Recently my wife and I encountered an issue with the shower in our master bathroom which necessitated us using the kids’ bathroom to shower.
It’s an inconvenience, to say the least, as it requires several trips across the house to bring the various toiletries we need to practice proper hygiene. And inevitably a towel or some article of clothing is always forgotten, requiring a trip back across the house once more.
But since becoming a shower vagabond in my own home, I’ve had the opportunity to experience something I wouldn’t have otherwise — an unexpected epiphany that’s given me a new perspective.
The kids’ shower is not like my shower at all. Their shower is a tub/shower combo, and instead of containing such things as adult shampoos, conditioners, and razors, the kids’ shower contains fruity scented and tear-free soaps, big-wheeled monster trucks, and plastic boats.
Normally, the kids’ toys scattered throughout the house is a point of constant irritation. “Clean up this mess” and “clean up that mess” is a common pronouncement heard echoing throughout our house multiple times a day. Strangely though, I felt no such annoyance when I beheld the myriad of toys in the tub.
Why is this? Two reasons come to mind.
One is simply because I want to encourage my kids to feed their imaginations, and their bathtub is their own private oceanic playground where scuba divers with action grips fight giant squids, giant squids fight ferocious sharks, and all of them fight the mighty Mokele-mbembe.
The other reason I don’t mind the clutter of toys in their tub is more therapeutic.
You see, something special happens when a parent finds themselves alone behind a locked bathroom door. That space is a quiet, secluded oasis for much needed introspection, where clarity of thought can be attained for any mom or dad who can spare a few minutes to take advantage of such a remarkable refuge. But you would think a mess of bath toys would be a distraction and a source of visual chaos; and I would have thought the same thing, too, till I found myself standing there one evening gazing at their kaleidoscope of colorful toys.
In that brief moment of time, in the tranquility of that hallowed but humble room, those toys told a tale. Not the typical tale of untidy kids who don’t clean up after themselves, but a tale of greater meaning, a tale of greater purpose, and a tale of a frighteningly inevitable conclusion to life that I dread.
Continue reading HERE.
I don’t mean hugged them, I mean really hugged them.
It doesn’t matter the relation. Biological, adopted, foster, or guardianship, the question remains the same: have you hugged your kids today?
Not like it’s an obligation and they’re an inconvenience, but like it’s an honor and they’re a blessing.
And I’m not talking about the usual fleeting hugs you give them as you rush off to work, I’m talking about hugs that remain with them long after you’ve left.
Do you hug them with such singularly focused determination that they feel safe, loved beyond measure, and blissfully unaware of their own mortality? That they feel untouchable from all the fears and insecurities of life that their little hearts secretly endure?
Do you grip them so deeply that they feel nothing bad could befall them as long as they remain in your embrace? That they are sheltered from the chaos of a world around them that’s gone mad?
Do you hug them so passionately that in your arms is the only place they want to be? That when they grow older they will look back on those hugs and yearn to be in that moment with you again?
Do you hug them with such an abiding love that they will long to return to that place—and that very moment in time—where mommy and daddy loved them like crazy and made them feel like nothing else in the world was more important, more precious, or more sought after?
Continue reading HERE.