Yesterday rolled around, though, and I found myself trying to spend as much time with the kids as I could. Yes, they've been out of school for nearly two weeks, but it's been a busy time what with the lead-up to Christmas, the visitors, the pet emergency room, and on and on and on. Sure, we've done things with them: ice skating a couple of times, bowling, movies, and the like. And we've certainly done oodles for them. [Don't get me started on that litany.]
So why do I feel as if I'm nearly an absent mother? Why do I sense that I spent more time with them when I was working at The Chronicle than I do with them now? I had a sense of urgency about being with them when I worked four days a week. I felt time together was precious and needed to be "quality." I shunned most social goings-on to huddle with the kids, trying to make up for the time I wasn't with them.
And now? I'm a planet and they're other planets, and we orbit around the same sun, but we rarely collide. [Do I suck at analogies or what?] [Yeah.]
Which leads me to admitting to a secret resolution: to spend more time having fun with my kids. Yeah, I'll keep doing their laundry and cleaning the house and harassing them about their chores and checking their homework and picking up after them and taking their dog out and picking up after their dog and doing the dishes and making their lunches and...
But I'll also do more like yesterday, which spread out as a wide expanse of time and was spent doing such things as reading 100 pages of a Judy Moody book with Daughter as two sons listened in, going on a 45-minute hike with the two boys and the dog, playing Outburst Jr. with the three of them, and watching Wall-E for (only) the third time.
So, let's raise a glass of cider and ring in the new year. To patience! To being with those