“Seven hours of consecutive sleep.” That was my birthday wish after having Kid #2. My mother laughed and promised me this phase would be over before I knew it. At the time, that fact didn’t penetrate my sleep-deprived brain. I didn’t believe her.
Now I do.
One minute they are drooling and observing wakeful hours whilst everyone else is asleep; the next minute they are interviewing for summer jobs and wowing the pants off you.
Children. They grow up too fast. I advocated a Slow Childhood for my kids, trying to stave off the electronic invasion into their innocent young lives. Step by step they got cell phones (“only for emergencies”), then an Xbox (“only for rainy days”), a laptop (“only for schoolwork”) and ultimately an iPad (“only to listen to their grandfather’s stories”).
Only these things serve multiple purposes and before you know it, you have lost the battle of Slow in their increasingly fast lives.
So I introduced “gadget-free zones”, which they pretty much observe (or feel incredibly guilty about when they do not). And family meals, which is mandatory in my house almost every day. And when it comes to major family gatherings, they will go whether they like it or not. Luckily, they like it a lot.
Although I have spent my entire post-child career working from home and have had ample opportunity to bear witness to their daily lives, I am still amazed that, despite my very best efforts, their childhood is nearly over. I find myself hanging out in my daughter’s room, using the excuse that “the light is better here” to apply my make-up. But what I really want is to spend yet another precious minute with her. To be in her space. To take in her aroma. To feel connected just a little longer.
Or I’ll create a reason to ask my son something as he flips through YouTube videos. Through his closed door I listen closely to his laughter and to the clock ticking away another minute of our togetherness.
In my own personal assessment, I am far from a hovercraft mother. I have allowed my kids to fly transatlantically on their own with layovers in foreign countries at the age of 12 and 14. I have sent them to camps and school trips and to friends’ houses for overnights. In their eyes, I am Mama Bear, who growls the instant her young are in danger. “Or perceived danger, Mom. Sheesh!” Somewhere, deep down, I believe they love that protective side of me. But they never fail to complain — or laugh — about it.
We may not be able to hold back time, but we can enjoy the precious moments we have. As I watch my kids grow into young adults, I am made fully aware that each day represents another unit in our personal bank account of time on the road to the end of our days.
It is my greatest hope that they embrace the Power of Slow along that journey. Then I will know I have taught them well.