This post is actually from a couple of months ago. Looking over my blog, I realized it had not been published. My situation is different now (thankfully) but the lessons remain unchanged. If you can relate to what I share, please let me know.
It is Sunday afternoon, by exactly fifteen minutes. Once again, I am home instead of having spent my morning in church. And, once again, it is because my dear son is sick. Over the course of the almost three hours I have been home with only one child, I have used half a box of tissues to wipe his nose, cleaned up multiple messes, started one load of laundry (twice, lol), cleared the table (but didn't get dishes done), started dinner (hurrah for slow cookers) and nursed three times.
You may wonder why I am still nursing. This little man is two years old, after all. But, he still doesn't eat well, especially when he is sick. So, he nurses. Which, by the way, would be very normal, if we lived in Mongolia. Maybe he will be a really good wrestler, lol. But, I digress.
Enjoying one of the few times when I am alone (almost), I had some pretty lofty goals. Needless to say, they were far too ambitious. You know what I did with my time, instead. And as I sit here, thinking about all that needs to be done around my house, it has been difficult to enjoy the moment, honestly.
Oh, I know all about the poem that reminds moms of how fleeting time with our children can be. I know babies grow up, and houses can be cleaned later. But, it is much easier to say or read than to actually do. Especially when the baby is two and has required more time than the average baby. As much as I love my son, I must be honest. Sometimes I really want to get things done. Sometimes I want to be free to invest my time the way I want to instead of caring for a fussy toddler. It has been more frustrating of late, too, maybe because he is sick, again.
It is difficult. It really is. I get tired. I get frustrated. I get impatient with my kids, and my wonderful husband. I still want to get things done, and I NEED to get things done. Everyone does. The poem is great, but dealing with reality is not nearly so romantic.
But, even as I struggle with what I am not getting done and wrestle with what my priorities should be, I know what is most important. My house can be cleaned later. My son will not nurse forever. And while my house may bug me now, and I worry about how my older kids will manage their homes when they leave mine, I don't worry about whether my time is being well spent. I know it is.