For the Mom Who Feels Like Time is Standing Still

Pay Attention Because It Won't Last Forever

If today, motherhood feels mundane and monotonous, I assure you, it will not always be this way.

Maybe, you’ll be sitting at lunch in Fresh Mex after Sunday morning service like always, and your daughter and the love of her life will announce that they are getting married. Like soon. And they will bubble over with excitement about how your home would make the loveliest of venues and ask if they can please host it there.

And you will say yes, of course–even though it’s both “soon” and also “a lot of work”–because this is your beautiful daughter and this is her wedding. And your house is, in fact, lovely.

You won’t believe it, because literally last week she was posing in your wedding gown after bathtime.

But you will also believe it because she’s been alive now for 25 years, and of course she’s marrying him because, since meeting him, she is the most alive she’s ever been.

Maybe, you’ll be standing in your driveway waving goodbye to your baby who is driving herself to school alone for the first time. You’ll clutch your collar and whisper prayers for her car to magically repel the fools on the highway until you receive her text telling you she arrived safely.

You won’t believe it because she’s had her learner’s permit for over two years and you’ve been driving carpool for over two decades. You contemplated the very real possibility that you’d still be driving her to her college classes.

Yet, here you are with an empty house and two extra hours in your day.

Maybe that same baby will be trying on dresses for her last high school dance after returning from NYC for her senior trip while also making a final decision to attend a college 200 miles away.

You won’t believe it because literally last week, she was trying on dresses for her FIRST high school dance and adamant that she will never leave home because you’re her best friend and how could she ever live anywhere but where you are?

Being a mom is like riding the popular new roller coaster at Disney. First, the cost of the ticket to enter the park is shocking. But you’ve heard this ride is worth every penny, so you pay the price. You squeeze through the turnstile, grab a map, and locate the rollercoaster. Then you step into the line and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You move up a few feet, enter another maze, and wait some more. You prop yourself up against the railing.

You’re hot.

You need to pee.

You play several rounds of "Would You Rather" with your partner. You people-watch. You make friends with the family near you. You snap a few selfies. You seriously question whether a roller coaster exists or if you just spent $$$ to stand in line for the rest of the day.

You’re hungry.

You open the map and scope out a good place for lunch. You get excited when you see people ahead of you rounding a corner. Finally, the front of the line!

Nope.

Another maze.

Will this line ever end?

These are the baby/toddler/preschool years. Not necessarily in joy or satisfaction or meaning, but most definitely in the perception of time.

At some point (feels like days later), you enter a clearing where you are thrust into the chaos of picking a row that will determine your seat. Front? Back? Middle? Which one is the shortest? Which one is the most exciting? Which one will not hurt me?

You observe as your linemates (your new BFFs) anxiously strap in and take off. You wave. You also see other disheveled passengers returning, unbuckling, and exiting the ride. Some of them are laughing. Let’s do that again! Others are crying. What was I thinking? Some look frightened. Others exhilarated. Most are a combination of all of that. Now and again, someone vomits. Now you’re scared.

Then it’s your turn.

You and your partner sit down, strap in, and pull down the safety bar over your full bladder (you still need to pee). The attendant double-checks that it’s locked and pushes down harder on your bladder. She gives a thumbs up to the kid in the booth, and off you go. Your neck jerks back and

you ascend slowly...up...the...first....hill.

*clink-clink-clink-clink*

Your thoughts are the following:

Wow, the view from here is incredible!

Whoa, this is high.

I wonder if anyone has ever died on this thing.

I might die.

These are the elementary school years. Lots of movement. Lots of decisions. Lots of questions. It goes by quickly. You aren’t quite sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you have absolutely no doubt that you are in for an incredible ride.

At last, the train crests the top of the hill. You dangle for a moment.

Uh oh.

And then, with unprecedented force and speed, you plunge and swerve and loop and climb and plunge and jolt and tilt. You are laughing. You are terrified. You hear screaming and realize the person screaming is you. You don’t want it to end but you absolutely need it to end. And then, just like that…

It’s over.

Now YOU are the disheveled passenger unbuckling your seatbelt as wide-eyed onlookers try to discern your reaction.

These are the teenage years, in speed and intensity and thrill and terror.

You push through the exit and stumble down the ramp, and you’re like, what the heck just happened? You can’t believe the ride is already over. But you are also 100% okay that the ride is already over.

You vomit.

And then, you’re bone-tired and it’s dark and you’re driving home. You’re remembering the day and the rollercoaster ride with all its long lines and dips and turns. You scroll through your phone and smile at the pictures. And you look over at your partner and you say, “That was fun. It went by fast. Totally worth it, though.”

And he agrees.

---

One thing you’ll never hear me tell you is, “Enjoy every moment.” That’s because some moments are excruciatingly slow, incredibly chaotic, or downright painful. Most moms don’t enjoy those moments.

I sure didn’t.

If you’re in the middle of what feels like a never-ending phase of parenting, you don’t need to necessarily “enjoy” it, but I encourage you to pay attention to it. In every moment–especially the ones you want to rush through–God is teaching you, maturing you, sustaining you.

(Also, beware: every time you look away for a microsecond, the children grow an inch and a shoe size.)

I know the days feel endless. Mom. But, I promise, the next thing you know, you’ll be making graduation plans or buying dorm furniture or hosting a wedding…and I just don’t want you to miss anything.

Love,

Sandy

---

P. S. This essay was partially inspired by Sandy’s Real Life Circa March 2025 and partially adapted from my award-winning book, Mom, You’re Amazing! And Other Things I Want to Tell You. If you prefer listening to reading, you can listen to me read this book to you on The Balanced MomCast beginning with Episode 253 on Apple Podcasts, on Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts.