What Children Remember

I have been pondering much lately on my childhood, and upon the childhood of my own children.  I am normally not a pessimistic person.  I enjoy looking at the bright side of the clouds.  However, I am by no means an idealist.  My tendency is always toward realism.  Reality.  The reality of my own childhood... the reality of what  my children are living... and how to make my ideals for my children's future, a reality.

I love my parents.  Dearly.  I am closer to my parents now in my early thirties than I probably was to them in the first two decades combined.  Yet, still at times, I look back and long for a chance to redo it all. I felt alone much of the time. Real or Imagined... it was what I believed it to be. There were many happy times, but more painful, lonely, or sad times than I cared for.

I may sound bitter, but indeed I am not.  I faced some dark times, but all I have to account for those times (with the grace of God) is who I am now. And I am happy.  I am even joyful.  But, there is still that empty area in my heart that smarts a bit when I look back to those growing  years.

This brings me to my thoughts upon the childhood of my own children.  What will they remember?  Will they look back with fondness or longing?  I must admit, I see much of my mother in myself. While I do not work outside of the home, I find failures in the same right.  As I interact with other families and see the things which are so important to them, I realize I am falling short in many areas.  How often my children are told that their Mama is too busy cleaning to play with them, that their Mama requires quietness.  I am not saying there is not a place for cleaning or that there is not a time for quiet.  The problem is where the priority is.  I want a spotless house. I want a quiet and orderly house.  When it is not one of these, I become off kilter and my family suffers for it.  My children I fear, will not remember a house full of laughter, or of play.  They will not remember a house where love abounded and children were welcomed with vigor.  I tell my children they are blessings.  But, do I SHOW them that they are truly blessings?  Sadly, more often, I believe I convey to them through my actions that they are bothers.  This breaks my heart.  Oh, the tears I have shed over the past few weeks.  It is past due that I take action.

I must surrender to the Lord in this area.  He has not commanded me a pristine house.  He has commanded me to love and to rear my children.  I am convinced that the only way this can be done is by actually spending time with them.  Not barking orders for them to come get their toy on the floor, or telling them constantly that I am too busy to do anything with them (by either vocalization or attitude).  Of course, I will not allow my house to fall into disarray, for I believe a tidy home enhances pleasure when done right and a messy home detracts from it.  However, I will be reminding myself of the very fact that one day, my dear little ones will look back at their childhood.  I want it to be one of fondness.  Of a tidy house, but even more so- of a family who played together, laughed together and loved together.

It's okay if there are dishes in the sink, or a toilet left unscrubbed for a day.  My children won't remember the toilet or the dirty cup... they WILL remember the relationships though... and whether they were considered a blessing, or a burden.