Making Space in Time

Quality time is a love language all children understand

Aria and Alako at the beach, 2021

Yesterday I told my oldest son, Alako, that I picked up some extra shifts at work over the next few weeks. Our schedule is already such that we don’t have any full days off together as family, but in picking up the extra weekend day shifts I have essentially taken away ALL of our family time other than the brief window of evening between school and bedtime. I thought he would casually shrug it off, knowing he will get time with his dad and that it’s only for the next few weeks. I was completely shocked when he buried his head in a couch cushion and sobbed. It took me a full five minutes to convince him to talk to me about it and when he finally looked at me his face was flushed and contorted in tears. We sat on the couch in a snuggly embrace until his breathing calmed down and we could talk about it. He told me through tears that he was upset about missing our time together as a family and I shouldn’t have been so surprised by his sweet confession, as he has always been compassionate and mature for his age, but I was. And it reminded me once again that quality time together is essential to forming lifelong, loving bonds.

I was an only child and I thought it would always be that way. I remember asking my parents for a little sibling once or twice but we had such a nice life, just the three of us, that it did not come up often. I have no memory of feeling envious of the sisters I spent time with as a child, but I do distinctly remember imagining, with just a hint of longing, what it would be like to have a twin. When my little brother was born, three days before my twelfth birthday, it was sweet and surreal. But as I was transitioning into early adolescence just as my parents were entering the exhausting and unrelenting newborn phase all over again, I remember it being an emotionally complex time for me at first. Our distance in age meant I fell more easily into the role of babysitter than playmate, which was an excellent education in early childhood development, but also meant I didn’t have the experience of sharing all the trials and tribulations of early childhood with someone close in age, nor did I have the example of my parents raising multiple young children at the same time to look back on once I became a parent of multiple children myself.

Alako and his Grandpa Ralph, 2022

When Alako was born, he was my parents’ first grandchild and as such received an overwhelming amount of time, love, and attention. They formed such a close bond that I would sometimes joke that they were his “real parents.” He never wanted to leave their house when it was time go home. Alako and my mother match one another in their extroversion and enthusiasm for activity, and they have been on dozens of adventures together, often with my dad but sometimes just the two of them. I appreciate their relationship so much, not only because it allows me to accomplish the countless errands, classes, meetings, and appointments I need to accomplish without children in tow, or even escape on a rare date night! It is honestly because I know how close he is with each of my parents and how profoundly sacred intergenerational relationships are for our children. I know that when Alako spends time with my dad, attempting complex origami or diligently practicing the piano during his music lesson, he knows he is in the company of a kindred spirit who loves him completely. When he gardens or joins my mom on any trip big or small, he is doing those things with someone who finds as much experiential joy in them as he does and wants to give him as much of that joy as possible. He is safe to be himself with them. And if he happens to be the only kid there, he is the best version of himself.

Alako and his newborn sister, Ailey, 2014

Alako is definitely capable of enjoying himself when his siblings are there, but most of the time it is a generally tempestuous atmosphere. I often blame myself for the friction in Alako’s relationship with his younger sister, Ailey. For years I thought I must have done a poor job of empowering him or preparing him for a new sibling. That if I had just introduced them differently or documented it more appropriately or artistically, his instinct would be more affectionate, and less antagonistic. I could shuffle through a thousand scenarios in my head that I imagine might have changed their relationship had I just changed my approach, but here we are. And at the same time, I have to remember that their relationship is perfectly normal for siblings who are closer in age than I was to my baby brother. Ailey was born exactly one week to the day after Alako’s fourth birthday. Due to some unforeseen family circumstances and the fact that Ailey was born smoothly in under three hours (a story I assure you I will share closer to the actual date), Ailey’s birth day itself did not proceed at all how I would have expected. What I wished would have been a private, graceful integration into being a family of four instead holds space in my memory as a chaotic and crowded social event which Alako was not even part of until much later in the day. So, naturally I blame myself for the circumstances outside my control and spin a completely irrational narrative in my head, otherwise known as “mom guilt.” And baby, we’ve got let that shit go!

Which is much, MUCH easier said than done. I thought going from one to two children was wildly overwhelming. In fact, I was convinced I had permanently lost my mind from the moment I gave birth to a second child and that feeling lingered at least until my third child turned four. The fog is just finally starting to clear. And now I’m standing here with three galaxies entangled in human form who depend on me for sustenance and mental stimulation, as well as emotional guidance and conflict resolution. Because conflict is something they are endlessly engaged in, and emotional maturity is an art form my children have yet to master. But that does not make it any easier to watch them take their frustrations out on one another, or to see my own bad behavior reenacted by miniature versions of myself. Cue the unavoidable wave of mom guilt. I feel like I am constantly talking to Alako about the way he treats his sister, specifically in terms of his tone and tendency to forcibly exclude her from participating in anything fun he is doing. It makes me feel so angry and defensive of Ailey that I always react. But my own dad has gleefully recounted childhood stories many times of his attempts to make his younger sister, my wonderful Aunt Jeanmarie whom he is quite close with, cry on purpose. I know it’s normal for siblings to fight, but it is something I have such limited personal experience with, it makes me a much more reactive parent than I ever expected to be. I was joking to my husband yesterday that when I used to read Calvin and Hobbes as a kid in the 90’s, I related most to Calvin (and adored Hobbes) but I’m only just realizing that I may actually have grown up to unwittingly become Calvin’s mom. Sigh. Thankfully, my youngest, Gryffin, maintains good rapport with both his older siblings, albeit while firmly embracing his role as the antagonistic little brother so maybe my parenting is improving with age.

Aria, Alako, Ailey, and Gryffin, 2022

               At this point in my parenting journey, I just want to be sure I connect individually with each of my kids and give them each the focused attention they deserve. I am not the kind of parent who extensively researches techniques or intentionally reads parenting books, (I think I read ONE when I was pregnant the first time, twelve years ago) but I do remember somewhere along the line someone told me that when a child asks if you want to play with them, they are actually asking if they are worthy of your time and attention, so I think of this literally every time I asked to stop, mid-multitask to build Lego ships or sip invisible tea. That doesn’t mean I am not secretly losing my mind thinking about when I will get back to the task that was interrupted, but I know how much such a simple effort makes for my children. I do not make nearly enough room in my schedule for solo, one on one time with each of my children, but it is something I am determined to improve. They are deeply concerned about fairness and even distribution of resources within our household, as if they have ever had any reason for said concern. Popsicles, for example, are one highly valued commodity requiring rigidly even distribution. I am flattered and so grateful to know I am high on that list, as there is truly no higher honor than to be in high demand by the sweet people I adore most. Even if there is a very strong possibility I come in a close second to popsicles.