My favorite sense that we have been giving is the sense of smell. It is truly phenomenal to me that one whiff of something strong, tasty, warm, or repulsive can take me back to the exact spot I was, when I first took in that aroma. I'm a sucker for a pure-smelling candle, lathering myself with essential oils, or a yummy something cooking in the oven.
But, lately, the sense of hearing has me very alert and aware that time is fleeting and moments better be captured. Or, they will be gone.
As I stepped out of my car, heading into the office, my foot smashed something, creating a crunching sound that is all-too-familiar, these days. I have never prided myself in my priority of nutrition, when it comes to what my kids eat. Now, there are definite no-go's for me, but it isn't strange to look past an occasional sucker or piece of chocolate, as a mid-morning snack.
{Especially if it gives me 5 more minutes of "all is calm".}
The kids' breakfast, every day, during the week, consists of a bowl of Greek yogurt, a glass of milk, and a bowl of Marshmallow Mateys. Heard of them? Yes, I'm talking about the bagged, off-brand cereal you can usually find in bulk, on an aisle, at Walmart. Now, before you concert to judging, let me assure you, our weekend breakfasts entail a waffle extravaganza or dad running to the donut store.
We keep it super real, in the Wood home.
More times than not, all 3 of them will devour the yogurt - a definite undeserving "win" in my column - drink most the milk, and pick out each and every freeze-dried marshmallow in their bowl. If my son is super hungry, he might take down the crunchy excuses for nutrition, but for the most part, I'm left with a scant amount of sugary puff-like-things for me to enjoy, after dropping him off at school, on my way to work.
The morning before my feet destroyed a hand-full of "Mateys", I had dumped the bowl - void of the marshmallows - hoping the birds would at least carry them off to a nearby trashcan, for me. But, as the creature of habit I am, I parked in the exact spot, the next morning. Stepped out of my car. Crunched a hand-full of now stale excuses for nutrition. And, couldn't help by chuckle.
That sound is the sound of my season, as a mom.
You who have been there are nodding your head in agreement. I have splattered more of those things in our house's hardwood floor than seems humanly possible. On my good days, I come up behind with my Swiffer and cheerfully suck the dust up. On the other 362 days, of the year, I scoot as much of the dust into corners of the room, telling myself to not forget the corners, when you sweep next. month. {ugh!}
But, I don't care how much that annoying cereal makes me want to pull my thick hair out, strand by strand, stepping on them, in the parking lot, that day, gave me a whole new perspective.
There will be a day when my son won't choose to carry 4 cars, his milk cup, his backpack, lunch, and his bowl of Mateys, to the car, as I'm hurriedly rush him to at least TRY to not be slow, this morning.
There will be a day when my older daughter won't ask for a refill of Mateys, only to look at them with disgust when I sit the bowl back down, saying "akchewy....I'm done". {sigh}
There will be a day when our number 3 hot mess won't excitedly smile at her bowl of crunchy goodness and then just as excitedly, pour the entire bowl onto the floor.
There will be a day.
Right?
So, what am I doing with the days I have now? Sadly, I find myself spending more time scooting cereal to the corners, in frustration, than I do laughing that those crazy birds didn't enjoy their free meal I provided them. The next season for me will have sounds that will be just as precious as I have now, but wouldn't that be a sad testament to my children's early years if every time I heard those sounds again, I was filled with guilt for not savoring those moments?
What does your season of parenting sound like?
Do you find yourself concentrating more on providing, preparing, fixing, correcting, {fill in the eternal blank} that your ears are deaf to the sounds that will one day define these years of your child's life? Would you be able to tell them stories, of their years, through the funny, hard, annoying, and real sounds that were daily a part of their growing up?
Let's start listening together.
And, maybe, those Mateys will not only be satisfying to a hungry belly, but soothing to our eager souls.
