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![]() When quality goes head-to-head with quantity, quality usually wins. Make a choice. A chewy, gooey Mrs. Field’s cookie, or a dozen bland store brand cookies filled with artificial chips? One night at the Ritz-Carlton, or a week in a Motel 6? It’s a no-brainer. For most of us, quality is the quest. From the clothes we wear to the bottled water we drink, we’ll pay a little more for the good stuff. Problem is, the same thinking often applies to our kids. As long as the time we do spend with them is deemed “quality time,” that’s better than mounds of mediocre moments, right? Not in my book. Not anymore. I now believe that “quality time” is a little phrase that neatly repackages the guilt trip of “not enough time.” Parents who have bought into the expression, however, never consider the distraction variable. While you may be ready to concentrate on your child, what if HE is distracted and doesn’t want to read or cuddle just because your schedule is open at that moment? The reality is that you can’t schedule it. Quality time happens on its own time. If you’re lucky, you’re around to share it with your child. I know from experience. While preparing dinner one day, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw my oldest son enjoying a quiet moment on our backyard glider. I hurriedly put my casserole in the oven, set the timer and went outside to join him. As I slipped into the glider and cozied up next to him, he leaned his head on my shoulder and smiled up at me, as if to say he was glad I was there. We didn’t speak. Our rocking was as gentle as the cool breeze that afternoon. I couldn’t help but recall rocking him in my arms not so long ago as we shared the same rhythmic swaying. We chuckled as we watched a bumble bee flit from one flower to the next, causing each stem to dip almost to the ground with its weight. Still, no words. It was a perfect moment.Long before I was ready, the timer blared. I ran into the kitchen, stirred my casserole and returned it to the oven, anxious to pick up where we had left off. But when I turned around, all I saw through the kitchen window was an empty glider, swaying, as if to make a point. I went outside and sat down. Alone. My son’s laughter wafted over the fence as he played in our neighbor’s yard. He had moved on. As children do. Always before we’re ready. Had I tried to re-create the moment we had shared, it would have never worked. “I can spend 10 minutes on the glider with you at 5:30, okay?” He’d have been squirmy and uncomfortable as we’d try to force something meaningful. It would have been a cheap knock-off of quality time. A counterfeit moment. I realized that day that quality time happens within the confines of quantity time. The only reason my son and I shared that precious moment was because I happened to be there at the right time. Kimberly A. Porrazzo is executive editor of OC Family magazine and chief content officer of Churm Media. |
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| Comment at 8/10/2009 |