Today as I once again had my day interrupted at 11:00am for an hour of what I considered frustrating – I began to realize how much of a privilege it really was to have my day interrupted with the daily duty of driving to the next city over to pick up my puzzle boy from one school to then drive him back to our city and drop him off at the second school he attends each day.
As I was driving and thinking to myself or maybe even talking out loud about the fact that each day I have this interruption right in the middle of my brain thinking time, right in the middle of my task doing time, right in the middle of MY time and how totally frustrating it is – then it hit me as to how quickly the years are flying by. It only seems like yesterday that our puzzle boy was 4 and we were sitting in the first of many school meetings discussing his academic future and now he is 11 and our journey has had more bumps and curves in the road then we had planned it to be. At times the journey has been full of frustrations yet our puzzle boy has been an amazing part of our family to grow, stretch and challenge us as a family.
Today, I realized my time in the car with him as we travel to and from his schools is valuable, it is time I can never gain back, it is time that I have his undivided attention all to myself, it is time that one day will no longer be, it is time that I need to not be frustrated but be thankful that I have the time to be his personal driver, that I have time to be available for him, that I have the time to be interrupted.
As moms we are often overwhelmed, frustrated, tired, and even ready to toss our arms up but for just a moment think abut how quickly the days and years are going by and how quickly the things that frustrate us will soon become part of our past child rearing days, how soon they will grow up and how soon we might even miss these frustrating days.
So, moms like I did today take a minute and think about how quickly the days and years are going by and be thankful for the even the frustrating times.
Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children. — Charles R. Swindoll