Parenting is never easy, but I do feel like the stages of it are likened to entering a library. You trade in one book, Sleepless Nights and Baby Bonding for Elementary School and How to Handle Bullies. There’s a supplemental publication called Oh, and homework too because you’llneedalleverlovinghelpyoucanget. And don’t forget the latest edition of GOD HELP US ALL: MIDDLE SCHOOL. It’s like a big, “Congratulations, here’s volume five.” The book is heavy and the weight jolts your arms while you drag it off the desk from the disgruntled librarian. She’s looking down at you through her Saturday Night Live Church Lady glasses, whispering “special” under her breath. You blow off the dust, and waddle back to your house to dive in.
On second thought, we only wish that parenting came with a complete handbook. We’re just winging it, after all.
I find myself looking back on our Mickey Mouse Clubhouse days missing those dirty diapers and sleepless nights. I’m cherishing this stage but there’s also something intimidating about it. Now I get why everyone told me at the time of babies and toddlers, to soak it up. My worries consist of keeping tabs on internet access, too much screen time, and never being enough in the nutrition department {apparently strawberries are dangerous?! I guess I can keep feeding them poison while I slather it on their bodies in the form of more poisonous sunscreen}. Worrying about threats made to schools, and our children’s deep questions about life {that we haven’t even really figured out ourselves, just yet} are just another layer. Once upon a time, that stage of parenting felt eons away. Here we are. Welcome to adulthood, the ultimate trial by fire.
Try not to screw them up.
::Sees visions of memoirs written by our middle child and sold on the NYT best sellers list, here:: I’m completely reassured by the fact that she’s stinking hilarious, and perhaps some of her fortune from my screw ups can go to a nice retirement home where I can wear a glorious array of baubles and teach yoga after monday morning mimosas.
Are we losing them? Are we doing alright? Do they feel like they can talk to us?
But the other night, as we do on most nights, we set the table. We cooked dinner.
And we sat down together.
Those worries completely dissipated. They melted away into laughter and giggles and inappropriate fart sounds with armpits. Into conversations about friends and school and how they were kind that day. Or even how they stood up for themselves. We think that’s important, too.
We talked about the flowers growing in the front yard.
My kids always bring me flowers. When I was younger, I proclaimed that I wanted children who brought me flowers, so it kind of worked out nicely. I’m not talking about a bouquet. But for some reason, I always thought it was the sweetest when something was plucked from the yard. I never asked for them, so it’s funny that it happened that way. That my children, as most children do I suppose, bring me flowers. They’re total ‘weeds’, don’t get me wrong. Nothing of the fancy variety. But in their eyes, those flowers are fresh and a token of their thoughtfulness, and I use them to adorn my hair, and place them proudly in the window until they wither. And it reminds me that people see them this way. These flowers that could otherwise be weeds, are the most beautiful gifts in my children’s eyes. I hope they never grow out of that.
We talked about the bird’s nest in our front light.
Our brand new, pretty new porch light that I waited a whole 1.5 years to install. Because it was up for less than a month when a bird, a robin to be exact, decided to make a nest. We did our best to prevent them this year, but nevertheless, there it was, when I opened the door that day. Built in no less than a few hours, a real, bonafide, impeding mess of a nest. We didn’t have the heart to take it down. A mama bird had worked hard on that nest, and so the very next time we took a peek, there were three beautiful blue eggs inside. And then four. The mama bird fusses every time we go outside that way, and every time a package is delivered. But she’s staying with that nest, and we’re keeping our distance… watching and waiting, I think we’re just as excited as she is. The promise of new life. The hope that comes with spring. The kids watch with wonder and find it fascinating.
And we talked about Mrs. Kathy.
She’s the kids’ bus driver. She’s kind and patient and always careful. Putting my child on a bus, is something I said I would never do. But the doors open in our yard because Mrs. Kathy cares about stuff like that. And she always has a smile and a wave and something kind to say. Mrs. Kathy always sends a letter home at the beginning and end of each school year, and every time, her thoughtfulness brings us to tears. We found out recently, that Mrs. Kathy’s husband and brother in law passed away unexpectedly, around Christmas. We had no idea… and it hurts our hearts. But there she is, every day. With a kind wave. A thoughtful gesture to our children, and an encouraging letter. We talk about what we can do that’s thoughtful, to bring a smile to her face on the harder days. We talk about behaving on the bus so that she has an easier day. I hope Mrs. Kathy feels that love, and how very much she is truly appreciated.
It’s at this table where we gather. It’s at this table where we have new perspective. Where the worries and gloom and doom all fade away. We talk about the hard things and we talk about the good. We talk about those little things in life that we’re grateful for. And the people we love. The failures, and the learning moments and the triumphant ones too. We do it as much as we possibly can, and we’re reminded that things aren’t so bad, after all.
The world needs a little less bad news. A little less stress. A few more dandelions, and robin’s nests… and a whole heck of a lot more Mrs. Kathys.
And suddenly, with a simple meal and in being present, with smiles and laughter and conversation with our children, all is right in the world.
Amy says
This is beautiful! Thank you for sharing the thoughts of your heart. I am deep in the trenches of little kids and babies and really look forward to sleeping through the night! But this gives me a lot of hope for the hard days to come. And that Robin’s may is such a metaphor for a Mother’s dedication to her babies, don’t you think? ❤️😘
Jenna says
This is beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing
Brooke says
I love this. especially this time of year! So much to be grateful for! Thank you for sharing with such honesty. It’s beautiful.
PJ says
Thank you for these lovely words. It has been a particularly challenging week and your essay brought back to me how small acts of kindness can make a difference.