The other day my kids were trying to tell me something and I only half paid attention. As soon as they were done and I realized I didn’t really hear what they were dying to tell me guilt set in. I tried to get them to tell me again but the second time around is never as great as the first. The sparkle is gone from their eyes when they are in repeat mode. It’s like wrapping the same toy over and over and expecting the surprised expression the second or third time unwrapping…it. just. isn’t. there. I guess thats the punishment I get for not being present.
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A couple weekends ago, I spent some time with one of the most laid back chicks I know. We were at the beach with our kids, soaking up the sun; heaven is what I like to call days like these. A little history on our friendship, it’s slightly different from others; we can sit in silence, soaking up the sun and enjoy the sounds of the lake (that we both secretly hope was the ocean instead). While catching up she told me about her neighbors…the hens.
She lives in a neighborhood that has mostly young people and growing families. In theory she should “fit” right in but the neighbor girls are “hens” they do a lot of clucking about each other. My friend isn’t a hen by nature. She doesn’t cluck. She was telling me about how she doesn’t fit in and she doesn’t want to. “I usually go home to spend time with my kids instead of sitting around with them, talking, pretending to pay attention to my kids.”
What she said struck a chord with me. I know those moms. The ones that cluck and pay just enough attention to their kids to make it look like they are a good mom. I used to be friends with some of those moms. But now I much prefer to be at home with my kids, while they might not have my undivided attention 100% of the time, I know that I give them a lot of attention and they are turning out to be fine men.
Much Love,
Jes xoxo