I have those moments quite a bit, those tugs at the heartstrings, those times of wishing it would just slow down, just a little. And I try to slow it.
I find myself every morning with my giant boy trying to keep him little, telling him how little he used to be. I ask him to stop growing and he says, "Mommy, I can't!" And I don't really want him to.
And I know that my blog companion here would love to have the time I have with my children and probably sometimes resents my complaints about needing time to myself when I have so much more time daily with the kids, but I think our needs are really the same in the end. We all need time with them, to feel like we're doing the right things, bringing them up to be good people, thoughtful and educated, compassionate and involved in their world. But we also need time to recharge, to be grown-ups, to not be angry, to find some peace, to find the font of energy from which all that child-rearing and patience and teaching comes.
So we complain about not enough time to appreciate them, to have fun with them, to appreciate ourselves, to have fun ourselves. And we always will, I suppose, until they leave us and we pine for them. Let that be far, far away.
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