Throwback Thursday – Gayla, Trey and Coty Baer – circa 1993

This is one of the last visits we had with my grandpa, Frank Binion, before he passed away the following January.

I look back on pictures like this and remember older mothers telling me to enjoy it – that it goes by so fast. At the time, life seemed to drag, but little did I know, they were right.

My babies are 21 now – living on their own. They have great jobs and pay their own way through life. I'm very proud of them – but man, I wish I had those days back, when they really needed their mama.

If there’s one thing I would tell younger mothers – it’s the same thing that many others tried to tell me – enjoy every precious minute. Take a gazillion pictures – post them on Facebook as much as you want to. Don’t let your babies grow up and move out – only to fill your time with reflections of what could have been, or should have been.

Brag as much as you want to – their first laugh, the first word, tooth, crawl, day of school – brag it up. What you’ll really be doing is filling in the gaps when you wake up someday and can’t remember all the little details that matter most.

I was very blessed to work from home from the time they were toddlers. I missed very few days – still, looking back, I feel like I missed Everything! How could that happen?

Take this poem – print it out – read it often. Let this poem remind you just how precious your days are RIGHT NOW.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

by Ruth Hamilton 1958