I, like most parents in the midst of this global health crisis, have spent a lot of time — specifically, a lot more time — with my kids over the past eight months. I will even go so far as to say that I have spent too much time with my kids. It hasn't been all bad, but I wouldn't call it quality time. I know how some can take this out of context, so I will state what should be obvious: I love my kids, and I do everything I can to make sure their physical and emotional needs are met. But I'm also human and far from perfect, and I need to have my physical and emotional needs met, too. On some days, my growls and loud sighs outweigh my patience, warm fuzzies, and ability to be present. In the before times, when none of us knew this extra stress of this online learning, work-from-home, stuck life, I felt like a crummy parent on some days. But I would always do my best to connect with my kids. We would find ways to reattach.
My intentions shifted slightly this summer when I thought I would break all of us under the pressure of worry, stress, and so much noise. As I worked in my bedroom, I was grateful for the college student watching my three kids, who are 9 and 7 — the 7-year-olds are twins. Yet they were so loud and would often barge into my room to tattle on a sibling, ask about something not even within the realm of importance, or tell me they had to poop.
I was constantly on edge and sharper with my tongue than usual. I started to lose my desire to reattach. I wanted to float away. I wanted to be alone. Even the sound of their joy made me angry, and I was worried about my ability to be the parent they wanted and deserved. I could feel myself slipping to a dark place but couldn't stop myself. Then one day, while I was throwing together lunch for myself to take back to my room, my older daughter asked if I could have lunch with her.
I'm glad she didn't seem to sense my hesitation before I told her yes. In a few seconds, I processed my internalized crankiness for all of the roadblocks my kids created for me to do anything productive, including eating a quiet lunch between work tasks, along with the selfishness and guilt I felt for even feeling that way.
Lunch with my daughter on the front porch was exactly what both of us needed, though. Instead of talking at one another or navigating around each other in the same space, we spent focused, quality time together. The 15 minutes I sat with her felt so much longer, but in a good way. While we were technically with each other the remaining 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day, those 15 minutes made up for any missteps and missed connections.
I knew I had to let go of quantity because that was already in abundance. Quality became the goal. I still had reattachment as an intention, but if I knew we had at least one or two meaningful interactions, then I didn't get the sense there was a tear that needed to be repaired.
By the time hybrid learning and socially distanced fall soccer started, I was successful at getting in at least a few minutes of quality time with each kid every day. And because I let go of the idea that I had to be my version of a great parent all of the time, I was actually a better parent to my kids. It did help that we started to see each other less as we got busier, and I have no issues admitting that less time together is better for all of us.
The 10-minute car rides to school or practices when we sing along with the radio or chat with their carpool buddies are welcome parts of our days. And the one-on-one time I can sneak in with my kids if we happen to be in the car or at home alone seems to be making up for the months of saturated time together. Snuggles and story times before bed are more joyful and relaxed. Meals still need some work, but I don't want to stab my own eye at dinner nearly as much as I did a few months ago.
Less really is more, especially when we lower our expectations and the "shoulds" we put on ourselves as parents. I see my kids less but feel more connected to them. Their moods are better, too, and we are finally enjoying each other again.
