There aren’t many things that make me feel worse than missing out. I have always enjoyed being right in the middle of whatever happens to be going on. Over the years I have adjusted to staying home with babies and kids when Nick is out late. Firm believer in strict bedtime– I am. I have also grown accustom to not being invited out for coffee…with five kids, and it no longer makes me sad to not be able to go on trips with my husband…because carting around babies during mission trip turns into me babysitting my kids in strange places. I have grown to love these times with just the kids and I. We eat things like popcorn and cereal for dinner, and that makes me a cool mom. And who wouldn’t want that? It’s the little things though, isn’t it? I mean, the everyday little things that are often missed out on. Those things are what really bother me.
As I sit here on the couch, wedged in between piles and piles of folded laundry, I realized that I missed out today. The kids cleaned their rooms, and I cleaned the house (kinda), and did many, many loads of clothes that were in dire need of cleaning. But I missed it. I missed having special time with each kid. I missed interacting with them, and just being plain silly with them. I hurried them off to bed so I could finish what I started. We all know that laundry is never-ending so this really made no sense at all.
As I type I hear my moment coming. After twenty minutes of silence, she is up. Miss Olivia peeked out of her room, and instead of putting her back in bed, I remembered my missed moments. And here she sits. Watching me type in complete silence. Doing nothing more than wanting to be close to me. These moments aren’t forever. I must go and get me some long awaited snuggles and kisses.