(This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
I still limit its use but now I look at it as a relationship-saver. Really — I’ve gained great insight via my cell phone.
Two weeks ago, my first and third children played in a soccer tournament in Baltimore. I stayed at home to oversee the activities of the second and fourth children and the soccer players went with a friend. My husband was working. My eldest took my cell phone to call and report scores and keep his dad and me informed. With the exception of a couple of brief phone calls, he left the phone turned off, safe inside his soccer bag. This drove me nuts; I couldn’t reach them when I wanted to talk. I called anyway and left a couple of voice mail messages.
Michael doesn’t know how to access my voice mail so the messages were there the next day when we all set out to return to Baltimore. In order to delete them, I had to listen to them. I couldn’t believe what I heard. A simple request to apply sunscreen to his brother sound brisk and sarcastic. It certainly didn’t sound like a gentle mother concerned for the protection of cherished sons. Actually, it sounded rather like a certain adolescent I know and about whom I frequently wonder where he heard that tone. It was a bit of a revelation.
In the fortnight since hearing that message, I have heard the tone many times and I’ve wondered how it found its way into my repertoire. More importantly, I have prayed for help replacing it with the gentle tone of former days. Those days were simpler and maybe that’s the key. It’s certainly worth pondering because it’s not just the tone; the tone is indicative of the cadence of life itself.
Life with children demands efficiency. In order to complete tasks around the needs of an infant, one must be efficient. Time is short between nursings and diaper changes and meeting the needs for play and comfort. Toddlers demand efficiency as well — for they require us to assure them constantly that we remember that they were the baby first, all the while guiding them into their new role as big boys. The frequent refrain of my current toddler is “I just want you to hold me” and he sits on my lap this morning as I write. Preschoolers demand efficiency as we hasten to keep up with the amazing growth and curiosity that is unique to them and we struggle to stay a step ahead of their messes. Then, school-aged children challenge our efficient organizational skills as we begin to balance the schedule of school, sports, and activities. Looking right around the corner, teenagers appear more demanding then I could have imagined. I happen to have at least one of each, but almost all moms assure me that I am not alone in feeling the pressure of the demands of life with children.
Still, I love my kids; I love my life. So, why the tone? More importantly, why the attitude behind the tone? I think I found at least part of the answer in an excellent book titled The Over-Scheduled Child. The authors write:
Overextended, overworked, overwhelmed, and over the top! What a shame that these adjectives now describe our lives at home as well as at work. When we moms and dads try to be everything to everyone, everywhere at one time, we too often find ourselves saying a resentful “yes” when the answer really ought to be a rueful, but reasoned “no.”
Also: Many of us have lost touch with the joy we could feel in this phase of our lives, the pleasure of connection that helps us feel recharged and replenished, the sense of how wonderful and real what we are doing is. Once the long and difficult child-rearing years are behind them, most parents feel that the nest is terribly empty. But living life in the regretful “it might have been” mode is nowhere near as fulfilling as living right in the here and now.
We have very little margin in the times of our life, very little space where we can recover from a sleepless night with a sick child or a busy week of nonstop activity. By and large, we are over-scheduled. But we are also blessed with opportunity. How do you strike a balance between the simple, gentle times and the frantic, fast-paced ones? I’d really like to know. If you have a moment, email me at elizfoss@aol.com; put Over Scheduled Child in the subject line. I’ll share some answers in future columns.
