Sometimes it takes work to enjoy my kids.
Go ahead, tar and feather me. Burn me at the stake. (Actually, please don’t. Those sound dreadful).
But I totally get it if you judge me right now, and I only care a little bit. A little bit more. Ok, yeah – THAT much.
Because the fact is, the kids never want to do what I want to do. Quiet stroll in the park, sipping coffee and chatting with friends, or shopping for a new purse (or earrings, or LORD HELP ME jeans). They don’t even like wine. Seriously?
They want to do kid stuff. My son’s favorite activity is to pick things up from where I put them when I was cleaning and relocate them. Usually to the trash can. Or the toilet. This is not, come se dice… It’s not a hobby we share.
My daughter likes to read books. All 18 of the library books. Repeatedly. While asking the same “why” questions on every page. I DON’T KNOW WHY THE RABBIT IS WEARING A PURPLE SHIRT. I just don’t.
And I’m hearing all the time about how fast they grow up and cherish the moments, and the years are short, and blah blah freaking blah. Because some days, I’m all Can you please not join me in the bathroom while I poop? Some days, it’s just hard to enjoy them.
But I do. Many days, I do enjoy them. But it really is work. I have to train myself to have the attention span of a mosquito (read: toddler). I have to learn to find joy in things that also bring joy to my 3-year-old and my one-year-old. I have to choose to let go of my desire to go into that store and try on that dress and instead stay here on the sidewalk and watch ants march by. And I find joy watching the delight on their faces and seeing them learn. Seeing their unspoiled enjoyment of simple things. These are the moments I remind myself will fade away, and I will wish I had enjoyed them. So I join them. “Let’s build an obstacle course for the ants!” I say. And I enjoy it.