I love irony. The best thing about an ironic situation is the way it sneaks up on you. This Holiday season, for example, I thought it would be a good time of year to have elective surgery. That sounds like plastic surgery, but no. That’s a slippery slope I’m too chicken to attempt. I had foot surgery to repair the torn ligament in my right foot. I’d spent eight weeks earlier in the year wearing a boot to try and get the darn thing to heal on its own, but it never did. So…
We’d met our deductible, the kids were almost out of school (which meant another driver was available), and my husband would be around considering he hadn’t scheduled any travel due to his recent knee surgery. And really, there would never be a good time to be unable to drive for two weeks.
The surgery went well, I was numb for two days so I thought I’d have an easy recovery, and then WHAM! Suddenly my foot had a pulse of its own and I was in pain. My husband’s supposedly light work schedule had him running from one meeting to another, and as soon as finals were over, my son came down with some feverish virus. In a nutshell, we were a hot mess.
As I sat on the couch, working on the book about Chris Norton who lives his life in a wheelchair, the irony of the situation smacked me in the face. I’m totally blessed because my situation is temporary. I’m going to fine soon, my son will get better, and my husband won’t leave me because I’m a little bossy, impatient, and needy for a few days (right, honey?)
So I’m done whining. And if I’m a little bored sitting on the couch watching mindless TV (or endless episodes of yet another Alaska show on the Discovery channel thanks to the hubs who leaves the remote suspiciously out of reach), I’m going to suck it up and remember the reason for the season and how truly blessed I am. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all from the very blessed (if not a little irritable) Hayes Family! May your season be merry and bright 😉
My daughter cried herself to sleep last night after thinking about how fast her childhood has gone by—and she’s twelve! Imagine how I feel, I wanted to tell her. I can still remember the wonder of her birth, her clumsy first steps, and her stubborn refusal to speak before she could form complete sentences.
My little get-up-and-go girl wasn’t one for cuddling (like my pass-out-on-my-shoulder son). One of my fondest memories was when she was just shy of a year and had a hundred and four degree temperature. She felt so poorly, that she let me cuddle her for hours in the emergency room. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the feel of her breath on my neck and the soft cotton of her Onesie as I rubbed her back.
I remember when my son called me a “big, strong woman” when I lifted a box of kitchen pans from Costco into our cart. Now that he’s taller than me, I doubt I’ll hear those words again. This week, he’s studying to get his learner’s permit. How in the hell did this happen?
Time is going by faster than I can catalogue all the memories. One of my greatest fears is getting Alzheimer’s and not being able to remember even the smallest things about my life. But before I jump to a disease that wipes my memories away, I also fear that I may be living each day without truly soaking up all the ways I can spend with my loved ones.
For the last fifteen years, I’ve been blessed—blessed beyond compare—to be a stay at home mom. I wouldn’t trade the experience for all the money, success, or fame in the world. But even being at home with the kids, I still know there were times I was too busy with something else to listen intently, watch them closely, or appreciate the joy of being around them.
So this morning (I’m writing this post on Mother’s Day), while they sleep on the day meant to celebrate my contribution to their lives, I vow to spend the rest of my days doing a better job of being their mom. It’s been the greatest pleasure of my life.
If you get a chance, share a memory of your kids with us. Just thinking of them will make us better mothers.