Pretty much throughout my entire schooling from elementary through high school, my parents would always take an interest in how my day went. Whether I returned home from the bus as a fourth grader or walked through the door late in the evening after football practice as a high school senior, my parents would ask the standard question: “How was your day?”

Often, I would respond with the predictable one-word answer: “Fine.”

They would then respond with an equally predictable and well-meaning question: “What did you do?”

On too many occasions, I would respond with another one-word answer, this one untrue and evasive: “Nothing.”

Now as an adult and a parent myself, I find myself asking the same questions of my own kids. Sometimes I receive the same vague answers (“fine”, “nothing”) I spat out in my youth and that serves me right.

But even when Sloan and Beau respond with rich and informative descriptions of their day, am I really paying attention the way I should?

The above thought randomly came to me last week at the gym. You see, these types of deep and haunting questions usually pop into my head while I am working out 😉. The realization that my kids have/will spend a sizeable percentage of their childhood away from me while they go to school and I work grabbed my attention. At least when it comes to waking hours, my children are away from me at least 40% of the time.

That’s crazy.

It hit me that if I can’t be around my kids for so many hours during any given day, I should at the very least take a very concerted interest in what they did and listen carefully to what they say.

When I pick up Sloan and Beau from educare at the end of the day, I sometimes find myself stressed and I zone out. I need to stop that.

These days, it is always a mad dash to pick them up at school. I commute from Cheney and usually have a stressful drive to ensure I pick them up at educare (the version of afterschool daycare St. Mary offers) before it closes at 5:30 p.m. Many times I arrive with just a minute or two to spare.

Once I get them in the car, I find myself calming down from the day at work and the crazy commute to pick them up. I ask the standard questions and respond with appropriate follow ups but sometimes I zone out. Sure, I can give myself some grace but let’s get real: this is their fleeting childhood that they are telling me about.

I am trying to do a better job at hanging onto every word they say. I owe it to them, and frankly, I owe it to myself—because I want to be as engaged in their childhood as possible.

And just so they know, sorry mom and dad for not always giving you the responses you deserved. Don’t Blink.