Won't that be fun? 

 

I recall the day I realized that it was the first time I did not have a child under four. Since the biggest gaps between our nine kids was four years, the shortest being two minutes, there was a conveyor belt of preschoolers for twenty five years. It was as if my head came out from a cloud. A beautiful one, mind you, but still a fog of sleep deprivation and high alert. 

 

One of the strategies that took root in the second half of parenting young kids was misdirection. Not the malicious kind where a petty thief snatches your wallet, but rather the variety that a mother uses to keep the peace. 

 

In the early days when two children were wrangling over the same Lego piece, I would leap to negotiating tactics. 

 

"We can share. Won't that be fun? How about you let your sister use it first?"

 

Success was minimal, and effort was maximum. Later I slid into distraction. 

 

"This roof piece is pretty cool. I can make a tower," I muttered while absorbed in the construction of red bricks in another section of the floor. 

 

Suddenly the popularity shifted, making room for all participants to have prime real estate. It only took a minute, and no one was a loser. 

 

As a grown up I occasionally glimpse behind the veil that masks my own Parent's parenting.  The other day I felt my opinions about someone else's choices rise up like a temper tantrum. I not only wanted to make my decisions, I wanted to control theirs. 

 

Then I got a call from a friend who was struggling. For the next half hour I listened, completely absorbed in her story. My attention was hijacked, or shall I say rescued?

 

I believe in theory that God is leading each of His little ones on a unique path to the best version of themselves. Yet I still rubber neck to the point of supervising their progress. because, you know, God might have missed something.