When my son was in preschool, we went through the same routine every single morning at drop-off. Every morning, I walked him down the long tree-lined sidewalk into the building. Then I’d walk him down the hall to the bathroom where he’d go potty and wash his hands. And every morning he’d take his sweet time singing his hand-washing song as I stood there in the doorway watching him, usually late for work.
Then, we’d go across the hall to his classroom where he’d give me a million hugs and kisses. And finally, he’d meet me at the other door where he’d wave and blow me one last kiss through the window pane.
I remember feeling impatient with this whole process some days. I felt the pressure of the day weighing in on me, the urgency to get to work, and get my own day started. I always had a million things rattling around in my head, vying for my attention.
But when my son’s time at preschool came to an end, the gravity of those moments hit me.
As we went through our last few weeks and days at preschool, I lingered at the hand-washing sink, and the window, knowing I’d never get those mornings back, and that life was soon about to take us on to new routines and new hallways, and new…everything.
I’m intrigued with how the situations in life that seem to be slowing us down, or holding us back from more important stuff, actually hold their own special magic. They force us to slow down. They force us to be present. They help us to create routine and repetition and they give our lives rhythm and structure. They create space for us to experience a stage or a phase of life. In fact, looking back, they actually define the stages.
It’s the little parts of our day, the in-between time. It’s those small, seemingly insignificant moments that no one pays attention to or plans for or really even thinks about.
Like dropping my son off at daycare everyday. Or going through the elementary school drop off line each morning.
Or the long commute that gives us time to chat with our kids as we drive home, or listen to our favorite music, or relax and listen to a podcast after a long day at work.
Or the time spent driving kids around to their activities when we get to just be with them for a few minutes with no distractions.
Or the time it takes to brush the tangles out of my daughter’s hair after her bath, or standing in the bathroom while the kids brush their teeth every night.
These things seem so cumbersome in the moment, but I know enough to realize that in the blink of an eye, they won’t need me to do any of these things, and these moments will be gone forever, along with this whole phase of life.
It’s been a few years since those preschool days with my son. Since then, we’ve established new routines that I also cherish. But I will always look back on that time I had with him each day as a precious gift. I will remember those mornings and those sweet hugs and kisses, and his tiny little voice singing that hand-washing song as long as I live:
