Wednesday, June 8, 2011
A taste of mindfullness
I said I promised I would come in to his room after my run, but when I got home I found myself sneaking into the spare room. I was going to hide out there until he was completely asleep when I thought of one of the quotes I have on my refrigerator.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, or I will loose faith in you".
Promising to sit by his bedside while he falls asleep may not be a big promise to break, but a promise nonetheless. So I went in, sat down by his bed and took out my android phone to occupy myself while he falls asleep when yet another quote pops into my head. This one I love and is written on my kitchen wall blackboard (will share soon, project almost done).
"Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things" ~Robert Brault.
The little things, for me, are the day-to-day things that are so easily taken for granted. Like putting your kids to sleep. Not always the most exciting thing in the world, but something I do think I will treasure once I don't get to do it anymore. So why do I sit by my childrens bedside checking the latest facebook updates and playing sudoku on my phone? Those are not the memories I want of these few, precious years that my kids need me to be with them while they fall asleep, and I don't want them remembering me that way either. Not only that, I also find it a bit frightening that I suddenly can not spend twenty minutes in silence and peace with my own thoughts - but that is a whole other post. So after this eye-opener my phone will not be accompanying me when I put my kids to sleep (but I can't promise some yarn and needles won't.). No, I'd rather sit there with them, listen to their breath slow down and enjoy the quiet time that I have with them. Watch her suck on her lower lip after her pacifier has fallen out of her mouth. Marvel at his beautiful eyelashes that just seem to go on and on and almost lie on his cheeks when his eyes are closed. And hopefully they will remember that I took time to just be there with them, that I was present even though that presence may occasionally have been accompanied by the sound of knitting needles going click-click-click.
What have I learned from this? I should pay more attention to the smart things written in my kitchen and the brilliant things that pop into my head after an invigorating run.