In fact, if you ever feel guilty that there wasn't enough time to give your kids all the attention they needed or wanted, give your spouse or adult friends some time, and still have a few moments for yourself, you're not alone. We've all felt that way.
But I like to think that our children empathize with us and understand how hard most parents try to get it right.
My hope is that if I take some time each day for my children and spend extra time with them on the weekends or days off, that it will be enough.
Psychologists say parents should try to spend at least a half hour a day with their children to send the loud, clear message that they are loved, valued and to effectively shape them into quality adults.
I give my twins quite a bit more time since they're in the formative years. They get all my attention in the mornings after my 11-year-old leaves for school. So that's 3 ½ hours, minus their morning nap. Which means Hunter and Zeke get 2 ½ hours of playing, eating, reading and singing time each weekday morning with mom. Then they get about ½ hour at night when I return home. On weekends, they easily get triple or quadruple that.
My 5th grader, Jake, gets 2 hours of my undivided attention on weeknights after the twins are asleep. We do homework, sports, baking, work on projects, watch TV or read. It's a wonderful time together. He easily gets triple or quadruple that on weekends too, since my twins still nap in the morning and afternoons.
Every family has to work out the amount of time for themselves.
But if you can spend 10-percent more time with your child this week, including one-on-one with each individual child, that's great. And I would suggest turning OFF the TV and actually DOING an activity with them if you've had quality time issues in the past.
Here's a sweet story from the book Chicken Soup For The Mother's Soul to remind us how important time with our children really is!
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The Day I Was Too Busy - by Cindy Ladage (Chicken Soup For The Mother's Soul)
"Mommy, look!" cried my daughter, Darla, pointing to a chicken hawk soaring through the air. "Uh, huh." I murmured, driving, lost in thought about the tight schedule of my day. Disappointment filled her face.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" I asked, entirely dense.
"Nothing," my seven-year-old said. The moment was gone. Near home, we slowed to search for the albino deer that comes out from behind the thick mass of trees in the early evening. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Tonight, she has too many things to do," I said.
Dinner, baths and phone calls filled the hours until bedtime.
"Come on, Darla, time for bed!" She raced past me up the stairs. Tired, I kissed her on the cheek, said prayers and tucked her in.
"Mom, I forgot to give you something!" she said. My patience was gone.
"Give it to me in the morning," I said, but she shook her head.
"You won't have time in the morning!" she retorted.
"I'll take time," I answered defensively. Sometimes no matter how hard I tried, time flowed through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, never enough. Not enough for her, for my husband, and definitely not enough for me.
She wasn't ready to give up yet. She wrinkled her freckled little nose in anger and swiped away her chestnut brown hair.
"No, you won't! It will be just like today when I told you to look at the hawk. You didn't even listen to what I said."
I was too weary to argue; she hit too close to the truth.
"Good night!" I shut her door with a resounding thud.
Later, though, her gray-blue gaze filled my vision as I thought how little time we really had until she was grown and gone.
My husband asked, "Why so glum?"
I told him, "Maybe she's not asleep yet. Why don't you check," he said with all the authority of a parent in the right. I followed his advice, wishing it was my own idea.
I cracked open her door, and the light from the window spilled over her sleeping form. In her hand I could see the remains of a crumpled paper. Slowly I opened her palm to see what the item of our disagreement had been.
Tears filled my eyes. She had torn into small pieces a big red heart with a poem she had written titled, "Why I Love My Mother!"
I carefully removed the tattered pieces. Once the puzzle was all put back into place, I read what she had written:
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WHY I LOVE MY MOTHER!
Although you're busy, and you work so hard
You always take time to play
I love you Mommy because
I am the biggest part of your busy day!
Ten minutes later I carried a tray to her room, with two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When I softly touched her smooth cheek, I could feel my heart burst with love.
Her thick dark lashes lay like fans against her lids as they fluttered, awakened from a dreamless sleep, and she looked at the tray.
"What is that for?" she asked, confused by this late-night intrusion.
"This is for you, because you are the most important part of my busy day!" She smiled and sleepily drank half her cup of chocolate. Then she drifted back to sleep, not really understanding how strongly I meant what I said.
-Cindy Ladage
There really is enough time for that.
Happy Mother's Day every day.
Monica
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