cherishing chubbiness

My almost 4 year old little boy still has chubby hands.  He says things like, "We found wots of widdle wolly-pollies at Gwandma's house today!"  He grabs my neck in really tight hugs.  He still holds my hand, actually reaches out to hold it because he still likes to.  He's still got a bit of a pot-belly.  I tell him often to stop growing up.  He tells me he has to grow up and talks about getting bigger, faster, stronger all the time.

Often times while out in public, older people (whose children have obviously grown up and left the house) tell me to cherish these years.  They grow up so fast. 

This used to really bug me - do they have any idea just how much work I go through (with my husband's help, of course, but this particular post is about me, not him...still got to give him credit, though) to raise these 2 kids?  Do they know how much sleep I have lost?  How much laundry I do now?  Do they understand the concept of cleaning the house while raising children?  It just doesn't happen because no matter what I have just cleaned up, one of my kids has come behind me 2 minutes later to MESS IT UP! 

Apparently, these kindly people have already lost brains cells.  They have forgotten the joys of trying to make your child eat dinner.  They certainly don't remember potty training.  Or switching your child from a crib to a bed that they can actually get out of... every 5 minutes... for an hour before they fall asleep.  They have forgotten the tantrums thrown in the grocery store that made you have to leave an entire cart full of groceries in aisle 4.  Or trying to get your child out of the habit of calling everything "poo-poo".  (I know - dirty language on such a clean blog!)  Cutting gum out of hair, fixing the crooked self-haircuts of your 4 year old and the cut she gave her 18 month old brother, removing every possibly breakable item from lower shelves, cleaning permanent marker off of table tops, putting the Tupperware back into the bottom drawer again and again and again, reminding your child to keep their skirt down, stepping on pointy little toys left in the middle of the floor: all things that these people have forgotten... maybe a result of post-traumatic stress disorder.

But I must get back to the statement a couple of paragraphs ago - this used to really bug me.  It hit me one day that maybe God was using these people as a reminder for me.  Being a parent is hard work.  It can be so frustrating.  It can bring out the worst in me.  Sometimes I honestly think I might go insane. Sometime I look back and wonder how I even made it through the day (obviously, it's always only by the grace of God). 

Setting aside the intentions of these folks who want me to "cherish" (although I do believe they are good intentions, I also think their memories are a bit selective), I believe they are little pokes from God to bring me back around to the good points of being a parent.  It is SO easy to get caught up in the negative, to let it ruin my day and my relationship with which ever child is currently pushing all my buttons at once.  But a comment from a well-meaning stranger always changes my perspective.  At least until the next child starts pushing buttons!

But in between the frustrations, I do look at my son's chubby little fingers and capture that picture in my memory.  I grab my daughter in tight hugs whenever I can because someday she probably won't want me to.  I hold the hand of my little boy every time he reaches for me and sometimes even when he doesn't.  I tickle my little girl as she squirms and kicks every which way.  I listen to the lisp of my boy when he tells me his little stories and a part of me wants that cuteness to stay forever.  When my girl sits and snuggles up to me on the couch just as I am about to get up, I remain for a bit because snuggling is the best.  And as we pray for dinner, I watch as my son grabs his Dad's hand and his sister's hand and she grabs for mine and I grab my husband's hand and I hope that we keep that habit up forever.  

KC