Parenting

Let's talk about parenting. I cannot name any other task on this earth that requires more effort. To do it well, one must be engaged, but how many other things also require our engagement? Jobs. Church. Extended family. Friendships. Health. Volunteer work. We already discussed my perfectionistic tendancies, so we know that I'm going to struggle with the weight of balancing all these things. I'm pretty certain I'm failing at all of it. Just. Failing. I should definitely be doing more volunteer work, and, yes, I hear that "amen" from the local PTA. I should way more often be #dead whilst the next Tony Horton tells me I'm doing it all wrong. (Shout out to my Tooker.) I should call loved ones more often, because it is amazing how you can miss the sound of someone's voice once you never hear it again. The struggle is real this year, and every year, Friends, but the one task that calls us back again and again is parenting.

From the moment you receive that squalling baby until you breathe your last breath, you should struggle with the weight of your responsibility. Because if you don't struggle, you will find yourself a mediocre 'rent and you do not want to sacrifice your children on the altar of mediocrity. Every stage of parenting is tough. When you're in the baby stage, all you want is sleep, and for the love, a baby that is not a fountain or a liquid poo cannon. (A shout out to both my sons with all the love in my Mommy heart.) When you enter the toddler/preschool years, you're running on physical demand fumes, but adding in the worry about "sensory gross motor skills," when all you want is for the kid to just.eat.this.banana. Elementary rocks, as you send that child off into the world, and you rejoice for moments until you see the world is a tough place for a young one. And so you spend your time soothing, encouraging, pushing, and believing your child into the tween years. And this is the place I'm at, Folks. The tween years. This recent occurrence that you might not know is a thing. It's a thing. I'm standing at the edge, holding tightly to two smallishokaybigish hands and wondering if I can just wing them to the other side. The side where they are responsible, trustworthy, kind, loving, truth seeking men of moral courage. How on earth will I get them there? What will the journey look like? Will they make it? Suddenly bodily fluids seems preferable to character building. Diaper duty for one, sign me up.

While I stand here with these lads, you know, the ones with the smallishokaybigish hands, I do want to throw them to the other side. But. A bigger piece of me is aching, telling them to "Keep holding my hand, watch for traffic" even as I feel their grip loosen. And this is where the rubber meets the road. Parents, this is what we've been preparing for. Take courage, here, for this is the sacred ground. This is the place you must win. You must fight for, yet release, your precious ones. Pray hard. Pray some more. And when that nolongersmallishatall hand leaves yours.... Absolutely completely lose all your cool (read:bawling is acceptable). And know that you did all the hard things. You will not be sorry for the time you have invested in your children versus any other task demanding your attention.

And the seasons they go round and round.... We're captive on the carousel of time....