childhood

 

One of my biggest failures in parenting has come in the form of screens. My children's small faces have been in front of them far too often. It was especially bad last year. Our old life on Fieldcrest Lane was quiet, mostly retired couples on our street, no other children to play with. So my children stayed inside. Sure, they played with each other, but when they grew tired of toys the screens came on. And I allowed it, even though my heart was against it.

But here? In this new space? Life is more as it should be. Spring has finally sprung in Ohio and my children are soaking up the first warm rays of sunshine that this year has had to offer. As soon as their school lessons are over for the day and their bellies are filled they hit the ground running, all three of them, the old lures of the screen forgotten. They ride bikes, play at the playground, and scavenge the campus with their friends for frogs. Yesterday they caught so many that my front yard looked as though a slimy green plague had come upon it. And at the end of the day, my children come home sweaty, stinky, smiling, freckles popping, and with cheeks rosy.

And it is exactly as this season of childhood should be.

Because one day my children will grow up. Perhaps, at some point in time, a prince will arrive for each of my daughters and the days of frog catching will be over.

But that day is not today. Thank goodness that day is not today.