I had this lovely peaceful evening with the boys last week. It was a night where they ate dinner, we played together nicely, bedtime went smoothly, and for the first time in a long time, I found myself wishing story time lasted longer. As I held L in my arms after reading, I thought to myself, “Remember this one!” Does this happen to anyone else? Where you interrupt treasuring the moment to remind yourself you should treasure it?
My brain even does this insane thing where I sit there rocking A, long two-year-old legs falling over the arm of the chair, telling myself to "Remember this sweetness!" when suddenly I jump forward ten years, and my brain follows to that negative place, the one where I think about my pre-teen boys, and the inevitable pulling away. I am reminded, again, that these moments cannot last forever, that I will not always be the number one woman in their lives.
Instead of treasuring, I find myself anxious, contemplating the ideology of the 13-year-old boy and wondering if he will be sweet or sociopathic. In my efforts to appreciate the moment, I manage to peak my anxiety.
The efforts of the sweet old ladies at the grocery store who warn me to "Cherish these days!" have backfired: how can I appreciate and cherish and treasure when my brain races to the years in which I'll long for this?
Instead of treasuring, I find myself anxious, contemplating the ideology of the 13-year-old boy and wondering if he will be sweet or sociopathic. In my efforts to appreciate the moment, I manage to peak my anxiety.
The efforts of the sweet old ladies at the grocery store who warn me to "Cherish these days!" have backfired: how can I appreciate and cherish and treasure when my brain races to the years in which I'll long for this?
I cannot carpe diem. I bypass carpe diem and run straight to the panic attack.
It's in those moments that I so desperately need to slow down. I truly want to turn off my brain. If I can step back, see the situation objectively, and then temper my response, then I feel more in control of my reactions. Occasionally, I can even stop the negative spiral that would normally come next. And so, I’ve been trying to do it actively. Even if it’s just for five minutes. I put my phone on silent on a shelf. I shove the to-do list to the back of my brain. I sit down and try oh-so-hard to focus on the boys. Building a lego tower? Sure! Reading a book? Of course! I separate myself from the 85 other things demanding my attention, so that I can focus on the one that matters the most.
I won’t lie; my attention flits quickly, but if I can do it for just a few minutes, I suddenly find that my breathing has slowed down, just a little bit. I feel more grounded. And it gives me the chance to give the boys the attention they need before I pull away, again, to make dinner, or return emails, or throw in a load of laundry.
When I stop and actually see myself and see my kids, and take the time to be mindful of what I’m doing (reading Curious George for the 85th time that day, rushing to re-fill juice cups and dump Goldfish into snack containers, frantically search for missing car keys, missing socks, missing sanity) and focusing on the moment, this moment, rather than my to-do list, those are the moments when time slows down. Where I can finally see. When I stop the constant chatter in my mind and focus on the little people in front of me right now. That is when I remember why I’m here and what I’m doing.
Of course, when I find time to do that, it usually means I’m forgetting something else, like the freaking dishwasher. Again.
Try to take five minutes today to be mindful--throw your focus into what you are doing one hundred percent, and forget the to-do list that is building in the back of your mind. Then tomorrow, be mindful twice. We have to practice what we want to change.
-Julia
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