When my kids were small, I used to dread the early evening hours.
I never could figure out how to calm a colicky baby while entertaining an active toddler and somehow cook a fabulous meal. And more nights than not, all three of us ended up standing in the kitchen in tears.
The dinner hour is much easier now that I don’t have to worry about the kids falling down the stairs if I turn my back. My repertoire of meals has expanded greatly from the frozen meals that were my best friend when the kids were small. And my kitchen is now typically free of tears.
But there are nights that I miss the kids playing under my feet while I mash the potatoes.
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Nowadays, Laurel and Trevor are usually playing outside with their friends, finishing homework or watching a TV show while I make dinner. And it usually takes several minutes to get the kids to come into the kitchen for dinner, when years ago I would spend my time trying to keep them out of the kitchen.
If you had told me many years ago that I would miss the thrill that comes from successfully setting the table while balancing a baby on your hip, I never would have believed you.
I was too busy trying to hear myself think over the sound of a baby crying.
But every now and then, I have to admit that I actually do miss those days.