Our family isn’t in a position to take elaborate vacations, so this past spring break, we opted for a “staycation.” I wanted it to be something special.
I told my kids we could spend a day at the local amusement park, another day exploring the city, and each of them could choose a nearby park to visit. I even proposed fun activities like picnics, sidewalk chalk art, mural-making, and science experiments.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, trying to sound enthusiastic, genuinely wanting to make our staycation enjoyable.
“Umm…” my 9-year-old replied, “I want one afternoon to play Monopoly with you because you always say you’ll play, but you never do. And I’d like to spend another day working on that play script Daddy and I started a year ago but never finished.”
Wow, that caught me off guard. As a parent of multiple children, there’s always this nagging feeling that we’re not providing enough individual attention to each child, but I hadn’t faced it so directly until that moment.
I was proud of my son for expressing his desires so openly, but it also made me reflect. I remembered when he was 5 and I was pregnant with his little sister. I wanted him to have a sibling, but I was terrified that our special bond would vanish. All those hours spent playing games, reading together, creating art—I worried it would all disappear when his sister arrived.
In some ways, I was right, and the guilt still lingers. My older son and I do share special moments; we make crafts, conduct science experiments, and bake together. However, it often includes his little sister, who unintentionally disrupts our activities by knocking over the batter bowl or splattering paint everywhere.
Sometimes, I feel that my younger child has it tougher than my first did. I’m at home with her while her brother is at school, but life has changed. We wake up early to drop him off and juggle numerous errands. I’m often exhausted and less fun than I used to be.
I know many parents of multiple children experience this guilt—this constant worry that they aren’t spending enough quality time with each child. I don’t regret having more than one; despite the sibling squabbles, they’re forming a bond that will last a lifetime. Each is learning valuable lessons about flexibility and sharing.
Still, I can’t shake the desire to give each child more of my time. I wish it were easier to focus on each one separately, to engage in projects and conversations without distractions from their sibling. It genuinely breaks my heart to think about it.
Eventually, my older son and I spent an afternoon playing Monopoly together. His dad entertained his little sister in the living room while we shut ourselves in his room. I hadn’t played in a while, so my son guided me on which properties to buy and how to strategize our moves. I was impressed by his quick math skills during our exchanges.
There was nothing extraordinary about the game; it was just a simple afternoon. We shared laughs, our toes brushed as we played, and he playfully punched my arm a few times. Just as we were wrapping up, his sister began crying for me, and dinner was approaching, so we paused our game.
Before we left, I closed my eyes, trying to capture the moment. It reminded me of the time when it was just the two of us. That feeling was palpable.
As we stored the game away, I felt a twinge of guilt. “Sorry we didn’t finish the game,” I said. “It’s OK,” he replied, “I pretty much won anyway.” I assured him I had a wonderful time, and he gave me a sheepish smile along with a genuine “me too,” mumbled as he dashed off to join his dad and sister.
Perhaps spending time with my kids will have to be like this for now—imperfect and fragmented. I believe my son when he says he enjoyed our time together, and I noticed he was in a noticeably good mood for the rest of the day.
I hope that what my kids will remember most about their childhood are these moments of fun and connection, rather than the times that were cut short or didn’t happen. I’m committed to making more afternoons like this with both of my children. We don’t need anything extravagant; being together is what truly matters.
I’m also going to give myself some grace for the times I feel like I’m falling short in spending time with my kids. Even the smallest moments are significant for them—huge, in fact—and I know I can offer them that. Yet, there will always be a lingering feeling that it’s not quite enough, and I suppose that’s just part of the parenting journey.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the struggles of a parent trying to balance quality time with multiple children. The author shares personal experiences of guilt and the desire to provide more individual attention, while also recognizing the importance of small moments spent together. Ultimately, the piece emphasizes that even imperfect interactions can foster meaningful connections in a family.