When I read the title of this article and the first paragraph. I thought I should write about this. But then I read her entire article and she hit on everything in my heart! In fact I sat here with tears flowing because she wrote so beautifully what I would say.

One More Night with My Children

By Susan Elzey
 When one of the presidential candidates recently commented that there wasn’t a single parent of grown children who wouldn’t like to go back and have one evening again with them, I started thinking about what kind of evening I would have with my seven if I could go back.

Evenings were usually so stressful with dinner, homework, dishes, bedtime routines, fussy babies, school meetings, church meetings—I see people nodding.

But if I could do it again for just one evening, knowing what I know now of what their lives would become and what their challenges and triumphs would be and are, what would I do and what would I say?

I would choose to telescope some years so that I would have a couple of teenagers and a sweet little baby home at the same time. I would nuzzle the baby’s velvety neck and drink in all the baby smells before putting him or her down on soft blankets while I gathered the rest around the table.

Wait. That never really worked before. It took me about four babies to realize that the fussiest times for babies were at dinnertime. But this time it wouldn’t frustrate me. I would turn the baby over on my lap and pat its little bottom while I turned to the rest of the kids vying for attention and the biggest portions around the table.

To them I would say, “You don’t realize it, but one of these days you will look back at all these meals around this table and be grateful for them. You will remember them as the best time of the day. In years to come you will also choose to have dinner every night around a table in your homes, whether it is one you pulled out of the apartment’s trash bin and repainted until you could afford a new one or whether you spent an income tax refund to buy a nice one.

“And then you will come back home and expect good food and good company around the new table I could afford once you all left home and we will have good times—long Sunday afternoons after a big family dinner is over, holiday buffets, board games when we can convince the men to play, grandchildren crowded in around the table, lots of talking and laughing, mission farewell and mission homecoming meals, and, yes, one day lots of fussy babies to hold and bounce while we try to eat.

“Appreciate these meals, but know there will be many more as long as I have the energy to cook and you still want me to.”

A vision of eternity

I would try to give them a vision or a dream of the wonderful boyfriends and girlfriends turned fiancés and fiancées turned husbands and wives whom they will bring home to meet us—nervous times on both ends.

“You’ll be married in the temple, and your weddings will be holy and beautiful. You will catch a vision of eternity you’ve never had before. It will be the best day of your life until you hold your own babies,” I would say to my children in between the spills and the ketchup. “I will love the ones you bring home to be a part of our family and love you all the more for choosing wisely. Don’t take all these teenage dates and drama too seriously—it will all work out and work out beautifully if you keep your sights on the matters of eternity.”

On to homework

One of the advantages of a big family is that kids get left a lot on their own when it comes to homework, or, I am wont to say to a couple of my sons, “It’s a good thing you were smart because you never studied much.”

But if I knew then what I know now I would tell them that even kids who go to a high school next to a cow pasture in the southern Virginia countryside can wind up graduating proudly from BYU and then on to graduate schools.

“You’ll be smart and make good choices on education,” I would say. “Keep on studying because one day you will crave a higher education. You will move your spouses and children across the country to take advantage of good universities. This schoolwork that seems so unimportant now will one day matter so very much to you.

“So go study.”

Let us gather in a circle

When it was almost time for bed, I would gather them all around for family prayer. This time around I would add scripture study because I was never good about that. Getting them all together for prayer seemed stressful enough.

But that night I would review with them all their blessings and tell them how blessed I was to be their mother. I would tell them the calling of motherhood was my greatest calling in life and wherever they went and whatever they did, I would always love them and be beside them, even if we were thousands of miles apart.

I would pray for each of them by name, being grateful for their particular part in my life, and ask God’s richest blessings to be upon them and for Him to always watch over them. When the “amen” was said, I would assure them that through the years ahead God answered my prayer and was always beside them and had never forsaken them, no matter how hard and lonely their lives looked sometimes.

They would jump up and run off, probably pushing a brother or sister as they left, but I would call out to them, “Did you hear me? Do you know that I am grateful for you and that God will always be with you and that I will always and forever wish that I could be with you? Listen to me. It’s important.”

My favorite

Then there would be the whole bedtime routine during which I used to grit my teeth, hoping that one day they would take a shower and brush their teeth without being coerced—actually desire to be clean all on their own!—and go to bed without my having to solve all the last-minute daily problems, find the missing sweater that had to be worn the next day, and tuck them in when I was so exhausted.

But if I had one more night, just one more, of that bedtime routine, I would take a deep breath and know that one day they would brush their teeth all on their own and that one day I would hear the words, “You really don’t have to tuck me in anymore, Mommy. I’m too old for that.”

Maybe that one night I was given as a gift, however, no one would say that, and I could go child by child to their beds. I would find all their blankies and teddy bears and sit down by the side of their beds just to visit for a couple of final minutes. I would read their favorite stories for the thousandth time or tell them a story from my childhood. Then I would turn out the light, bend down to each one, tuck the covers in tightly around them, and whisper to them.

They probably wouldn’t remember what I said, but I would remember it forever if I had one more night with my young children.

I would say to each of them in turn, “I love you and you are so precious to me, more precious than you can ever know until you have children of your own. And you, you are my favorite one, and always will be.”

Then with all of them in bed, I’d return to the living room and just for that one night, sit and look at the coats thrown on the coach, the toys on the floor, and the school books in a pile. But instead of picking them up and fussing about their untidiness, I would say a prayer of gratitude for one more night with my children at home.