I always seem to get a little bossy and grouchy and sort of unpleasant around the kids’ bedtime. I poke and prod and rush them up (because kids get extra slow at bedtime), and don’t take time for much joking or laughing or listening to stories or fielding last minute questions from stalling elementary schoolers.
But, sometimes I have a night when I just decide not to worry too much about the clock. I ask lots of questions and get good answers. I giggle and play jokes and just try to enjoy every last second of the last seconds of the day with my kids.
Those are my favorite nights.
When my kids remember me, someday when they’re grown and gone, I want them to remember that I laughed a lot. When they picture me, I hope they don’t see a frowning face or an annoyed sigh. I want them to remember that, from me, smiles came easy. I want them to know how much I enjoyed having a front row seat for their growing up.
When the sighs build up inside, when the shushes and the not-right-nows and the I’m-too-busies creep up, I want to smile instead. I want to laugh at the craziness, hold my kids close, and shake my head in a giggling surrender to the chaos.
When they think of me, I hope they picture me laughing.