Thirty Mommy Minutes

In a home that’s packed from dawn to dusk (and beyond!) with the joyful (and occasionally not so joyful) sights and sounds of twin toddlers, I have somehow grown accustomed in the last few months to multitasking and tuning out any noises that I don’t believe represent urgent need. As long as I don’t hear fighting sounds or accident sounds or too much suspicious silence, I know for the most part that the twins are fine. They’re growing more independent, by God’s grace, and can mostly feed, entertain, and take care of themselves without constant, concentrated adult supervision.

And with their gradual increase in independence comes my gradual increase in flexibility. One of us parents taking an hour off for a meeting or focused work isn’t as impossible as it used to be. Meals can still be exhausting, but at least we only need to feed them half of the time. They manage well enough for the other half. There is a sense of nostalgia mixed in with a sense of pride as we watch the children become better at doing their own things. But with the increase in freedom for us parents, I also find myself getting trapped into worsening distraction.

Now that I can use my phone or my laptop undisturbed for slightly longer amounts of time, now that the twins only need half an eye on them most of the time, I unfortunately often end up giving them only that. Without necessity binding me to watching them 100%, I sometimes end up only ever giving them my half-attention at best.

It’s a horrible habit, and it’s something I am trying to learn to overcome.

I am a hopeless multitasker. The only way I know how to juggle work and family and ministry and household management is by constantly doing half a dozen things at a time. It’s not unusual for me to have a work meeting while cooking while coordinating a delivery. I often absent-mindedly watch the kids while drafting memos or grading or blogging or jotting down one of the 101 things I am currently dealing with.

I thank God for technology to help
me to do all these things at the same time.

But I also know my children deserve better.

How can I complain that kids these days can’t focus for long when I myself fail at giving them even five minutes of undivided attention a day? It’s counter-intuitive for me at this point. I am that far gone into incessant and compulsive multitasking. Why do just one thing when I can arrange our social calendar, plan tomorrow’s lunch, cross-check credit card bills, and video chat with a friend all at the same time?

I can’t pull a 180, and I don’t even know if it’s wise to pull a 180. But I’m trying to curb my addiction to constant preoccupation by starting small.

Thirty minutes - that’s all I’m aiming for, just to start. I will try my very best, no matter the amount of work on my plate or the length of my to-do list or the keenness of my desire to jump into the next novel or Netflix show, to put down my phone and dedicate at least thirty minutes of undivided, focused attention on my children each day (Tim and I do it for each other too, although it’s thirty minutes out of a week instead. Compared to kids, adult relationships are like succulents. We’ll live.). I still spend time with the kids all day. I still care for them and teach them and watch them.

But for thirty minutes a day, I want to be 100% present and 100% engaged as a mother.

I had no idea it would be so hard!

The first time I tried it, my hands twitched for my phone every 4-5 minutes. The kids are incredibly happy to have Mommy doing focused play with them, but they also occasionally engage with the toys or books themselves. And the temptation to start doing something else the moment they begin to turn away is extremely strong. Humans are selfish by nature, and it’s such a struggle to force myself not to seek my own entertainment but to just be with the kids and be completely present, physically, emotionally, and mentally.

But it gets better.

The second time, I didn’t miss my phone quite as much. The third time, I was surprised to see the thirty minutes feel like five. Every time, I see the spark of learning in the children’s eyes, I see their antics and their grins, I feel their hugs and their kisses - and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

And while all those precious moments may feel like the best rewards already, I know this goes beyond that. Like all of parenting, this is about stewardship. And I know I am being a poor steward of the children God has entrusted us if all I ever offer them is a distracted mother watching them from afar, interfering only when something seems particularly worthy of attention. How will they ever understand God’s love and omnipresence if even the closest people they have in their lives are so often only half-present one way or another?

And so I pray to be better. I hope to be better. And I hope those pockets of thirty mommy minutes will be a good place to start.

Planning Mother's Day

A mere half a day earlier, I was having fun brainstorming with my husband about what sort of Mother’s Day celebration I wanted next week. After years of yearning to participate in this holiday, it means a lot to me every year to set aside a special day to consider and celebrate the blessing of earthly parenthood. Did I want a special meal? Or a special gift? Or a hotel stay?

What I didn’t expect was to be in the Emergency Room by midnight, caring for a crying, hungry, vomiting toddler while we wait to see if his hydration levels would require hospitalization - less than 48 hours after having had to do the same for his sister. One is the rosy image of motherhood: all cards and hugs and smiles and food. The other is the actual pulse of motherhood: nurturing, laboring, comforting, weeping, and giving of yourself until you feel you have nothing left to give.

One makes a mom feel special through pampering and praises. The other compels a woman to rise above her circumstances and rely on God for strength she can never have on her own.

By God’s grace, after medical intervention, both babies are back home, poised to continue their hydration regimes in a more comfortable setting even though their stomach bugs are not fully recovered. It’s still not over, but we’re thankful to get to care for them where they thrive best. We pray that they will quickly improve and not face further complications.

But there has never been a more stark reminder for me of what motherhood seemed to look like from afar versus what motherhood really entails on the ground. All those years of wishing I could have the sentimental version of motherhood never taught me to appreciate the nitty, gritty, harsh reality version of it. The former makes me feel good about myself. The latter makes me cling onto an omnipotent God.

Experiencing the challenges of motherhood firsthand also makes me appreciate all the more the parents who have been entrusted with children with various types of health issues. Whether these children face disabilities, accidents, congenital defects, recurrent illnesses, or even more serious challenges, their parents step up, and I admire them and praise God for them as I witness their unwavering dedication to their children.

God empowers us to carry the yokes He places upon our shoulders, and I thank Him that we can always hang onto to His promise that He loves and cares for us like as a Shepherd and as our Heavenly Father.

Pressing Play

For one-and-a-half years, my husband and I have lived on survival mode as we tried our best to care for twin babies in the most personal, hands-on way we could. Days and nights roll into a blur of dirty diapers, endless milk bottles, crying, cuddling, giggles, and tears. We eat what we can, and we sleep when we can. Things we used to take for granted, from traveling to shopping to drinking coffee before it turns cold, feel like luxuries to be savored like special occasions. With a global pandemic confining us mostly to the house, every day becomes even more of the same thing over and over again. It’s a blessing to have the children, and we love them with all our hearts. At the same time, we can go a little stir crazy from the sameness of it all.

But time is fickle. What feels endless one moment can become over in the blink of an eye. And suddenly, we have two toddlers in the house running and laughing and being frenemies in every sense of the word. Suddenly, the babies no longer feel like babies but rather two miniature human beings with their own personalities, preferences, and talents.
And I can suddenly start to resume some other things again.

I can cook minimally. I can read more. I can sleep more than 2 hours at a time.

I can write again, I can work more, and I can take a shower uninterrupted. I can eat the food I want or use the beauty products I want without worrying if they will affect fertility, pregnancy, or breastfeeding.

It feels oddly like another coming-of-age chapter. And just like young adulthood, it’s putting my values to the test.

With the slight increase in flexibility comes a corresponding increase in choices. Where do I spend my time? What things do I prioritize?

It’s hard to admit, but I’ve found myself being selfish more often than not.

It’s just easier to want to use my newfound pockets of time to indulge in shopping or pampering or other shallow things of the world. It’s easy to get carried away with chatting with my friends or getting caught up in the latest show or book. Even in a pandemic world, I know there are better ways to spend my time.

There are so many ways to minister: from praying for others to reaching out online to exerting more effort to make a better home for my family. There are so many ways to grow: from learning new skills to dedicating myself to more spiritual pursuits.

Standing on the threshold of another new year, I pray that God will help me to make the right choices every day. I pray that He will grant me the strength to work when I should and the faith to rest when I can. I pray that my heart will not be turned to the things of the world but to what truly pleases Him.

And as the children continue to grow by His grace, may they grow up in a home where their increasing independence is not a ticket to my selfishness, but rather an opportunity for all of us to continue to learn, to improve, and to serve.