Idealism

I feel melancholy sometimes when I look back on how much I used to write about and photograph Sam when he was our only child. Is it weird to feel a sort of pang of longing for those more peaceful, simpler times? I can’t imagine our family without Jude and Naomi, and it’s not really even about the kids because they are all my favorite people. It’s related to a way of living that was easier, slower, and more “take it all in” than I feel now. Often, I want that back, but only if I can have it back with all the kids there too. It seems inevitable that as we grow our family, I have less time to do those reflective exercises.

But being the idealist that I am, I thought I was going to do it differently. I was going to make the time to write about the kids and to take lots of pictures and to reflect as often as I did when we only had one child. Am I wrong, or is that just not possible? Sometimes being an idealist is a pain in the neck. I have discovered this more and more the past few years. And in my hardest moments, I’ve resented being an idealist at all. There have been many moments where I’ve thought to myself, “this situation would not be such a big disappointment to me if I hadn’t imagined it to be so different.” And if I’m honest, the challenges of raising 3 kids and the junk that I’ve discovered in myself through these years has been overwhelming at times, largely because of how ideally I imagined it all would be. It’s really hard. Full of joy? Yes. Would I trade it? Most of the time, no. But it is really hard to disciple and parent both the individuals and the whole.

I’ve also realized in these past couple of years, I have not consistently looked at life in the same ways I used to. When Sam and Jude were little, I think that I spent more time being present in the moment than in more recent times. I was looking at the small things to capture about our life, not just the big, important events and milestones. Those big things always get all the attention. What’s missing lately is remembering the little things. I haven’t captured those little things, the things that really make up our everyday life. The stuff you can’t get back.

I’ve also realized I approach life more laid-back when I am looking for the humor of a situation or when I stop to realize that I won’t ever get this time back as opposed to feeling frustrated or inconvenienced if the kids do, well, kid things. Like when my son tears a huge block of Styrofoam into thousands of tiny weightless balls that float all over my house, and somehow multiply when a broom appears. And when my 2 year old daughter plants herself in the corner, arms folded over her chest, and says, “I’m not talking to you.” And when the shoes are lost right as we’re walking out the door or the boys just have to have the same Lego guy at the exact same time even though there are 50 others in the box. And when the markers find a newly painted wall to decorate instead a piece of paper. And when my son who finally likes broccoli and zuchini suddenly decides he really doesn’t like broccoli and zuchinni.

I wish I could say I handle all these frustrations with laughter and patience, but I would be lying. But if I could just shift my perspective a little bit, I would be able to laugh (or at least smile) at these things, to remember they aren’t such a big deal, and really live in the moment with my family. Because the moment is as it is and I have a choice to be there or somewhere else. Not physically somewhere else, but mentally and emotionally…in the past wishing I’d done something differently or in the future thinking of all the things I have to do. But then if I’m not really there, when these moments present themselves, I will miss them.

So here’s to remembering some of the little things…like when my boys wrestle on the floor and jump on the furniture, when Jude takes a piece of chalk and rubs it back and forth on the chalkboard until all that’s left is a pile of chalkdust all over the floor. When Naomi walks around with a phone on her ear, baby in her arms, purse on her shoulder, pushing a shopping cart. And at bedtime, when I’m really tired and Sam begs me to tell him “just one more story, please mommy, I don’t care how long it is, please, please, please.” When Jude throws up in the car on the trip home from Colorado and when we seem to always be losing something from my sunglasses, our IPOD, Jude’s Tevas, my keys, Ross’ gloves, Sam’s camelback, and so on. When Jude gets into Naomi’s crib after her nap and I watch them through the monitor as they sing sweet little songs together. When Sam impresses everyone with how limber he is by putting both his feet behind his head. When Naomi sits at a table full of grown-ups every Wednesday night at our house and socializes like an adult.

 I may not have the pictures to go with these, but I have the pictures in my head and I hopefully won’t forget.