Parenting Will Be Inconvenient
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Parents will be inconvenienced.
Paint will be requested at inopportune times.
Questions will be asked in uncomfortable moments.
Hearts will ache when you wished they were happy.
What will be remembered is that a parent paused, stopped, paid attention.
At the end of April, my oldest son married the Bride we prayed for for many years. Feeling sentimental, I made time to sit and reflect (truth be told I was on a return trip from the airport, stuck at stoplights, alone in my van). I remembered his bow ties and knickers (yes, they were once the fashion statement), frequent requests for more books (when I thought I had just bought a stack), hours in midday sun at the ballfield, and expensive first base gloves. In the later years, I treasured our long talks about whatever had him thinking. Those talks, some over midnight nachos were savored, tucked in my heart (I still remember how tired I was and how hard I worked to keep my eyelids open). Talk about inconvenience; I gained the infamous freshman fifteen, not him. Grateful for the time we shared, moments which were integral to our relationship, I smiled thinking about the mother-son dance just a few days prior and I voice-recorded my thoughts at the stoplights so I wouldn’t forget.
I wanted to stay in the moment, remember and savor.
Six days later, my second son—married—walked across a stage to be hooded and awarded his Doctorate of Physical Therapy. I remembered his requests to be outside (even when it was hot), to hang upside down on the swings (I thought we’d end up in the emergency room, for sure), and to dig holes in the backyard with this brother. I remembered mess, dirt and endless activity. There were red clay-covered uniforms (grateful for Fels-naptha soap) and mountains of sand in my grout (I became friends with my grout brush). But I also thought back to our late conversations, his concerns about the many years of school ahead and the young lady he loved. I pondered and voice-recorded my thoughts at the stoplights. I didn’t want to forget.
I wanted to stay in the moment, remember and savor.
Two days later as I rushed around the house in preparation to take the last wedding/graduation guest to the airport, I heard a loud request…
“Mom can I paint?”
I don’t have time for THAT! I thought.
There were several large rehearsal dinner tablecloths still waiting to be washed, wilting wedding flowers needing to be purged, and freshly laundered wedding attire hanging and waiting to be delivered to closets. Not to mention highly trafficked bathrooms to be cleaned. And, our guest needed to get to the airport….ON TIME!
Almost immediately, I thought about the reflections I made over the past week—the books, the dirt, the mess, the talks. I really didn’t want to entertain my little’s inquiry to paint before heading out to the airport and entertain the thought of the extra color which may be added to the kitchen floor—paint to clean up, too! It didn’t seem like there would be time for ALL THAT!
Her idea was inconvenient to the nice and orderly I was trying to create before running out the door. And, to be honest, I was tired.
The request wasn’t bad or wrong, the timing wasn’t mine, Her idea wasn’t convenient.
Then I remembered.
A tear ran down my cheek. This moment matters, I heard in my mind.
My just-married son once made inconvenient requests which when affirmed and granted fueled his curious mind and passion to learn. Today, he’s a creative strategist.
Our new DPT’s requests for dirt, movement, and the outdoors—pitching tents in the backyard—provided a foundation from which to lead younger scouts and encourage teammates.
Allowing my boys to do what they needed mattered. Their activities contributed to the men they are today—their walks down the aisle and across the stage.
I smiled; wiped that grateful tear. I dug for the paints in the art cabinet, looked into her eyes and smiled with affirmation.
I decided my daughter’s request to paint would matter.
Inconvenient? Yes.
Valuable? Absolutely.
And, years from now when she’s grown, I will know just how valuable.
And, I will be thankful I allowed myself to be interrupted and inconvenienced.
Until then, my refrigerator and walls will be adorned with her watercolor masterpieces.
