An open letter to my kids,
“My kids are growing up and I’m missing it.”
This is the main thought running through my mind every single day lately. As parents we do our best to make sure you guys are home with one of us, always. This means working opposite shifts. Daddy is on steady day shifts. Mommy is on steady afternoon shifts. We have different days off and we do it because it’s what works for our family. But let me tell you something, I miss you. I miss you more than you can imagine.
Mornings of chaos are what I live for right now. When I wake you for school and beg you to get your butts out of bed to get ready. The moments when I repeat your names for what feels like the 100th time in five minutes. The moments when I run around gathering school uniforms and preparing lunches, signing agendas, looking for a lost glove and realizing that your winter boot is missing an insert. Sadly, I pack your backpacks, make sure there are enough snacks to last the day and an extra one for you to sneak to that child who might not have much to eat. I fake a smile and pile you into the car and drive to your school. Some days we drive in silence. Some days we talk about that win you got in Fortnite or that anime picture you drew last night while I was at work. I do my best to listen to your voices and memorize the sound of them because, well, I’ll be at work when you come home from school and hearing your voice on the phone, just isn’t the same.
I miss you.
I miss time with you.
So you’re at home with Daddy. Homework and play time, reading and drawing, video games and tablets. I wish I were there. Oh how I wish I were there, for every moment. Even sitting in silence and doing our own things, I want to be there with you. You don’t realize it, but secretly, I cry some days because I miss you so much.
When I come home from work, you’re sound asleep, resting up for school and I want to wake you up and just be with you. But, I let you sleep. You look sweet and comfy and cozy. I study your faces. Every eyelash and every freckle. You’re imperfectly perfect. If I knew I could climb in and snuggle you without waking you, I’d do it. But you need your rest and I do too. It’s long after midnight and I need to catch some sleep before that next morning of chaos begins. I welcome the morning. The sound of the alarm. Because it means I get to see you and talk to you about school yesterday and about your night.
This, my little people, this is the life of your working mommy. You don’t realize how important that hour and a half in the morning is to me. How important Sundays are being home with you, and Mondays, how I selfishly just want to keep you home from school because it’s my day off. I wish you could stay little but you’re growing so quickly. You talk about your upcoming birthdays and Summer and next year how you’ll be in grades 3 and 7. I just want to yell at you, “slow down!” Why? Because I’m missing it. I’m missing the little you because you’re only little for a little while.
I know sometimes I get frustrated and sometimes I say I’m too tired. I know I’m not perfect and sometimes I fail. I know sometimes I should laugh when I get upset and sometimes I should whisper when I raise my voice. I know sometimes I look frantic when I should try to be calm. But this is me kids. This is Mommy. Everything I do, I do for you and if I could spend every waking moment with you I would. But I can’t. So you know what that means? It means I need to appreciate you more and appreciate our time together more. To make every moment and every memory count. Because one day, in the blink of an eye, you’re going to be too cool to hang out with your Mom. I just hope that some day, you realize, it’s not about being too cool, but appreciating and enjoying the time we have, while we have it.
You can grow as tall as you want, but you’ll always be my babies and I’ll always welcome your hugs and kisses. Always remember, even when I’m not with you, I’m thinking of you and wondering how you’re doing. You make me proud to be your Mommy.
I love you both.
Love, Mommy JM2019