It was a dreary day not only in the skies but in my mind. The crisp winter air nipped at my cheeks as I quickly ran my five-year-old daughter into her school building. The grudging sound of the bell hammered into my ears as if to mock me for my irresponsibility. Meanwhile, my husband was dropping off the other children across town with a slightly less melancholic tune. As I approached my car, I felt a pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. We hurried through breakfast, outfit changes, failed hairdos, and dashed to the cars like Summer Olympians.
In my car, I had Sami. My spunky, free and independent daughter. Sami is the baby of the family after three older brothers. Her birth order and the fact that she is the only girl have equipped her to be able to handle anything. On this particular morning, Sami has decided that she cannot take the idea of toaster waffles and eye contact from anyone in her vicinity. She is mad. I am mad. The whole house is mad. We grab essentials (backpacks, work bags, etc.) and head off to the day.
By the time we reached school, we were hurried, still mad, and focused on getting to our destination. After a quick hug, I was dashed back to my car, and Sami was left to navigate the rest of her day.
Back to my pang of disappointment, it was not sitting well with me that we started this day with conflict. As a matter of fact. We start many days like this. We are so busy with work, kids, sports, and events that we are often up late at night to catch up.
When I left work, I picked Sami up from school, and not much had changed. She was upset and pouting about a broken crayon. I listened for a while and tried to smooth it over, but the truth is I was tired from my work day, in a hurry because we had basketball games tonight and even a little overwhelmed with the job that starts after I clock out. Needless to say, I didn’t fix the crayon tantrum and made it worse by arguing back.
We finally arrive home, where the boys have made the perfect fort. The problem was that they made it in Sami’s room. Cue “Jaws” theme music now. I barely had time to react when everyone began yelling at Sami. I walk into the room, and the fort is no longer, and three sad boys are spewing their disappointment all over the house. Now I am furious! Everyone is falling apart. I go to find Sami and tell her what I think of her shenanigans, and there she is, balled up in the corner, crying the saddest cry. My anger flees, and my heart breaks. Why wouldn’t she be so upset? Our whole day has been negative and reactive to every element. How could this little girl process everything she was feeling?
A warm bubble bath was a good entry point to making Sami feel better. While dinner was cooked, she squealed in delight and played in the tub. My heart was feeling better too, or so I thought.
After a long day and night of chaos, I put Sami to bed an hour earlier than usual. As I turned to walk away and work on laundry, that familiar disappointing feeling hit me. I turned around and crawled into bed with my baby girl. I haven’t had undivided time at bedtime in far too long. We talked and laughed, sang our favorite lullabies, and eventually, she drifted off to sleep. What came next would break my heart.
I began to study her face (moms, you all know what I’m talking about). Only there was something so unrecognizable about her. Where plump, rosy cheeks once surrounded her little button nose, there were jaw lines and a prominent chin. Her hair swept softly on her brow, and it was glaring at me. My baby is 5! She is a little girl with friends, feelings, ideas, and disappointments. When did I stop lying with her at night? When did she change? I lay there for a while longer, holding her hand and listening to the soft melody of her sleeping. No donkey kicks or crazy toddler sleeping, just a little girl hanging on to her unicorn and dreaming of her own heart’s desires. I wept, not for the crazy day, but for all the crazy days that keep us from having intentional moments with those who matter the most.
I need time with all of my children to memorize their faces and become alive in their laughter. From this day forward, I am seeking intentionality. I will make sure to fill my days not only with duties but also with stories, songs, and laughter. My days will be intentional.
Maintaining McClures 