Last week I stopped by the library to pick up some festive books. Books about how the mouse saved Christmas, three French hens, snowmen coming to life, and gingerbread cookies running from an old couple.
I couldn’t help but feel wistful when I saw mothers with their toddlers on their hips, sippy cups in one hand, piles of picture books under the other arm, leaving story time with their little ones in tow.
We have ended our library-story-time-days years ago.
My library visit was brief, as I had no little ones in tow. I quickly checked out, and grabbed a few fliers about some upcoming activities, including a professor who was planning a talk on meteorites.
I was excited to show my two youngest children the book treasures. Their reactions were lackluster.
My children have outgrown these stories. My youngest, who is nine, is reading the Harry Potter books now. But he let me read him the book about the three French hens. Just to be nice.
He was much more excited to attend the professor’s lecture at the library on meteors, meteorites, and craters. So, we did! It was fascinating!
Then it hit me. Like a meteorite.
Life. Children. It’s not what it isn’t. It’s about what it is.
It isn’t library story time and sippy cups and picture books anymore. It’s space and Harry Potter. Or, it’s Far Cry 4 and wrestling. Tomorrow or next week or next year, it will be something different. My children are learning and growing and changing. I want to enjoy the present moments and to accept and support my children’s changes–at every stage.
Sometimes it takes getting hit on the head with a meteorite…