I volunteered for lunch duty all last week and let me tell you, one little itty bitty hour can make an amazing difference in your day! In this case, I was losing an hour that would have otherwise been free time. So for that reason among others time has felt a little slippery as of late.
It feels as if I can't catch up or take the time for self care to write or sleep or just be. I always feel a little un-grounded when there is no white space in my schedule. It feels like I'm running in circles all day, checking off box after box, until I am completely depleted and fall into bed only to get up and start the whole process again. It feels like there could never be enough time in the day to fit what needs to fit.
If I live like this for any extended period of time, I find myself rushing and hurrying even when it's not necessary. I feel like I am always on the clock and always need to be prepared. I think part of this is due to having young children. They will make you crazy. You are always having to anticipate their next move so they do not injure themselves or anyone within a five foot radius. They may eat something poisonous or climb a bookshelf or escape out the front door. You must constantly be on guard. I may be exaggerating, I often do, but at any rate this makes me want to always be two steps ahead. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "What's the rush?" I first started noticing this when my oldest was constantly asking me, "Mom, is there time to ___?" I would think, "Were just going to the park/for a walk/some other leisurely activity, yes there's time, why is she asking me this?" Oh. Probably because I seem like I'm always hustling to catch the next flight or something. Then the youngest child has zero concept of time, in his world there is always time.
Time is funny like that. It has always been a boggling concept to me. I hear the clock ticking in my ear as I type, the clacking of the key board filling in the gaps between the seconds. Sometimes the hands on the clock seem so unwilling to move, like they just won't budge no matter how many times you glance up at them. I suppose that's when our mind is in anticipation mode, like waiting for the work day to end or for a party to start. Yet other times we lose track of those spinning hands altogether and wonder how the seconds, minutes, hours, have escaped our grip as if we had actually had one to begin with. This is usually the result of hustling through our days, never slowing down. In retrospect, time just shrinks. The mere idea of the past just makes time feel like sand slipping through our fingers. I think of the first year of a baby's life. Some of those days seem excruciatingly long, but when you look back it's always, "where did the time go?"
Then there are times that are neither here nor there, when we are so aware of a particular moment that time seems to stand still. We wish we could hit the pause button and hold on to that moment forever. We can revisit a moment so often in our heart and mind that it stays with us forever. I suppose the smartphone and the ability to take a picture of any given scene throughout the day has capitalized on moments like this. There are some pictures I look through that make me laugh out loud every time I look at them and some that make me shed a tear or two every time I see it. But even then, nothing compares to being in that moment with all your senses present and experiencing the full emotion and wonder of it.
I was lucky enough to have one such moment with my little guy the other night. Although, it definitely didn't start out too special.
He was having a rather difficult time settling after a busy day. He had been walking all over downtown with dad, to orange leaf and the spray ground. It was one of those times where trying to wear your child out backfires into a sleepy, grumpy fit before bedtime. He is stiff as board as I carry him up the stairs, protesting the entire way. "I'm not sleepy, I'm not sleepy!" After wrestling him into some mismatched pj's, he refuses to lay in bed but insists on continuing his fit on the floor directly beside his bed. I try to hold him, soothe him, get him to put his little arms around my neck. He wants no part in cuddling at the moment. After trying to persuade him for a few minutes I can see my efforts are getting me nowhere. Normally, at this point in the game I would sadly say, "Okay, have it your way," and walk out of the room in hopes that removing his audience would make the tirade cease. Really, this is my white flag move, I give up, "just cry yourself to sleep on the floor" I think. But for some reason, even though I was quite exhausted myself, I just stop. Instead of trying to tune into my "parenting instincts" (aka how I could manipulate him into sleeping) I try instead to tune into his feelings.This can be such an easy thing to forget to do in the heat of a power struggle with a little one. More often than not, I am focused on "winning" which usually results in a prolonged conflict.
"I know you wanted to stay awake and finish your movie," I whisper into his ear as he is face down screaming into the floor. "I know you don't want to go to bed right now.
"No I DON'T!" he confirms. "I don't want to go to bed, I'm not sleepy!"
I put my hand on his back and try to soak in the frustration he is feeling right now. I know he is tired and his little brain is having trouble switching off.
"Let's talk about your day," I offer. "You had so much fun with daddy. Did you run through the water together? Was it cold today?"
I rub his back. He is still crying but less defiant. I feel him relax just slightly. I help him turn over.
I look in his eyes,"Were there other kids playing in water too?"
"Yeah..."His bottom lip quivers but his words fall short. More tears.
That's when the fireworks start sounding the end of the baseball game across the river. It's Friday, so I know it will be a long show. I ask if he wants to see them. We watch out his window looking through the tree that sheds little yellow leaves all over our back patio. His little head with his little boy smell falls to my shoulder.
"What flavor did you get at Orange Leaf? Chocolate?" I continue our conversation from earlier.
"Nooo, I got orange," he whimpers.
"Did you put gummy worms on top? Sprinkles?" I ask still hoping to engage him.
The fireworks still booming in the background.
"Mom, I can sleep through the fireworks if you sit with me.."
"You can?" I turn from the window and place him in his bed.
He nods, "If you sit with me.." He says and he snuggles down and closes his eyes. Before I know it, his breathing slows and he is completely passed out. I am utterly relieved.
Yet for whatever reason, I have this new found patience and instead of crawling into my own bed or camping out in front of Netflix, I just stay. I watch his little chest rise and fall. I brush his still baby soft hair across his forehead. I take in all his little features and just pray that I can capture this moment forever. That I can have the stillness of heart and slowness of deed to find more of these moments. I stayed by his side relishing in this small victory of peace for what seemed like hours. Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but have you ever rocked a fussy infant to sleep and just felt the pure satisfaction of their own peace? If so, then you can relate!
In the last year or so I have been trying to practice the art of going slow, especially when it comes to my kids. I got so tired of going through life wishing it away. Tired of counting down the hours until my husband would come home, desperate for relief and the company of another adult. Wishing the weekend would come, only to have it whiz by in a blink. Hoping the next stage of childhood would hurry up because I wasn't enjoying the current one my child happened to be on that much. Rushing through errands and cooking and cleaning and bedtime stories just so I could get to the next thing on the agenda. (Sleep!) Learning the art of slow, intentional living was foreign to me. I had no idea where or how to start, only that I needed to.
How do you slow down time?
How many moments of bliss, like the night of the fireworks fit, had I missed because I hadn't taken the time to notice that they were there?
Is it too late for me already? Can I re-learn how to look at those hands whirling around the clock?
I know I am not alone in this quest and am so thankful for the resources that helped me answer these questions. I still go back to their words and drink in their blogs like water on a hot day. The first one is Hands Free Mama (if you read parenting blogs/books at all I am sure you are familiar with Rachel Mary Stafford, who is coming out with book #2 next year). Rachael's philosophy is all about letting go of the distractions in our life, be it our phones, our calendars, or even our overly critical perfectionist preferences so that we are wide open to receive all of life's little blissful moments. I have gleaned so much from her words as she shares her own personal journey of slowing down.
The other advocate of slow living that I really enjoy reading is the poetic Ann Voskamp. In her book "1000 Gifts" Ann learns to count the simple joy filled moments through her day and jots them down in a gratitude journal. By purposefully increasing her gratitude, she learned how to see life through a different lens and look for these moments as if she were mining for rare gems. (Side note: I don't always agree with Ann's theology, but since she is such a fabulous writer I overlook it:)
So, if you have ever asked yourself any of the above questions or even just feel like time is not your friend, you could benefit from the wisdom of these ladies. I know I have, but I still have a long way to go. It's so easy to rush through life and never take the time to notice all the beauty and joy that is lying in wait for us. I hope that once I practice it enough, it will become second nature to me and I will no longer look at the hands on the clock with dread. I can slow the rush and put down my distractions and stop being so preoccupied with what the next moment might hold. Instead, I can be fully present in each moment wondering what gift may await here and now.
Take it slow today,
Jenna
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