Dear Kids, smell the roses, eat ice cream, be grateful

I've always been a stop and smell the roses kind of girl.  And while each of my lovely children is like a beautiful meadow of sweet-smelling flowers covered in rainbows and sunshine, I fear that I spend far too much time running frantically through a rain storm with my head down, huddling under an umbrella with four children in tow, insisting that they “HURRY UP!” because “WE’RE LATE!” (We are always late.)

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The other day, after dinner, my kids and I decided to walk over to their grandmother’s house to see if she had any dessert for us. (Of course she did. It’s part of what makes her grand.) As we walked through the woods on our very own love-carved path, with the pretty summer sunset glistening through the trees, I thought about how lucky my kids are that they can literally walk over our driveway and through the woods, to grandmother’s house they go, for Grandma’s homemade peach cobbler. It was enchanting.

I took the opportunity to remind them (and myself) how very fortunate they (we) are. Their summer has been filled with art camps and cooking camps, swimming in our own backyard and every swimming hole in the county, frolicking with the neighborhood kids in our beautiful little neighborhood, chasing down the ice cream truck as it drives right down our street, eating ice cream every day (sometimes twice a day), playing with their cousins who come from as far as Russia to gather here on their grandfather’s beautiful apple farm, quad riding through the orchards and fishing in the ponds, eating fresh delicious strawberries, peaches, watermelon, and corn on the cob straight from Grandpa’s farm stand, visits to Grandma’s house just steps away, through the woods, whenever they need that one-of-a-kind grandma love (and dessert), and much, much more. What more could a kid ask for?

I have often described my own childhood as magical. But it took me a good 15 years of hindsight and reflection to truly appreciate its magic. When I started taking my kids to visit my late mother’s grave, in my very tiny hometown, I would always feel like my entire childhood passes before my eyes. In my nostalgia, I would take my children on a tour of my childhood. We stop at my favorite ice cream stand, drive by my old house, through my old neighborhood, stop at my old elementary school (which is a closed down, little red school house, the last of its kind), and play on its very run down playground.  

Our favorite summer spot quickly became "the bridge".  It was a sweet little swimming hole complete with rope swings and a very old little bridge, just the right height to throw my fearless babies off of just as i used to throw myself.   They had a blast and it made me so happy to see them breathe some young life back into my old memories. It made me feel like I was the luckiest kid in the world. But I’m sure that even in all of those magical moments of my childhood, there were still plenty of those typical childish and ungrateful fits of “hey, that’s not fair” and “I’m bored” and endless amounts of “I want … I want … I want” no matter how much I already had. I’m sure that I took it all for granted, and I don’t want any of us to make the same mistake with my children’s childhood because it so very hectic.

Summertime can be very busy and stressful. Whomever coined the term “lazy days of summer” obviously didn’t have kids. And particularly when you are trying to ensure that your children have an unforgettable, magical, enchanting childhood, it can be downright exhausting. I am always so consumed with what I “have” to do, and so used to sacrificing what I want to do, that I forget to stop and relish in what I AM DOING. I am so hopeful that they will enjoy their childhood and not be in a hurry to grow up, and yet I spend so much time hustling them along and eagerly anticipating bedtime, that some if it is probably just a passing blur. I must remember to slow down and bask in the glorious glow of my children. I must encourage them to keep shining and lighting the way. I want them to pause because they are fascinated by a rock or a cloud, and I want to have the patience to follow their lead. What I want for my children, and myself, is for all of us to remember to stop and smell the roses, and taste the ice cream, and let it melt all over us.

As I reminded my children how lucky they are, and pleaded with them to appreciate the little things, my 8-year-old said, quite sincerely, that she is very thankful, while my 5-year-old confessed, quite honestly, that he will be more thankful when he gets a little older. I also promised myself that it wouldn’t take another 15 years of hindsight to appreciate the magic of their childhood and my motherhood.