This week I ran my first 5k. It wasn’t a race, and I’m not training for anything. My 12 year old wants to improve his running, and since we don’t feel comfortable with him running around town on his own, I went with him. I don’t love running, but I’m thankful to be in decent enough shape to just up and go run a few miles without a problem.
I also set up a hot glue gun and built a popsicle-stick house. I hate glue. There are about a million other things I would rather do than make crafts. I am a writer, a thinker, a reader, a gardener, but my 9 year old daughter, she’s a crafter. She wants to make clothes for her pet stuffed animals and shape pick-axes from clay for her garden gnomes.
So I’m running. I’m crafting. As back-to-school looms around the corner, I’m grateful to find myself in the unique position where my kids are my teachers. I become someone new each day. Someone better. Wiser. A little more tired and a little more full. There are worse ways to spend the final days of summer.
I don’t have to love running and crafts; I just have to love them. I just have to be sensitive enough to nurture their nature, lean into their phases, and cheer them on as they discover the world around them. I have to be humble enough to fail, but strong enough to measure up to what they need from me. Over the din of the sewing machine and the pounding of feet on pavement, I have to hear their hearts.
Before long my son will outrun me. My sweet daughter will create things better and more detailed than I ever could. And that’s how I will know I succeeded, when they surpass me and thrive on their own. Last week a friend had a baby, my sister is expecting her first, and as I watch these new and expectant mothers begin their own journeys, I realize now more than ever that parenting changes but it never really stops. You’re always someone’s mom. They’re always still looking to you, and you’re always still learning from them. We are all teachers, and we are all learners.
At ages 9 and 12, my oldest kids are almost not kids anymore. Yesterday they were babies, mewing from the crib and taking their first steps. In a blink they will be young adults, and I will have a lot to learn then too. So tomorrow, I will run the miles. I will build the clay. I’ll say no to the things I may want today and embrace the things they love. Because sometimes at these ages you can’t say anything to make it better. You can’t do anything to make it better. You can only be there, by their side, doing what they love to show your love.
The best parents are the ones who show up and know when to change. They adapt when something isn’t working. They’re humble enough to admit maybe they had the wrong approach and smart enough to try something different. Holding the standard for their kids, as well as themselves, they lead the charge as everyone grows to reach new heights. At some point in the now far-off future, my children will realize what I did for them, what I gave up and how I changed to love them better and ensure their health and happiness. As I look back on my own life and recall the ways my parents loved me, I see now that their great sacrifice brought with it a great reward.
So, I’m running now. I’m hot gluing. I’m learning. And I hope I never stop.
Two Precious Stones 