MUM'S THE WORD - "CAN WE READ NALIA?"

It’s six fifteen. 

I’m with Biggie-Smalls rolling out the daily tuck-in routine.  Master Five is in the bathroom next door brushing his teeth.  Miss Ten is packing up her homework.  Miss Seven is turning down her bed.  They are on schedule, about to set out school uniforms and back packs for tomorrow.

It’s seven o’clock. 

Master Five poses the question, “Can we read Nalia tonight Mum?”

“Yes Honey, let’s wait for the girls to finish getting ready for tomorrow and we will read Narnia.”

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales.  If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”
Albert Einstein.

Seven thirty. 

Three pairs of stubby feet climb into my bed, arrange themselves on either side of me according to prior seating agreements and small hands pull up the duvet.  I put on my (recently and somewhat reluctantly acquired) glasses, reach for the novel and open to the folded page.

It is not even the end of the third leaf and he is asleep (every time).   Hearing faint snores, both girls lean forward and look in his direction with synchronised speed and precision to confirm their suspicions.  Yep.  He’s asleep already.  They look at each other and giggle (every time).

At the end of the chapter, Miss and Miss beg me to read one more (every time).  At the end of the second, they resign.  Miss Seven asks if she can continue reading in her bed, Miss Ten joins the chorus.  I relent.  Yes.  Yes and yes.  

They retreat and I carry twenty-one kilograms of ginger handsome from my bed to his, I whisper a prayer and turn down the lights.

It seems perfect. 
And sometimes it is. 
And sometimes it’s not. 

And when the not-so-perfect tally adds up too high I blow the time-out whistle on myself and reassess the comings and goings of our lives.

I’m a working mum.  Demands are high, time is measured and energy supplies are a strained resource in a season with young children. 

They watch me. 
I watch them watch me. 
I am conscious of their summations. 
The dots they join. 
The resolves they make as they study my ways.

I’ve learned from their responses and their behaviours that they do not expect me to be perfect; they expect me to be present.

They give me grace for the busy, if I give them grace for the present.

Creating memories.

It’s as though these wise souls know when a seed of value is sown into their soil.  They know when I am present, when I am intentional, when I am sowing. 

It needn’t be extravagant but it must be rich;
rich with purpose.

No parent can compare himself or herself with another.  We are all on unique assignments with unique children and unique callings.  When Heaven assigned that small person into our specific care it also graced and anointed us for the journey.  And so we walk in a confidence and a diligence. 

All that is required is that we be present and true.  
That will look different in every home.

What remains the same is the calling to be present, and being present demands that we are intentional.

In his final address to Israel, the dying Patriarch Moses addressed those rearing children.  What could have been the most important thing this dynamic and spirit-led leader should choose to pass on to future generations and those raising them?

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength. And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.”

Deuteronomy 6:4-7 (NKJV)

If you wanted a manual for raising children here it is. 
Be intentional at four times every day:

When you sit in your house (at the dinner table) you generate discussion and model etiquette.  You are teaching social norms and appropriate behaviour.

When you walk by the way (driving to school) you have a captive audience and an opportunity for informal banter and discussion.

When you lie down (bed time) you become a confidante and counselor.   Hear out the concerns of the day.  Whisper value and hope into their sleepy ears.  Pray over them.  Send them into sleep feeling like they are prized and purposed.

When you rise up (to the breakfast table) facing a new day you re-establish positive expectations for the day.  Remind them of their capacity, their value, their identity and their purpose.  Build them up.

My chubby-toed redhead will not always want to tuck in under my arm and listen to the sound of ‘Nalia’ orated in his mother’s voice.  His lisp will fade and he will pronounce his words. 

Miss Ten has already drawn so many conclusions that I feel my time with her escaping rapidly. 

Miss Seven is just now deciding how she will consciously define herself and her abilities and her beliefs. 

And two-year-old Biggie-Smalls, well that’s a blog post for another time altogether.

All I know is my time with them is measured by the degree of my intentionality, not the degree of my perfectionism. 

There is Grace for me in every season, every moment and with each child.

If I can remain sensitive to that Grace then I trust these small moments will one day return to me in the faces of four functional, contributing, compassionate and thriving adults.

When the sun rises on each new day, I will do my best to be present and intentional.  On the days when I miss it, because I often do, I will do my best to blow the whistle and reassess as promptly as possible.

One day they’ll say,
“Mum used to…”
with a smile and aS A guide. 

They’re the memories and signposts I want to give them.