Children are like mirrors. They help you see yourself clearly. They reflect your priorities, your character, your flaws, your insecurities… and yes, your addictions.
Without being able to utter a single intelligible word, my 9-month-old reflects me back to me with striking clarity… and sometimes it’s not a pretty sight.
Lately, he’s been showing me that I am seriously preoccupied with my phone. I glance at it and grab for it all too often. It is always just an arm’s length away. Even when I have just checked my email or the weather or the latest headlines, I will go back and look again only minutes later; it’s like some tactile fixation. Of course, this choice—and this habit of mine—reflects a frenetic culture without an off switch, always afraid of missing out and craning its neck for what’s new and what’s next. But that’s another blog post.
Like my phone, my son never strays far from my side. Not surprisingly, my son has become acutely aware of this fun object that Mom is constantly playing with. He wants to play with it, too. He wants to chew on it and bang it up against tables and toys and see what happens. He seems to understand that this thing is important to Mom. It must be cool. It must be worthy of time and attention. To a lesser extent, he is starting to become interested in the Diet Coke cans that seem to multiply around our house. Yikes.
As I watch him become increasingly preoccupied with getting his hands on my phone, he is my miniature mirror. Here’s what I see: this piece of plastic is getting more time and attention than its worth. My focus isn’t reflecting my core values; it’s reflecting a distracted heart.
Here’s the deal with a mirror: it doesn’t show us what we want to see. It’s not a Norman Rockwell painting. A mirror doesn’t romanticize or embellish, nor does it criticize or magnify flaws. It just shows what’s there. My behaviors and habits, even the ones that can seem normal and harmless, send a message to my son—one that he will likely reflect back.
This isn’t a post about smart phones (although I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs to put down the stinkin’ phone). There are bigger fish to fry here. Like, what are my actions teaching him about respect? What story do my words tell about patience and forgiveness? How are my husband and I modeling love and commitment? Where do I find my joy and meaning? One thing is certain: he’s paying close attention and taking in each syllable and every detail. And one day, to some extent, our lives will be reflected in his.
Children are like a mirror. Stop and take a good, long look. You’ll be glad you did.
Sarah Weller 