“Unseasonably warm” doesn’t quite seem to appropriately describe the weather we’re having right now. It’s January 6, and it’s 70 degrees. 70.
To celebrate, Jack Henry and I hit a local park I’ve been taking my kids to since I had kids old enough to take to the park. Naturally, it was filled with moms and their little ones.
Now, I know I’ve been sentimental of late, and it’s primarily the fault of our old home videos that are being transferred to DVD. My mom is on them, and hearing her voice is just making me miss her like crazy. My kids are little and adorable and I can scarcely remember what it was like to have a houseful of babies like that.
And then I get to the park, and it’s full of moms about 5 years behind me in the parenting game: it seems every mom is there with a preschooler, his toddler sibling, and either a baby in the stroller or one on the way. Seriously. I was the only mom there with one kid, and he was one of the oldest. (Yes, I know, school is in session and when we head to another park later today, it will be filled with moms more like me, with school-aged kids and all.)
Jack is still fun to take to a park, and he likes me to watch and push him on the swing and stuff. But at one point, I sat down near where he was playing and climbing, and surveyed the situation, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Immediately thankful for my sunglasses and my
laziness brilliant foresight of not putting on makeup today, I thought about how some very sweet years have already gone by. And that they were twinged with a bit more sadness than I’d dreamed of, but that’s life.
And then, as a mom chased down a renegade toddler running for his life for the woods (and I realized that I don’t have to do that anymore) I thought of this post on Momestery yesterday that I absolutely loved, and started kinda laughing to myself. Because I have no distorted memory about what those first several years were really like…constant, hard, work. And because I am dying to someday say this, from that post, to a young mom herding her children in the checkout line:
So I wiped my eyes, convinced my boy it was time to leave, and we headed home for lunch. And despite completely understanding and agreeing with the post I linked to above, I decided I WOULD carpe diem and do something fun and special that I’m like three years behind the rest of the blogosphere on, and I made him a muffin-tin lunch.
I told him I was doing something fun and cool, and he wanted it to be a surprise so he played away from the kitchen while I prepared it. Here’s his reaction:
You can’t have him. He’s mine.
And I was wrong about him not blinking an eye at the vegetables, but he only commented about the broccoli (which he still confuses with lettuce, but he eats both) and downed the carrots with no questions asked (and also ate a few bites of broccoli/lettuce). When he got up from the table to use the bathroom, he yelled out to me, “Don’t touch any of my beautiful food!”
Today is a good, good day. But there are many that, in the end, I won’t say I enjoyed, and that doesn’t lessen how awesome this parenting experience is.
Carry on, warriors.