After the lunch dishes are done on a Sunday afternoon, she can dry her hands on the dishtowel and simply watch her husband and her children having fun outside. Of course more child-centered events than not require her physical involvement: tickling little tummies after dinner, jumping up from a chair when there is a wail from upstairs, or getting a sore back from bending over the bathtub to wash a blonde three-year-old head of hair.

Sometimes, a mother gets to sit and watch her husband be the “active” for the weekend, pulling the smallest one in a wagon all afternoon.

But sometimes, she just gets to sit in a lawn chair and watch her seven-year-old blossom on her bike, riding farther and farther down the street, testing her independence. She is learning her own limits and her mother has to let her.

Watching, carefully and intentionally, after the lunch dishes are humming in the dishwasher is a privilege. Watch them grow. Watch them change. Watch them learn to be people. This is certainly a privilege because little girls won’t always want to ride in purple wagons or turn around at the end of the street.