Where the Paved Road Ends: Soak It Up ’Cause You’re Gonna Miss This

By Beth Watkins

It’s that time of year again. The school supply aisles look like a cross between Black Friday and a cage fight. Parents are hunting for the exact blue folder required by Mrs. Johnson’s third-grade class while children toss random items into the cart like contestants on a game show.

Some moms are weeping because their baby is starting kindergarten.

Other moms are squealing tires out of the school parking lot on the first day, headed to the nearest coffee shop and whispering, “Thank You, Jesus,” as they turn the radio up.

And truth be told, I’ve been both.

My children have reminded me that school mornings irritated them. Their clothes were laid out the night before, either by them or by me. They weren’t fond of the routine: get up, get dressed, make the bed, brush your teeth, come in for breakfast, grab the pre-packed backpack and lunch box, and head out the door.

Once they left, I got myself ready for the day. My week of chores ran on the same schedule: laundry, shopping, Bible study, housecleaning, hobby time and lunches with friends.

When they got home on the bus, the routine started again: wash your hands, have a snack, go play, eat dinner, do homework, take a bath and go to bed. On days with dance lessons, ball practice or church, those took the place of playtime.

Now, before I get myself in trouble, I realize motherhood looks different today than it did when I was raising my kids. Many families need two incomes. Life is expensive. Groceries cost about what a used pickup used to cost.

I understand there are moms out there juggling careers, carpools, ball games, dance lessons, church activities, homework, and trying to figure out what on earth they’re making for supper.

Y’all are carrying a load. But I do wonder sometimes if we’ve climbed aboard a merry-go-round that nobody knows how to stop.

Time flies faster than any of us can comprehend. We usually get eighteen years with our children. That’s 936 weeks. By the time they turn nine, half of those weeks are already gone. By age 13, only about 260 weeks remain before adulthood. Suddenly, 18 years doesn’t seem nearly as long.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that a good life requires more stuff, more activities, more travel, more commitments, more everything.

The trouble is that “more” usually costs us the one thing we can never get back: time.

Back when my kids were little, most moms stayed home.

I realize now what a gift that was. I certainly wasn’t Mother of the Year, but I was there.

I was there for the skinned knees, the science projects started at 9 p.m., the teenage heartbreaks and the endless interruptions that always seemed to happen when I was trying to cook dinner.

Was every moment magical? Absolutely not. Some days I would’ve gladly traded a child or two for a nap.

But those years passed quicker than a summer thunderstorm.

Today, it’s the norm for both parents to work, and many families feel pressure to keep chasing bigger houses, newer cars, more vacations, more lessons and more sports.

Maybe all those things are wonderful.

But every now and then, I want to grab the emergency brake on life and ask a few questions. What if we don’t need all of it? What if the greatest gift we could give our children is our presence? What if supper around the table, playing in the backyard or a Saturday with nowhere to be is enough?

The world is moving faster than a cat with its tail on fire. It tells us we need more, do more, buy more, become more.

Maybe the secret is learning that less can bring us more peace, more laughter and more memories together.

One day those little backpacks will be packed for the last time. The school pickup and drop-off line will be a memory, and the house will get quiet, far quieter than you ever imagined.

When that day comes, I don’t think you’ll wish you’d spent more time on the merry-go-round.

I think you’ll wish you’d spent more time watching fireflies, eating supper together and enjoying the people God entrusted to you.

As for me, I wish I could go back in time and do another round with my babies. I think I would let things go a little more. Maybe I’d let the laundry pile a little higher and the dust settle a little thicker so I could soak up more of our time together.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the people my babies have grown into. I love that they have given us grandbabies, little versions of the babies I once rocked.

But in this season, my house is too quiet, and nobody needs me.

I know some single parents have no choice but to work. I know many families these days are doing everything they can to stay afloat. I don’t want to make anyone feel guilty. I want to remind those of us blessed with children that the ordinary moments are often the ones we’ll miss the most.

If you’re fortunate enough to have children, make time to savor every season of their lives and be present for it.

One day the backpacks will be put away for good, the house will grow quiet, and you’ll discover what every parent eventually does: time was the greatest gift you ever had.