Being a parent is hard

I have to admit it - being a real dad rails against my flesh. I love inconsistency (as long as it benefits me), sloth (a little sleep...a little slumber...), isolation (until I get bored and pull you from your alone time), and all those things that make me a poor dad and an example of how not to do things. It is so easy to mail it in and rest on my laurels. There are certain times in the day when I realize that I need to suck it up and play the ball. Like when I am tempted to sit down and know that the last opportunity I have to mop the kitchen floor this week coincides with my time I was looking forward to sitting on my patookis. It seems like fatherhood is even more in my face than the ever-present housework that I do from time to time. Even the times when the boys are in the basement I need to pay attention to cross wards, crashes, and the verbalization of the two sounds that parents tend to dread: "Uh-oh."

And I don't do it. I just don't. The two most precious gifts my wife and I have been given get my short attention too many times. I want to get them to bed early too often...and then wonder where the time I have to spend with them goes. I see opportunities to engage them individually and together and watch those slip by as well. I verbalize commitments (not to them mind you but to God and myself) and I don't follow through.

It is tough being a parent. But it is a good kind of tough. And I see God grow them in spite of me. His mercy on me is so great. His grace is not only full, but it is sufficient. And, as tough as it is, I am not looking forward to the day when I will not need to ask the oldest if he wants his soccer blanket on the bed tonight or the youngest no longer asks to wear his Superman pajamas. Not at all.

They fill my life, my house, and my heart with silly songs and laughter - I don't think there is a sober bone in their body. And they love me. Oh how they love me.