Cherishing the Cheerios: Hop aboard the time train

I would guess that most parents with young children look forward to that golden hour around 7 p.m. The moments just after the kids have been put to bed and the certainty that, for a few hours at least, you have some time to yourself.

Away from the constant demands to be touched. Silence in the place of constant questions and attempts to get “just one more” thing (the echoes of “one more Cheerio”; “one more book” ring in our minds as the silence fills).

And, in those glorious hours at night, there’s a conundrum. Because, often those hours are filled with recalling with my husband the things that the kids did that day. The new words and actions learned; the tantrums; the adorable new inflections in their voices as they develop their personalities. And, finally, thanks to TimeHop, there’s often memories associated with years past. Cycling through images and video, it’s easy to see the immense changes that children undergo in just a few short years.

That’s the wild ride of parenthood: We can be counting down the hours to bedtime, only to fill our time with thoughts and recollections of the chaos that we were just hoping to escape.

But, it also showcases our need to preserve the moments. Part of the reason, surely, that we spend our alone time regaling stories of the kids is because of a very keen awareness that this season of life is short. I instinctively know that at this time next year when TimeHop reminds me of some moment in time, I’ll be looking at a very different child: two 3.5-year-olds and a 2-year-old. Time, in short, is a thief.

This Lent, it seems easier to be conscious of how quickly things change. In addition to the personal reality of ever-changing and quickly-growing children, the world around us is also changing. There’s increasing uncertainty at home and abroad as natural disasters loom, the pandemic continues to rise and crest, and war continues to rage.

Lent serves as a time to recharge, to remind ourselves of our own paths and of our path to Christ, but it also serves as a time for us to take stock of our lives. It’s a moment of meditation.

For 40 days, then, I’ve made a commitment: When I walk in the door from campus, the phone goes away and the laptop stays in my bag. Of course, as the baby starts to become like the creature in “Frankenstein,” wobbling his way towards walking, the phone and camera will come out. But increasingly, I’m moving away from the need to be connected. Instead, time with my family will be reserved for family.

As everything moved online and work from home became normal, the boundaries between home life and work life were eroded. And, there remains that erosion: It’s so easy to view those boundaries as permeable. But at what cost?

As I’m continually reminding myself, this season of life is short. The children will only get bigger, not smaller. These are the moments to cherish, to remember – while they still call for snuggles and want us to be with them at every waking moment.

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