Want to do an Art Project, Mommy?

Every afternoon, after lunch, Peter goes down for a long nap. Lizzy is all done with her naps now, so we often find ourselves with a few hours of girl-time. While I try to put in a little alone "quiet time," that doesn't always fly, and I quickly hear, "Mommy, want to do an art project?" I always think to myself, of course I do, but could we have a tiny rest too?! But my beautiful Lizzy is a true extrovert, and certainly gets her energy from talking and spending time with others. I'm the lucky recipient (sincerely) of her interesting conversations and games.

I got to thinking the other day, will Lizzy (and Peter too for that matter) remember all these little things we do together? Will she know how much I loved talking with her, and how much I cherished her great ideas and creative imagination? Will she think fondly back to all our projects and games, and marvel at them the way I do? I thought of my own parents, and all the countless things they've done for me, and I had to admit that while I remember many, many of the fantastic smiles and laughs we've shared, there were many I could not! What books did we read together? What were our favorite games? Sadly, I couldn't remember everything! But what I was left with, at the core of everything, was a profound sense of love. Love enveloping support, and laughter, and deep caring- people whom I know truly treasured me. I guess at the end of it all, it's not so much the teeny tiny daily events of games we played and books we read, but what all those moments ultimately create- love in it's most precious state.

Sometimes I wonder not so much if my kids will remember, but will I? Did I hug those babies tight enough, snuggle enough, gaze into those baby eyes enough? Did I appreciate those first smiles, and chubby legs, all those amazing "firsts" that come so quickly with babies? It's so weird to think how quickly it goes. How Lizzy's in her last year of preschool, almost finished with that precious preschool stage, and Peter's totally out of his baby stage, already such a big boy starting school. And childhood sometimes reminds me of one of those old carnival toys. The one where the harder you squeezed it, tried to hold onto it, the faster it popped right out of your hand, shooting away. It seems to me you must try your best to enjoy each day, be present in every moment, and appreciate those small moments, but you must do it delicately and carefully, not smothering the very thing you love the most.