Life: The things I ought to have said

Ah, why does it have to be so terribly short, this life we have? I chastised my father for telling me he was bored, a state I cannot really fathom as time seems to be speeding by so quickly. It’s December already when I’ve barely got my hands on August. The pace gets so frenetic—in my mind at least—I have to remind myself to slow down, especially with the little guys. When I mentally downshift, it’s almost as though I can slow the world down. I don’t have to be somewhere right then, there’s nothing I have to be doing right now, and I remind myself that I can sit at the table and watch my son lazily chew or my daughter try to stick goldfish crackers in the tip of her sippy cup instead of whirling around the kitchen trying to fix this or grab that. Because they’re patient in ways that I’ve forgotten, it seems. True, they want their needs met immediately—food, drink, diapers. All understandable. But they can sit and stare at something for the longest, most beautiful time. I get to pause and re-experience through their fresh gaze. I can give my daughter a sock and she thinks it’s the best thing ever: let’s see, it’s kinda squishy, and I can chew on it, and look here, I can even stick my hand in there!

It seems like a constant battle to throw my personal brakes on, so that they can experience and I can experience it with them. To stop and feel bark. To marvel at bubbles. To sit and pick grass out of the lawn. Reed watched a ladybug crawl across the kitchen table the other day. Then he got his magnifying glass and watched some more. Now I can’t bring myself to kill the little red trespassers. So, how do you tell a kid how much they impress you, how in awe of them you are? Is there any way to convey that?

And so frequently, I feel like I’m failing. Failing them. Failing Amy for entrusting me with them. Failing myself. Every day is a million opportunities and I can’t seem to seize them all, like water through my fingers, I only manage to get wet.

I feel like I’m going through a re-evaluation of my purpose, refocusing my efforts, looking anew at my goals, or what they ought to be. It’s good, in a way, to realize that the quick pace has been dictated by me, that time spent is more important than things done. Or maybe I just need to stop frittering away my precious hours, start using them more wisely. Do I really need to watch “So You Think You Can Dance?” Does anyone?

I suppose sometimes I just wish things would slow down enough so that I could say all the things the way I ought to. To use my words for their benefit. Not snapping. Not “No” or “Don’t touch that!” To reel in my tongue before I’ve engaged my brain to even think what I’m about to say.

I want Reed and Rebekah to know how amazed I am by them, how they are the most wonderful gifts I could ever imagine. How I didn’t ever really feel useful to the human cause until they came along. I love them for helping me find what life is really about. I love them.

I want Amy to know that I don’t tell her enough how important she is to me, how grateful I am for her, how much I appreciate all that she does for our little family. I want to slow down enough to go to bed early, to rub her feet like I did so many years ago. I want her to know that I loved my life with her before children, and that I love my life with her even more now with children. I’m better at being me because of her. I love her.

Sigh.

Perhaps this shortening perspective I have is due to this pesky cold I’m fighting. You see, I quite dislike being sick. Instead of looking in the mirror and seeing a strong, young man, I see the beginnings of an old man. Being sick slows me down, slow enough for uneasy, moribund contemplation. And it seems like all the clocks of the world are ticking as one.