SMALL THINGS

I recently scrolled back through old Facebook photos looking for pictures of notes from my sons and found two precious gems.

One is a text from my then eleven-year-old telling me that although I was sitting right next to him, he wanted to message me and tell me I was pretty. The second, a well-edited Mother’s Day class project, comments on the smell of bacon always coming from my kitchen. God bless the teacher that facilitated that one.

These mementos of my boys’ childhood are treasures, glimpses into their young hearts and their history in my care. I cherish them greatly.

But there is one note I know I chose not to post.

I remember staring at the picture I had taken of my young son’s precious words, pondering if I should share it with my social media world. He had declared his affection and appreciation in written form, complete with all the simple and profound beauty of childhood honesty. It was a warm hug wrapped in childlike wonder, a proud mom moment that I longed to share.

But the spelling was horrific.

What would people think of my parenting?

So I kept the written display of affection hidden on my phone.

I wish I could go back and hit the ‘post’ button, I wish I would have chosen to share his precious words. Today, because I hid that tender little message, I no longer remember exactly what my son wrote, only that it warmed my heart and I was too embarrassed to share. 

Of all the things I wish I could tell my younger parenting self, this one is at the top of the list: most things really are just small things. 

When I looked at my son’s writing that day years ago, I felt both failure as a parent and failure for my child. I held in my mind a vision of a future of struggle and academic turmoil alongside a past of parental lack. I had failed my child and he would fail in the future, all evidenced by sweet little loving words on a page.

But his spelling turned out to be just a small thing.

Fast forward a decade and my son reads and writes beautifully. Through years of tutoring, his dyslexic brain was given the support it needed and his academic achievement now exceeds most of his peers. Posting his accomplishments on social media today would make me feel like an amazing mom, but I wish I had realized that I always was.

I wish I had seen the small things for what they really were - just small things.

If I could go back I would ignore the milestones my boys failed to hit and give myself grace for the developmental activities I didn’t facilitate. I wouldn’t worry about the vegetables I couldn’t make them eat and I’d refuse to project today’s struggles into the future. 

I’d remind myself that most of the parenting things we believe to be so life-altering in the moment turn out to be small things in the end.

While cleaning out his room last week my son discovered one of his childhood journals. He laughed as he read me some of his old entries and smiled at his common lack of vowel usage. He was not embarrassed at the writings of his younger self, he was simply immersed in the wonder of his life as a child. 

It seemed like such a big thing then. In reality it’s just a small thing now.

While I can’t go back and share that note he wrote years ago, I can hold onto the lesson it has taught me for today. Most of the things we come up against in parenting will become small as we look back from the future, the story of our children’s lives dotted by highs and lows, but weaving together beautifully in the end.

Less worry, more enjoyment.

Most of it is small in the end.