Let Go of Productivity and Love Those Kids

I’m addicted to finishing things. It’s both a rush and a relief. But nobody told me that these little people called kids would make a life goal of interrupting every single thing I do — from showering to reading even a single sentence. My three young children soak up every drop of attention I give them.

Working from home a few years ago, I found I had little to no patience with their penchant for getting in my face. I mean, I had things to do. Things to finish. I loved my kids, but really. My words and voice started becoming snappier than I had ever intended.

Something had to change.

I can’t say I had a lightning-bolt moment; it was more of a simmer, as I heard myself continually boil over at children who wanted nothing more than my gaze and my arms. I knew that, as fulfilling as my job was, it was time to let it go. I wasn’t the parent I wanted to be.

So I became a full-time mama.

If only it had been so simple. Before long I realized I’d only shifted my striving to housekeeping, meal-making. Now, I’m far from a saint of supper and sock-sorting, but, really, is it so unreasonable to want to finish a single load of dishes, or fold one load of laundry? Surely I’m entitled to a little crankiness here! My attitude began to deteriorate again as the children constantly frustrated my efforts. They’d fling my freshly-folded piles of laundry. Sit in my freshly-swept pile of crumbs. Pull clean spoons from the dishwasher with drooly hands.

But somewhere in the chaos, in the desperate prayers for sanity, I found an oasis. A mission.

LET THEM KNOW THEY ARE WELL-LOVED

I realized – am still realizing – that I need to let go of getting everything done. Let go of doing everything perfectly. Because, of all my ambitions for my kids, the single best foundation I can lay for them is one of love.

I want to be generous with my time toward my kids.

I want to never say no to “Hold me” or “Will you read me a book?”

I want to never pass up an opportunity to “Look at me!” for the 10 long seconds it takes to pause between dishwasher and cupboard.

I want to be ok with squandering a whole morning giggling under a blanket fort.

I am no halo-toting mama with a smooth voice, but I’m trying. (As my kindergartener reminds me, “Take three deep breaths, Mama.”) I’m trying to remember to slow down. Sit down. And, even when my brain is still running laps, look in their eyes and listen. Really listen.

And guess what? When I make an effort to live at my kids’ level, for even an hour, they are far more likely to abandon their post at my knees and go play when it’s time for Mama to work. Because their eternal question has been, momentarily, answered:

Yes, I am well-loved.

And somehow, the dishes still get done.