Updated: November 1, 2018
Originally Published: March 30, 2013
Recently, I stumbled upon an article from “No Regrets Parenting” titled, “How To Spend More Quality Time With Your Child.” The author, Dr. Lewis, suggests that instead of fixating on how to maximize the amount of time spent with family, parents should prioritize creating high-quality, memorable moments together.
It became clear that Dr. Lewis and I shared a common parenting outlook, so I read on, unaware that I was about to encounter something far more unsettling than a rogue toy or the remnants of a long-forgotten snack.
Halfway through the piece, I glanced down at my keyboard and wondered if it was sweat or tears that had begun pooling between the keys. Those guttural sobs I heard? Yep, that was me.
What triggered this emotional avalanche? It was a sentence that hit like a ton of bricks: “There are only 940 Saturdays between a child’s birth and her departure for college. Sounds like plenty, right? But if your child is 5, that leaves you with just 680 Saturdays.”
Wait a second, Dr. Lewis! Are you telling me I have only 680 Saturdays remaining with my youngest? The realization felt like a punch to the gut.
As I continued reading, I could feel all semblance of composure slipping away. The more I absorbed, the more I felt my face contort into the famous “ugly cry face” — you know, the kind where snot is flowing, and you couldn’t care less because you’re overwhelmed.
The following paragraph sent me over the edge: “Imagine their tidy bedrooms, devoid of clutter. Envision a clean car without remnants of snacks or baby gear. Now rewind the clock and recognize the beauty of today’s chaos as both fleeting and precious.” The thought of my car no longer being a treasure trove of forgotten items made my heart quiver. I couldn’t fathom a time when I wouldn’t find relics like a petrified biscuit or a one-armed action figure from last summer’s vacation.
I realized I was completely missing the uplifting message woven into the article. I had been blissfully unaware that the number of Saturdays with my kids was finite. It felt like being handed a prepaid phone card without realizing I had already burned through most of the minutes.
I imagined the stern sales manager of “Minutes with Your Children” shaking her head at me, “Sorry, Ma’am. Your card had 940 minutes, and now you’re down to 680. There’s no refund just because you spent your time complaining about sleepless nights and laundry piles.”
As I sobbed into my couch, I felt a wave of panic. How was I going to explain to my husband that we had a deficit of 260 Saturdays with our youngest? The thought of the even shorter time left with our oldest was even more distressing.
But just as I prepared to break the news, my older child wandered in, groggy and disheveled, looking every bit the angel. She uttered three words that, just moments before, would have been the last I wanted to hear at that hour: “I can’t sleep.”
I leapt from my seat, excitement coursing through me. I didn’t even think to argue with my husband about whose turn it was to comfort the sleepy child. Instead, I embraced the opportunity to reclaim some precious time.
As we lay in her darkened room, I rubbed her tummy just as I did when she was a baby, contemplating how many “Belly Rub Credits” remained. Knowing she was nearing 9 and might soon outgrow this tender routine, I rubbed her until my arm felt like it might fall off.
Soon enough, she was peacefully asleep. I studied her face, realizing how fleeting this time was. In just 680 Saturdays, she would be navigating college life, and I could only imagine the adventures awaiting her.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. The next day, I remained preoccupied with the concept of “the card.” How many more episodes of our favorite shows would we watch together? How many times would I hear her strumming her ukulele before she decided she was too cool for it?
While some of my newfound insight prompted positive changes, fixating on how much time remained was also making me melancholic. It prevented me from fully embracing the present.
Reflecting inward, I began to understand why this article resonated so deeply with me. Perhaps it was because just the other morning, she made scrambled eggs solo. Or maybe it was because the two of them had confidently announced they no longer needed my supervision for neighborhood adventures.
Time was indeed slipping through my fingers, and I could sense it, mourn it, and feel it far more acutely than during the endless days of babyhood.
Yet while tallying minutes isn’t a healthy or practical approach to parenting, I don’t regret reading that article. I needed that jolt of awareness. I needed to be reminded that sweeping up crumbs nightly isn’t a burden; rather, it’s a beautiful part of the chaos.
I needed to cherish each moment, let go of trivial inconveniences, and fully engage in our time together. Sooner than I’d like, the day will come when I find a clean floor in her closet, devoid of colorful clothes and mismatched shoes. And when that day arrives, I want to remember to appreciate the hugs and laughter we shared rather than lamenting the mess.
That was Saturday #286. It was the day I truly understood that both exasperating and joyful moments are gifts of time, just packaged differently.
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In summary, our time with our children is limited, and it’s essential to embrace both the mess and the magic of parenting.
Keyphrase: parenting time management
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