A colleague and I were recently laughing about how enviously we watch as a mutual friend gallivants through life without children. The travel to remote and beautiful places! The indulgent, involved meals! The copious hobbies and “because I can” experiences like snowmobiling to and from Mackinac Island when Lake Huron freezes over!
I feigned defensiveness of our life’s choices: okay fine, but can he tell you which playground has the best shade cover for a sunny summer day? Where all of the tornado sirens are within a 10 mile radius of his home? How many of the trucks at the local fire station are red and how many are yellow? Because I can!
Jokes aside, one of my favorite unexpected side effects of having kids is that they cause you to slow down and appreciate the vibrancy and color of life happening right beside you. The “stop and smell the roses” life philosophy was probably penned by someone whose child brought them a dandelion bouquet on every walk they took around their home.
Today, for instance, A and I were on our weekly grocery run which involves him making key selections in our cart (always the car cart), cereal (sometimes Kix, sometimes Wheaties), and yogurt (doesn’t matter the flavor, just clear out the inventory). Heading into the store through the parking lot today, his hand clasped in mine and walking about a half pace behind me, he gently pulled me to stop so we could admire something.
“That is such a beautiful shape, Mom!”
“What?” I asked, looking inquisitively at my son.
“That’s such a beautiful shape!”
“Such a beautiful… what?” I scanned the sky for… a sail? A plane? A bird? I looked at the nearby cars: any standout colors or silhouettes?
“Right there,” he pointed down at the pavement.
A patchwork in a parking lot, creating a near-perfect square. I’ve probably walked over this square a hundred times and never noticed, but to my 3-year-old son learning his shapes, it is remarkable in the dictionary definition of the word: worthy of attention.
I couldn’t help myself snapping a picture, and we loitered near this “beautiful shape,” chatting about squares for another 15 seconds before continuing on our way.
There is no moral imperative implicit in this anecdote. This is not to say that snowmobiling across a massive body of frozen water is better or worse than knowing the precise number of hydrangea blooms in your corner shrub (it’s just 5, and they are fading fast as we enter the late summer).
Rather, this is a testament to the wonder and beauty of the world both near and far.
If you ever find yourself unable to see things in that way, just find a small child to borrow for an outing and pay attention to the way your everyday becomes extraordinary.
Suffice it to say, I will probably never look at my grocery store’s parking lot the same way again.
Related: different son, same fandom for (literally) every day occurrences // other simple joys.
- Catatumbo lightning. Gives the Northern Lights a run for their money.
- The flick I am recommending to everyone I know for their next family movie night. Laugh out loud funny for all ages.
- Passive aggressive work emails from a toddler.
- Would it surprise you to know that Darth Vader does not reveal his paternity to Luke Skywalker by saying “Luke, I am your father”? If so, meet the Mandela effect.
I was reflecting recently on how much can happen before the “work” part of one’s day even begins. In my case, by the time I sit down at my 9am meeting, I may have…
- – Finished the Wordle. Or not finished the Wordle, but spent 15 minutes convincing myself the answer must be some esoteric proper noun that sneaked into the master list.
- – Completed my morning workout. Sometimes that also involves…
…turning on the subtitles and reading the instructor’s cues because I’m being scolded by one of my sons that it’s “too noisy!” as he watches cartoons nearby, and I don’t want to unclip to close the door between rooms.
…watching helplessly as I spot one of the boys amble over to a cache of sweets left on the basement bar and go ham on sugar first thing in the morning, because I don’t want to unclip to intercept him.
…getting a Nest cam notification that there’s motion in one of the rooms, and the thumbnail shows my 3-year-old’s bare bottom flash past the screen… a sign he has taken his morning potty break and may unwittingly but urgently be in need of assistance wiping… in which case I do indeed frantically unclip and noisily slide on my bike shoes all the way through the house to give him a hand. - – Showered and thrown my hair into a wet top knot as per my “signature look” for almost 5 years now.
- – Fed 4 children breakfast (they can already easily consume a loaf of cinnamon toast and carton of strawberries between them… please send help for the teenage years).
- – Changed the 2 youngest out of night diapers and into clothes.
- – Stripped a bed and started a load of laundry after someone wet the bed. OR stripped a child and started a disinfecting effort after someone wet… the floor.
- – Loaded 4 boys into the car, including motivational praise, thinly veiled threats, and pretty intense negotiations regarding the fact that a favorite dump truck toy may join us for the ride, but may not go all the way into school.
- – Loaded 4 boys out of the car, in the rain, with only one umbrella, on a day when we had to park unusually far from the daycare entrance. Because the middle bros are evidently related to the Wicked Witch (must be their father’s side of the family) and at risk of melting in the rain, they walked under the umbrella, J sprinted inside leaving all of his school supplies in the car for me to fumble with as I carried C clumsily in with both of us getting drenched. But because my signature look is a wet top knot to start the day, no one noticed except that C looked like he had recently gone surfing.
- – Driven a 50 minute commute.
- – Budgeted time to use the restroom because no matter which combinations of the above events happened that morning, I have already been up for 3.5 hours and am 3 cups of coffee deep by 8:58AM.
Related: another one of my favorite ways to start the day // it’s manageable provided you have not been affected by this contagious affliction.
THE “IN OFFICE AND ON BRAND” EDITION
*****
After an article was passed around mentioning the unearthing of a Mastodon skeleton in an unexpected place:
Me: did you know that the Mastodon is our state fossil?
Co-worker 1: …no? How do you know that?? You have a fun fact for everything. I feel like you must have a running notepad of facts that you want to keep track of.
Me: funny you should say that… I started a new book and it’s taking me forever to read because I keep pausing to take notes on all the interesting facts. *laughs and shows her my Google Keep app’s top sticky note*
*****
Not more than 20 minutes later in a separate meeting:
Co-worker 2: this word, ‘galvanize…’ this sounds like a word you would use.
Me: really?
Co-worker 2: yes, you always use these specific, long words. I’m going to start keeping a running doc of all the long words you use.
Me: oh my gosh, that’s too funny. But really, I do love using just the right word for just the right occasion. It’s so satisfying.
Co-worker 2: I’m sure! I bet you have a mental list of all your favorite words…
Me: funny you should say that…
With the 3 older bros at varied heights, with varied ability to accurately aim, and varied amounts of experience practicing… suffice it to say I offer an “at your own risk” warning if someone who stopped by unexpectedly asks to use the restroom. But even if we have advanced notice of company, it’s difficult to know that a recently cleaned bathroom will remain clean because… well, a lot can happen in a few moments without parental supervision in our home.
We were at a party at our neighbors’ house when the mom (of 3 boys) made an admission that I found beyond brilliant and therefore cite as my 7th parenting hack:
After you’ve cleaned the downstairs bathroom, lock the door from the outside so that your children – by process of elimination (no pun intended) – have to go upstairs and use their own bathroom instead. Just before guests arrive, unlock the downstairs bathroom door.
Hack #7: They Can’t Make a Mess of the Bathroom if They Can’t *GET* to the Bathroom.
wine from a can and
poker with kix-based antes.
adulting is fun.
There are few ways I prefer to spend a day than slathered up in sunscreen, basking in the sun’s warmth, and watching my kids unintentionally accrue deceptively high volumes of sand in their hair and bathing suits as they happily play. Something about the tranquility of the water, the inability to multi-task with something “productive,” the resignation to the mess as such a small price to pay for so much joy…
Some people bring books, or beach chairs, or headphones to the beach; signs of quiet stillness. Others bring coolers filled with libations, equipment for a sand volleyball game, devices to photograph those sun-kissed moments; signs of social livelihood.
For this life stage, my beach scene must-haves:
1. Snacks: Twizzlers, classic potato chips, and an ice-cold Coke, poured over a massive, brightly colored [plastic] glass of ice (thank my grandma for this one — she drank Coke like this year-round, but this image will forever remind me of warm weather and vacations with her). Food pyramid be damned; there is nothing quite like junk food snacking while spending extended periods in the water.
2. A cute beach bag, even if I’m only just stepping a few feet from our patio. I secretly coveted these Peloton Mom cult-followed Bogg Bags, and these reclaimed sail bags, but fortunately my mom intercepted me before I over-spent and made me this darling mesh-bottomed bag featuring the Lake Michigan fan favorite and state stone, the Petoskey!
3. Sun coverage for the fairest skinned of us. Long-sleeved rash shirts for the older bros (dual purpose: element protection and less time spent literally wrestling my ticklish children into many more square inches of sunscreen application) and this comically large sun hat for C. At some point it dawned on me that this hat is a bit Handmaid’s-Tale-esque, but if that’s the cost of maximum coverage… praise be.
Related: time at the pool // speaking of Peloton moms…
THE “LIFE WITH BOYS” EDITION
*****
At A’s 3 year well check:
Pediatrician: oh dear, look at all these bruises on you, A! Where did these all come from? *Pauses and, when he doesn’t answer, looks up at me expectantly*
Me (literally starts to laugh out loud): oh I’m sorry, do you actually think I can keep track of this information with four boys??
July 2022
*****
Closing in on 30 minutes of an attempted family photo shoot during which the boys went from various states of jumping to fighting to running around and dragging props across the studio floor:
Photographer: you know what, let’s just… let’s just embrace the motion. Dave, Kel, why don’t you stand in the middle and we’ll have the boys just… um, how about they run in a circle around you??
July 2022
*****
Walking over to a play date at a friend’s house:
Me: please make sure to mind your manners when you’re over there, okay, J? Share toys, take turns, and try to be extra nice to Weston’s little sister. Do you remember her name?
J: um… no.
Me: it’s Cameron. It’s her house, too, so please make sure to include her and be kind if she wants to play with you guys.
J: okay. So… wait. Is she his… little brother? Or big brother?
— July 2022, 7 years old
*****
As I was typing up this post, I received the following Google Opinion Rewards survey prompt. If there was a “1000% yes I have but TBH I have had better” option, I would have selected it from the drop-down menu.
Related: tell me you’re a boy mom without telling me you’re a boy mom // pronoun confusion
