Twice recently, I’ve flubbed the question. On two separate occasions, interested, intelligent and childless friends have asked me how I fill my time with a two year old. As if it might be difficult. Or, perhaps more to the point, boring.
And I’ve had nothing much to say. Oh, we do lots of things. We go to the park. We like to bake together. We read stories.
Of course, I wasn’t fibbing with any of this. Those are the things that fill my days with Blue. But listing them doesn’t really answer the question.
The Spouse and I are juggling childcare this year. With him a student, me part-time employed, and the savings of our lucrative past diminishing daily, childcare that you have to pay for is out of the question. Which is a good thing, actually. It means that we each get more time with Blue, and, in this year when everything is new and unfamiliar, I think the more time spent with family the better. Beangirl is at school five days, all day, which seems like a lot when you aren’t yet 5, but that’s the system here, and she is thriving. Blue is at home with us: with me three days, and with the Spouse the other two when I’m in at the church. And it’s working well – life trundles on, and we are happy. But how do I fill my time? I wish I had answered more eloquently when asked. I wish that I had been able to share even a thin slice of the experience of spending full days with my two year old.
So here’s take two.
I fill my time with my two year old with learning. He is learning about the world, and so am I. I am learning as I watch him do things for the first time, and for the seventeen hundredth time. I am learning again what it is like to dare to do something new, and what it is like to perfect it. I am learning how he can be brave and little at the same time, and how he can be fearless and still need me.
I am learning to let go and to hold on.
I am learning that we should never outgrow asking people what they want to be when they grow up. Everyday, it changes with Blue, and he delights to be asked again. A monster dancer, a cake baker, a tiger, and – after a visit to the fire station where an excellent woman greeted us – a man fire-lady. And then sometimes he asks me, too.
I am learning it’s okay to say I am not yet sure.
I am learning about my own mother. Throughout the day, my hands reach, my eyes glance around, and I bend my adult body small enough to be with a child – these are things that I learned from my mum, physical memories that surface and surprise me. Spending time with my own children, I am learning about how she mothered me, and how that is a gift she gives to her grandchildren, even though they are living far away.
I’m learning that at the end of the day, it is good to share stories of the things that have happened when we’ve been apart and also when we’ve been together.
I am learning that a lot of living with people is concerned with cleaning things up. Physical messes and the messes we make when we forget to pay attention to others. Sometimes, cleaning things up is boring because we’d rather be doing something else. But sometimes, we like to sweep the floor together – it feels better under our feet when it is clean, and it is a job that has a beginning and an end.
This Lent, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s book recommendation was Barefoot Disciple: Walking the Way of Passionate Humility. Stephen Cherry writes about the messiness of life and about our Christian calling to be transformed in the image of Christ.
“Dust and divinity are never to be separated in the Christian imagination, for they are reconciled in the flesh of Jesus Christ, the most human, and humble, of human beings.”
Dust and divinity. Housework and blanket forts. Making supper and playing at the park. Making faces and holding hands. Washing feet.
It is marvelous, humble work, watching someone you love, slowly and surprisingly, become a person. And I’m glad that I get to do it.
