach aches all autumn and early winter. We ruled out the scary stuff. We tried this that and the other. More water, more protein, more cuddles. They faded away and who knows exactly what it was. I think the cuddles were probably the strongest medicine. I wonder at being the 4th of 5. It’s where I sit in my own family, a place of nestling and security but also often the least squeaky wheel.

+ + +

Which parts of motherhood have I missed?

The list is long.

I’m sure those early years of pantry chocolate eating while the teeming hoard stood at the gates (yes, that means my tots and toddlers trying to turn the knob) meant I missed a moment to connect. I’m sure the weekends I slipped away to help at a retreat or brainstorm about a work project, a child needed extra attention at night and went unnoticed. I’m sure I stared at my phone while breastfeeding and lost the chance to develop my child’s neurons through eye contact. I’m sure I longed for adult affirmation so spent hours writing or sewing or cheerleading on the internet to feel the rush of love and reciprocation of comments and likes instead of reading another story (AGAIN) aloud. I’m sure I hired a babysitter so I could read alone in the car. Or cry. Or talk to my sister. And a kid cried at the window.

I don’t have a redeeming sentence for this topic. “Don’t worry, kids are tough and you were there as much as you could be and moms need a break too” or “You’re a wonderful mom and I know you meant to be there for them but kinda were burned out” or even “We all feel this way, so it’s okay.”

Everything in life is an invitation. And while we all miss things in our kids lives because we cannot bi-locate, I’m not talking about being absent for a performance at school or a swim meet. I’m talking about not wanting to accept the invitation into the mundane, the trying, and the exhausting. I’m talking about being present when present and being in it.

So where’s the line between filling up your own cup and escapism? It’s different for each mother. I have missed a lot of mothering my littles because I blurred that line and just didn’t want to grow in fortitude. I’ve also being on necessary breaks that brought me back to them ready to be present and attentive.

+ + +

Our oldest was confirmed over the weekend. And he’s taller than me now, a good inch or two. We have 4ish more years of him at home. The years I thought time was crawling by are in the past. Now it’s a race of appreciating the prep for high school night, the searching for pants that are both slim and tall enough, the listening to hopes and dreams and fears. The quieting of my advice and taking in his story.

So to be Mother Westwind and make things right in my world is not really possible, even if I am awake to these big changes on the horizon. Instead I can only ask to grow in love which means growing in acceptance of the hardships that are here to help me do that growth. Lord, let me suffering turn me to love.

But for you, dear reader, my invitation to you is to think about your own life story board.

When are you accepting the invitations to suffer and then to love more?

When are you hiding from them? When are you stepping out to fortify yourself and then accept and step into them?

Have you asked Love itself to guide this process, to take you out of your sleep and into your motherhood more deeply? The motherhood you live out with family, friends, and loved ones. The mothering heart we are called to remember and to embrace?

I’m asking for this today. I don’t want to check out when I can stay in it. Extend my endurance for mothering, Lord!

Love,

Nell