This morning I dropped my son, Deuce, off at the bus stop.

He doesn’t always take the bus. 7:15 a.m. pick up is too early for me. But every once in a while, when he sees something yummy on the school breakfast menu, like breakfast pizza, or egg tacos, I give in. I love these mornings. I don’t have to make breakfast and because it’s so early, I don’t have to make lunch—he’s buying then too.

“Bus mornings” are also a great way to start my day with him. With a cup of coffee in my hand, we take the walk down to the corner where the street light illuminates the sidewalk and road is still quiet. We talk about his upcoming day, his fears, and his anticipations.

Today on our trip to the corner, he saw our neighbor’s cat, Curtis, and sang “Felix the Cat” but inserted Curtis’ name.

“Curtis the cat. The wonderful, wonderful cat.”

He didn’t know the rest of the song, so I finished, “Whenever he gets in a fix, he reaches into his bag of tricks.”

Curtis ran away from us in fear. We laughed so loud we had to quiet each other, worried we might wake a sleeping neighbor. “Curtis is a scared cat,” Deuce said. “He’s a scaredy cat.” He laughed again and I did too.

We arrived at the bus stop just in time to hear the squeaking brakes of the bus a block over. Deuce looked at me and said, “Let’s pray mama!”—always part of our routine on the way to school.

I bent down. “Dear Jesus, help Deuce to have an amazing day at school today. Remind him to make wise choices and to ‘be better’ than the bully who hurt his feelings yesterday. Help him have courage to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. May his actions and his words make You famous today. In Jesus name I pray.”

“Amen!” He puckered his lips and kissed my cheek. The bus arrived and he climbed on.

Through the tinted windows, I strained my eyes to find where he’d sat down. He chose a seat by the window closest to me and waved ferociously. I did the same. I blew him a kiss, he blew me two.

I stood still and sipped my coffee. Warm tears filled my eyes. I watched until the bus left the neighborhood and turned out of sight.

Many thoughts poured into my mind. He won’t always want me to walk him down to corner. He won’t always want to kiss me in public. He won’t always wave to me from the bus.  I need to savor these special moments.

Because, I don’t always savor motherhood. Motherhood is hard.[tweetthis]Because, I don’t always savor motherhood. Motherhood is hard.[/tweetthis]

I often wish for the season I’m in to be over so I can move to the next season. Those seasons—when you love your kid but you’re ready for bedtime by 9 a.m. They pull on the dog’s tail, terrorize their brother, and throw fits like a two-year-old. They won’t eat what you make them, they complain about their clothes, and wish they had more of everything.

At the end of most days, I’m just glad we’re there—at the end.

I don’t live in the moment. And to be honest, I live frustrated with my kids. I not only wish away the hard moments, but find I miss the best moments too.

What an unfortunate way to live.

I only get today once. One day, my children will be walking down the aisle to spend the rest of their lives with someone else. I don’t want to have wished away every moment I had with them, while the bridal procession plays.

Today’s walk to the bus stop though was not a “wish away” moment. It was a reminder from God to be grateful. And to savor motherhood. Even when it’s hard.

I want more of these moments. I get so wrapped up with my wants, my schedule, and my priorities. I need help. Like, God-help. Father, help me see my kids the way You do. And snap me back into place when frustration begins to rise within me.

I need to play more worship music so our home is filled with Truth instead of the lies that consume my heart.

And I need to change my mind. To decide ahead of time I’m going to respond well to my kids.[tweetthis]And I need to change my mind. To decide ahead of time I’m going to respond well to my kids.[/tweetthis]

Because tomorrow, today will be gone.

Now, if only I can remember to live out what I’ve typed here when Deuce gets home from school in a few hours.

How about you? Do you wish away the seasons of your kid’s lives too? Any suggestions?