One More Trip Around

It’s March in the Midwest and we are currently craving the sounds of robins, a warm breeze, and the feeling of sunshine. As mild-temperature-loving humans, we are usually done with winter before it’s ready to give in as we progress toward the warmth and contentment of spring and summer. This “wishing for the future” happens too often in my family. They are constantly dreaming of when they’ll be older, so they can experience the freedom and independence age provides. Sometimes, I catch myself doing the same. I think about how great it will be when they don’t need me for everyday activities as much, and we can all go about life together with ease. Recently, I realized how dangerous this type of thinking is–because my kids are growing entirely too fast–and I don’t want to miss this time right now.

One More Trip

My youngest is six-years-old, and she is my most hesitant adventurer. During a recent warm stretch of weather, I set out–like I did with my oldest two–to help my youngest across the street on her bike in the hopes that she may soon ride freely without training wheels and without me running beside her. I have been helping my children across the same street for twelve years. Most of the time there have been giggles and smiles, but I’ve also shown signs of exhaustion when any one of them requested a fourth or fifth time around. I catch myself sitting there, aching for time to speed up, to when we can all ride on our individual bicycles as a family unit; I only need the last child to learn. On our recent 65 degree day, my daughter begged me for one more trip around after–what seemed like–ten tries. She likes it when I run beside her, while grabbing her bike, protecting her from a fall. I felt myself sighing as I went out for one more trip around.

The Last One

As I helped her steady her bike for our last trip that day, it dawned on me: one of these trips will be the last one for us. Not only will it be the last one with her, but one of these trips will be my last time around period. How did this happen?

There is a poem that my friends have been passing around on social media called The Last Time Poem for Parents. While I have been wishing for the day that we can all be independent in our endeavors, and as I stand craving a time that is more relaxed for me as a parent, I take a moment to breathe. I could have almost missed the beauty of helping her go one more time around completely. Because there will be a last time.

Savoring Time

While it is common for parents to remember firsts, many of us miss out on the luxury of lasts. I don’t remember the last time I helped my middle child on his bicycle. I don’t remember the last time I tied my oldest son’s shoes. I certainly don’t remember the last time I rocked my baby girl to sleep. All of this wishing for more energy for myself could cost me memories. I am dangerously close to the ending of a chapter, and I choose to not miss this one.

On this unseasonably warm winter day, I helped her across the street many more times, and I savored the wind in our hair and the sound of gravel in her tires. Time pushes us along so quickly. For my youngest child, I will gladly help her, and stop wishing for spring to come too early, and for parenting to get easier. Instead, I’ll savor these precious moments right now as we take another trip around the block within another trip around the sun.