Our family may not have the budget for extravagant vacations, so this past spring break, we opted for a “staycation.” I wanted it to be nothing short of amazing.
I proposed a trip to the local amusement park one day, a visit to the city another, and encouraged each of my kids to choose a park they liked. I tossed around ideas for picnics, sidewalk chalk art, mural-making, and even fun science experiments. “What do you want to do?” I asked, trying to convey my excitement. I genuinely wanted to make this time memorable.
“Um…” my 9-year-old daughter replied thoughtfully, “I want one afternoon dedicated to playing Monopoly with you because you always say you’ll play, but you never do. And I’d love to spend another day finishing the play script that Daddy and I started a year ago but haven’t finished yet.”
Wow, her honesty caught me off guard. As a parent of multiple kids, there’s always this nagging feeling that I’m not giving each child enough individual attention, but hearing her articulate her needs hit home.
I was pleased that she could express herself so clearly, yet this moment opened a floodgate of memories. I reminisced about when she was just 5, and I was pregnant with her younger brother. I had longed for her to have a sibling, but I was terrified of how it would change our special bond. The hours spent playing games, reading stories, cooking, and drawing together felt threatened by the impending arrival of her brother.
In hindsight, I realize I was somewhat justified in my fears, and I still carry that guilt. We still share precious moments—crafting, baking, and tackling science projects—but they often come with her little brother bouncing around, knocking over supplies or splattering paint everywhere.
At times, it seems my younger child might be getting the short end of the stick. While I’m home with him during the school day, life is undeniably different than it was with my older daughter. Our mornings start earlier, errands pile up, and I’m often left feeling drained and less fun.
I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Many parents of multiple children experience an almost constant guilt about not being able to provide quality time for each child.
I don’t regret having more than one child. Despite the sibling squabbles, I know they are forming a bond that will last a lifetime. They are learning that the world doesn’t revolve around them, that flexibility is key, and that sharing is essential.
Yet, I wish I could provide more, and I yearn for it to be easier to focus on each child individually, to dive deep into projects and conversations without the constant distraction of their sibling’s needs.
It truly breaks my heart when I ponder this.
Eventually, my daughter and I did manage to play an afternoon of Monopoly together. Her father took her brother to play superheroes in the living room while we locked ourselves in her cozy bedroom. I hadn’t played in ages, so she guided me on which properties to buy and how to strategize. I was impressed by her quick math skills and tactical thinking.
There was nothing extravagant about our game—just a simple afternoon filled with laughter, playful nudges, and shared moments. Just as we were wrapping up, her little brother started to cry for me, signaling that it was almost dinner time.
Before we left the room, I closed my eyes and tried to absorb the moment, transported back to a time that felt so long ago when it was just the two of us. It was a palpable connection I cherished.
As we began to put the game away, I felt a familiar pang of guilt. “Sorry we didn’t finish,” I said. “It’s alright,” she replied, “I pretty much won anyway.” I told her I had a wonderful time, and she gave me a shy smile and a soft “me too” as she dashed off to join her dad and brother.
Perhaps this is how our time together has to be right now—imperfect and fragmented. I trust that my daughter enjoyed our time, and I saw her in a great mood the rest of the day.
I hope my children will remember their childhood for the moments of joy and connection we shared, rather than the times we were interrupted or didn’t get to everything.
Moving forward, I’m committed to carving out more afternoons like this for both my kids. We don’t need to do anything grand; just being together is what matters most. I’ll also be kinder to myself when I feel like I’m falling short in spending time with them. Even the smallest moments are monumental to my children, and I know I can provide that.
Still, the feeling that I’m not doing enough will likely linger, and I suppose that’s just part of the parenting journey.
For more insights into navigating parenthood, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination at the CDC.
Summary:
Carving out quality time for each child can be a challenge for parents, especially when managing multiple kids. In this heartfelt reflection, Jenna shares her experiences balancing family life with the desire to provide individual attention. She stresses the importance of cherishing small moments together, even if they feel imperfect, and recognizes the guilt many parents feel about not giving enough. Ultimately, it’s the connection and shared experiences that matter most.