Remembering Your Oldest Child

Having three children under the age of eight is difficult. I'll pause while all you kindred spirits nod your heads in agreement. There are only so many hours in the day, and only so many ways to divide yourself up. Different needs, different wants, different schedules. Add to that a relationship with a spouse and any pursuits of your own and soon something starts to get neglected or expected to stand on its own more often.

In the beginning, it is fairly universal that the husband/wife relationship gets pushed to the back burner in favor of the new baby, new demands, sleep. As time goes on you find you have learned more and are able to bring more of a balance back into your life. Then just about the time you feel stable, WHAM!, along come more children and knock you for another loop. Again some area of your life is called upon to demand less. It wasn't until today that I realized I was expecting that duty to fall to someone, who while not a baby, still needs me like the dickens.

It started as a whim several weeks back. My oldest daughter, Culley, asked me to curl her long blond hair for school. Checking my watch, I said OK, that we had enough time to try. For fifteen minutes we stood in my bathroom, carefully spiraling her shiny locks and talking of everything and nothing. Everything: Her new school, boys she liked, boys who liked her. Nothing: Pokemon, Catdog, How do Rice Krispies talk to you? When we finished, she turned and hugged me and said I love you. What a great way to start the morning. Well, we have been starting every morning like this for two weeks now. When I asked her if she still liked her curly hair, she looked at me with her huge blue eyes and said, "Sure, but I mostly just like getting you to myself for a while."