I am convinced that the moment in which we live is called the present for a very specific reason. Most of the time, we float through life. Or plow, or fly, or trudge, or even a mix of these colorful verbs. And most of the time, those around us fall prey to our hurried, self-centered journey through life.
But as a mom, this is a dangerous way to live. To constantly need a personal bubble of space where we can exist in peace, to always have a sharp retort to silence the never-ending questions, to seldom find a smile--just because.
And then, one year ago, the horrible mass killing of all those little children in Connecticut brought this lesson to new light. One girl had my name. Another was born two days before my son. They were almost the exact same age! (I wrote a little bit about that here.) Life is so short, and while there is debate about the lasting spiritual effects of "making good memories", I know for a fact that what you remember about your childhood shapes how you behave as an adult, and that behavior will be your silent witness to the world as to Whose you are, so I say making good memories actually CAN be a spiritual thing.
After this, I was more tuned to watching for opportunities to make a memory. I don't know how many memories these times will actually make, but I knew I'd rather stop what I was doing on the off-chance my son would remember this fun time later than risk NOT stopping and have him remember THAT.
I am by no means saying that the world revolves around EJ. It doesn't, and he knows it. But there's something to be said for getting off facebook long enough to play Hungry Hippos for five minutes. :-)
Okay, honesty time. I have no problem getting off facebook in order to do anything with EJ. I never have. My problem comes when I'm in the middle of an awe-inspiring sentence, pouring my heart out in my stories and blog posts (more stories than blog posts, really--and more my recent novel, to be specific).
So there I was, flying along, the words just gushing out of my fingers and onto the screen, when EJ ambled up the hallway rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He spotted me and stopped, waiting for "Go back to bed" or "Come here". I gazed longingly at the computer screen, where my sentence hung half-written, and painfully turned away and beckoned my son to my lap. We sat there for exactly 37 seconds before he was asleep again, and I just enjoyed rubbing his head and kissing his cheek for a few minutes before encouraging him off to bed again.
He may not ever remember that, but I will, and even though when I got back to my sentence, I had completely forgotten what I was going to write--snuggling for a few minutes in the glow of sparkling Christmas lights with "Silent Night, Holy Night" playing softly in the background is SUCH a better memory than knowing that I was able to finish my sentence in one sitting. Plus, it will build that habit in my heart to be present with those I love, and that's always a good thing, don't you think?