Yesterday I took a walk with a friend. She had homeschooled her two children and her
youngest just started her freshman year of college. She mentioned how lonely it
was at first to come home to an empty house. I had just struggled to just get
two of the three things out the door, shoes and helmets on, everyone pottied in
preparation. When we finally set off two
houses away I noticed one Thing had a flat tire. We switched to a scooter, kept
on walking and stopping and walking, and talking, and getting interrupted again
and again and again. Later the other Thing’s chain came off his bike and we had
to push it the rest of the way home. So when I say we went for “a walk” it is
in the loosest sense, and full of life
along the way. Thankfully she had all
the perspective of a seasoned mom and didn’t seem to mind all the stops and
starts.
About 20 mins into our journey it started to rain (of
course). Thing 3 was a bit ahead of us on
the trail and Thing 2 was stopped and lagging behind. I hollered to encourage him to pick up the
pace pointing out the precipitation. She looked back at him and quietly
commented “these are such precious years.”
She said it with a smile and eyes full of memories. I looked down the path again at my son
struggling with his scooter, this time with her years of experience. Instead of
yelling again to hurry him along I jogged back to help him. Her comment help me
refocus and see: the fun of this exuberant age, the companionship of our
children, the gift of living life together, even with all its stops and
starts.
This morning my mind flashed back to her comment and I
thought about all the times I long to go for a long, uninterrupted run all by
myself. Or carry on a conversation with a friend without a million little
questions interjected. I set off on walks with my kids forgetting it isn’t all
about me and the miles I want to cover.
It is about them too. It is about
teaching them (and remembering myself) to push through on the up-hills. To coast (but not too fast) on the down-hills.
To laugh at the flat tires and slipped chains. And most of all to enjoy the
people (big and little) who are on the path with me. Sure, its okay…and very good for mommies…to
take long solitary walks. But I don’t
want to value those uninterrupted times more than the choppy ones with my
children. All too soon
they will be grown and I’ll be looking back alone on the path with eyes full of
my own memories…or maybe I’ll get a puppy.
