Recently I had a dream about two teenager boys at the beach (stay with me, I know that was a weird intro). We were at the Outer Banks where my family goes each year watching these two boys flirting with a group of girls walking by. I was laughing and pointed them out to Pierce. He turned to me and said, “Hannah, those are our boys – that’s Jess and Shep.” I insisted it wasn’t them – our boys were only a toddler and a baby after all! Pierce thought I was joking and said, “of course it’s them. We’ve been coming here for 15 summers now.”
I woke up the next morning feeling sober. The day before I had snapped at Jessen for acting like a two year old (the nerve) and had grown frustrated when Shep wouldn’t go down for his nap. I found myself wishing time away, fantasizing about an easier season up ahead when we were out of this young and needy stage.
You hear it all the time as parents of small kids – the days are long but the years are short. We’re told we’re going to miss this stage, that we’ll want these days back. Maybe that’s true. But I think romanticizing the past is just as dangerous as idolizing the future. Because if we spend every season wishing for a different one, when are we ever really present?
Rather I think we have to honestly acknowledge that both can be true: the present can suck and it can sweep you off your feet. The toddler stage can be wonderful and it can be awful, just like I imagine that teenager stage will be.
While I know these years will pass quickly – they already have – I want my time with my kids to be driven by gratitude and not guilt. I want to experience the present with them, not because I’m fearful of what I’ll miss one day but because I’m being faithful with what I’ve been given this day.
(And right now, that looks like keeping sand out of diapers, mouths, and hearing aids on our beach days, and I’m okay with it.)