“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but bythe moments that take our breath away.”
I was fortunate enough to fly to Atlanta over the weekend withmy daughter, Cristina, who is eleven, to attend the wedding ofmy former choir director from Miami. We were both so excited wecould hardly sleep the night before. The thought of seeing allof our old Miami friends–as well as a dear family from Kentuckywho had since relocated to Atlanta–was almost more than wecould bear.
Saturday night I walked into the church as the harp, violin, andflute had just begun to play. The candles were lit, and thechurch was slowly filling up. I was surprised as an usher grabbed me from behind he was none other than the gentleman from New York who had arranged our choir's Carnegie Hall trip of that Spring. He escorted me right down to the second row, where all of my Miami friends were already seated. As the church was not yet filled–although it was certainly quiet enough–we made quite a scene as they jumped up and engulfed me with generous hugs and kisses. And then Kathy, one of my travel buddies to New York, said “Oh dear! I've just gotten lipstick all over your gorgeous suit!” And sure enough, on the sleeve of my granny-smith-apple-green (my obsession for the color deep enough to practically warrant medication) suit was apale pink lipstick smudge. It was an Escada suit, bought at aconsignment shop and, even at consignment prices, not inexpensive.
She felt horrible about it. But what could I do?
No matter. I got to thinking–as I sat quietly in my pewlistening to the strains of the harp–about the number of peoplewho would gladly trade a lipstick smudge on an expensive suitfor any one of those slobbery hugs I so enjoyed. I thought offolks sitting in other pews who might have recently lost theirlover, their husband or wife, their child, their best friend, ortheir betrothed. How fabulous would a hug from them have feltthat night?
How many times do we–as mothers–forego a hug from our little ones because strawberry jam is sticking to their fingers, or food remains on their tiny wet lips? Are we worried that we'll get our new t-shirt dirty, that we'll ruin the make-up we so carefully just applied to our freshly scrubbed face, or that theinterruption of the hug will make us late to an appointment?
Perhaps I have gained perspective over the years. Call it rarelygetting a hug from my sixteen-year-old son, or even frommy teenage daughter, Cristina, for that matter. Call it worrying about my sixteen-year-old when he has almost exceeded curfew, and rejoicing when I hear the garage door screech up on its chain. Call it realizing with unhappy certainty that my eight-year-old's goodnight squeezes will in the not-too-distant-future be a thing of the past.
So forget clothing. Forget your perfect make-up. You can alwaysdeal with dirt. That is, afterall, why drycleaning was invented.Steal those hugs and kisses like there's no tomorrow. And see how many moments you can add to life by the number of breaths ittakes away.
Carolina Fernandez earned an M.B.A. and worked at IBM and as a stockbroker at Merrill Lynch before coming home to work as a wife and mother of four. She totally re-invented herself along the way. Strong convictions were born about the role of the arts in child development homeschooling for ten years provided fertile soil for devising creative parenting strategies. These are played out in ROCKET MOM! 7 Strategies To Blast You Into Brilliance. It is available on Amazon.com, in bookstores everywhere, or by calling 888-476-2493. She writes extensively for a variety of parenting resources and teaches other moms via parenting classes and radio and TV interviews. Please visit http://www.rocketmom.com to subscribe to her free ezine and get a weekly shot of inspiration.