I watch TikTok videos now. Or is it I watch TikToks.
I unwind in the evening watching a curated, algorithm-based
stream of joy. Everything from dance moves I want to try to contour make-up
lessons and how to use a flat iron to curl my hair pops up for me to view, like
or pass over.
The videos of the littles either dancing, eating a new food
or babbling to someone tears at my heart. I long for the joy those days and
experiences brought.
I watch and try to remember how my children sounded when
they were toddlers. I think back to what excited them and how they acted with
something new. I wish I had more video. I wish I was more in the moment during
those days.
Our son, Chris, had all our attention and experienced life
as a first-born child, grandchild and great-grandchild. We took all the
pictures, documented all the things. I still can hear his sweet little
three-year-old voice singing, ‘you so are beautiful to me.’ We tried our best
to be the kind of parents we wanted to be, and yet, upon reflection, I wish I
could go back and do some things differently.
We received another chance at parenting the moment we had
the girls. Those early days are a blur and while we have pictures and videos, I
don’t remember all the funny things they said or games they made up to play.
So, I try to be present. I work at focusing on the moments
and tying them into other memories. Those are the stories the girls like to
hear. ‘Remember that time’ or ‘this reminds me of when’ are conversation starters
used in our house.
At a follow-up doctor’s appointment for Camille’s wrists, I
had to stop at the ladies’ room before we checked in with the clinic.
There, I had a memory of the girls standing in front of the closed
stall door so I could see both their feet. In that memory, I saw pink Mary Jane
sneakers with little lace-topped socks. I thought of the outfits I most likely
dressed them in – smocked dresses with monogrammed bloomers or maybe a
seersucker short and appliqued top. I don’t know where I came up with the idea
to have them stand that way by the door, but it was our way of staying together
when we didn’t all fit in a stall.
Those little feet now wear Vans and my cowboy boots.
The girls have distinct styles, different from each other.
Gone are the days where I could dress them the same or in similar styles. Pink
for Camille and purple for Caroline is no longer the sartorial rule.
There was a long list of rules of what they couldn’t wear
when they were babies and toddlers – no denim and no wearing black were two. Now,
I just make sure Caroline’s skirts are long enough to meet dress code (those
long legs) and that Camille has a dressy outfit to wear to events that isn’t a
dress.
The girls are at an age where they’ve outgrown some of the
rules from the early days, and yet, still some apply. They wear blue jeans now –
Caroline’s are straight and skinny, and Camille believes in the baggier the
better – but still don’t own black dresses or skirts.
This spot in the Venn diagram between pre-teen and teen is
so sweet. This 12-year-old, seventh grade point in time reminds me they are
still my girls needing me to braid hair, but I also sense that desire to grow
up. It’s the request for concealer and use of highlighter without the want of a
full face of makeup. It’s the sleepovers and still wanting to bring stuffed
animals along for the night.
The difference in the girls is not restricted to fashion
choices. They attend different schools, participate in different sports and
have a different set of friends. As a result, I’m frequently driving them to
and from places. Car time proves to be the right time for conversations – conversations
they begin.
With Chris, I tried to create conversations and realized
forcing him to talk to me didn’t work. I learned as soon as my children get in
the car after school or an activity is not the time when stories are shared. The
stories come on their own time. I must wait, pause, notice and then listen.
Breakfast, even at the early hours, brings conversations,
too. When each girl stumbles into the kitchen for breakfast, the meal begins
with silence followed by the morning devotion. I read the verse, the story and
then ask the questions. We say the prayer. It’s then when I hear from them. The
clock counts the minutes to when we need to leave, but I don’t want to get up
and rush off to the next part of our day because I want to hear their
perspective on the devotion and a recent application memory it inspires.
The devotion book series we read is the same series I did
with Chris when he was younger. The books are based on age beginning with three
years old. We only have a few more left in the 10- to 12-year-old book and it’s
time to graduate to something more age appropriate as they have outgrown the
content.
The girls no longer need to stand outside the bathroom stall
where I can see their feet. I don’t have to pick out their clothes or help them
get dressed. They do still need rides to their activities and that’s when I’ll
soak up those moments and store them away like I’ve done with those little pink
shoes.
