I constantly feel overwhelmed about how much my kids need me, until the moment when it seems they don’t need me at all.
The other night, the kids and I came in from the backyard — sandy, grassy and wet with pool-water — and they ran ahead of me upstairs. I stayed back for a minute, clearing off the counters, and then headed upstairs after them. But the door to my daughter’s room was shut, and they were happily playing inside with her dollhouse.
I almost went in and told them it was time for a bath, but I decided to go back downstairs. They were playing nicely together — sharing, even! — so who I was to interrupt that?
I swept the entire main level, watered my hanging baskets, and checked Instagram. Then I just sat on the bottom step, and listened to the giggling from upstairs. Our son was a year and a half when our daughter was born, and now they are two and four. I have been in a near-constant state of frenzy for four years now.