Treasure the Doing a Little More

Recently, I was looking for my planner to write down some new tasks on my To-Do list. I opened my notebook to find that there were no empty pages left. The remaining sheets had been used by someone with an orange marker. She had traced her little hand on every page.

Just after I discovered this, I heard the perpetrator singing in the other room. Her song of choice: Mary Had a Little Lamb. Fake vibrato included.

This brought a smile to my face. Ever since I heard this quote by Anna Quindlen, I have tried to find more pleasure during daily interactions with my kids. It reads,

"I wish I had treasured the doing a little more, and the getting it done a little less."

I want to take it all in. The good, the bad. The messiness, the peacefulness. The tantrums. The sweet hugs. The stickiness and cute laughs. The loud noises and the (usually) wonderful smells. The squishy cheeks, and general fullness that is part of the whole taking-care-of-little-kids-package.

I try to memorize the feel of my children's little arms giving me hugs. I love that they snuggle with me in bed for the last few moments of the morning. Even though I'm often awakened much earlier than I'd like to be.

I know I'll look back on this time and chuckle that someone always had a messy diaper just as we were rushing out the door. Or that one could find a couple of peanut butter finger prints on the shoulder of my T-shirts.

Maybe I'll never grow out of calling one child by another sibling's name. I know I'll never tire of hearing them laugh and play together. Or watching them be kind and loving to each other.

Ms. Quindlen has reminded me that some day I'll look back with fondness at the time Andrew took off his diaper at the YMCA daycare and the staff found me with panicked looks on their faces, telling me he was running around commando. Or even laugh at that particular day, early one morning, when Andrew discovered how to open the back door. He ran outside, turned on the hose, and laughed and laughed while he soaked my pajama clad self as I wrestled to get the hose free from his grasp. Or even that time when I discovered he didn't like Fig Newton cookies after he chewed them up and spit them in my cozy, furry Ugg boots.

I've learned to treasure the hundreds of little pictures my children draw for me. I've realized just how many children's books I can repeat by heart. And the number of those stories that my kids can repeat to me verbatim. I wonder if I'll forget the way a little kiss from mom really did make someone feel better.

Frequently, I am told by everyone I meet that I have my hands full. But, when I kiss each child goodnight, studying their precious faces as they sleep, I think to myself, "Yes. I've got my hands full. But not for long!"