Have you ever had one of those Saturdays that turned in to a beautiful weekend that turned into an amazing week? Right now, I’m sitting on my couch sipping a cup of coffee on the second day of summer vacation, feeling a deep peace that has been evading me for quite some time.
Let’s go back a bit. About a month ago, my husband accepted a new job. This was good news; exciting, positive, and definitely wanted. But the thing is, he had been with his employer for nearly two decades. His boss had been good to him, he was the senior guy, and he could do his job in his sleep. Plus, he was getting paid pretty well. So why leave? Well, he had just gotten his plumber’s license, so a bunch of new possibilities opened up. And the big reason was that he was spending 3+ hours commuting each day. Ninety minutes to work in the morning and another ninety minutes to get home each afternoon. To travel 30 miles. Traffic sucks.
So when he decided to accept the job and give his notice, it was a big deal. For those of you who know Jack, you may know that he swears he has two emotions; happy and angry. So while he was a little happy, he was also pretty angry (read: nervous, anxious, uncertain, wary, unsure).
Take Jack’s month of angry and then layer it on top of an intense transition for Bea. She’s almost sixteen, and the emotions have been coming at her in waves. We argue now (which is a good thing; normal, and a sign that she’s no longer acting like a guest here), and she was stressed about final exams, and friend drama sucks in High School. She’s battling with loyalty issues and family stuff, and no kid her age should have to meet with their lawyer to discuss guardianship proceedings between voice lessons and dinner.
In the midst of all this, Lee is losing weight. Like 20 lbs, and we’ve tried all sorts of different things but none of them is helping. I worry as I beg him to take a few more bites of dinner or breakfast or a freaking ice cream sundae. I make smoothies and load them up with protein powder and I get up early to make him farina the way he likes it before school. Trying to plan meals that will get him the most nutrients in a way that he won’t fight takes up a substantial amount of time.
At the same time, Cal is growing a bit ‘big for his britches’. He’s finishing third grade and getting ready to move to a new school for fourth. He’s one of the big kids now. He wants to be able to ride his bike into town like his big brother, and he gets angry when he’s not allowed to do all the teenager things. His tone right now is either whiny or angry when he speaks, and (because this isn’t my first rodeo) I know this phase will pass, but that doesn’t make it easy. I love this sullen little boy as much as my sweet, silly one, but the latter is certainly easier to get along with.
And all of these layers are piled on top of June madness. If you’re a parent, you know… June is full of end-of-the year busy-ness. Concerts and moving up ceremonies, sixth grade barbecues and awards, final exams, voice recitals, field trips and plays. The nights are full of activities and the days are filled with emails and messages about the things that I’ve forgotten to add to the calendar. As a teacher, this is compounded by the fact that I’m also attending and creating these events for my students. End of the year projects and parties make it even more difficult to find time to grade term papers and essays and write progress reports and jot down heartfelt messages in eighth grade graduation cards. The emotions are bittersweet, and the time to process them is minimal.
To add to it all, I miscalculated and screwed up the checkbook, so money has been tight. Like “I messed up and begged the bank manager to waive the overdraft fees” tight. Like “Holy cow, how am I going to pay for groceries after the overdraft fees” tight. Like “Hey, sis, any chance you can pay my cable bill?” tight.
The end of the year is always a whirlwind, but this June was particularly stormy.
So, of course, I planned a five-hour trip to a concert in upstate NY, right in the middle of the madness.
I worked to arrange a place for Bea to stay, because she had a weekend event she couldn’t miss. The department of child services makes this super awkward. Bea has been with us for two years. She knows the family, she has friends, and we have plenty of people who are part of our circle who would have been happy to have her. But Child Services has rules and regulations, so they’d rather have her stay with a certified, licensed foster family she’s never met. I hated the thought of sending her ‘to stay with strangers’ for the weekend (to which she quipped, “I’m not sure you really understand what foster care is”), and we were lucky to be able to reach a compromise wherein she stayed with a previous foster family.
With that all set, I wanted be packed and ready to go as soon as I got home from work on Friday afternoon. But in the way of best-laid plans, this was not in the cards. The kids’ last day of school was that day. I had to buy teacher gifts and finish progress reports and do ALL THE LAUNDRY.
So in the rush to leave on Friday afternoon, I wasn’t feeling particularly relaxed. It was going to be a long ride. We were spending the weekend as guests in someone else’s home, leaving our rowdy kids with an unfamiliar babysitter, and trying to squeeze a visit that needed a week into two days’ time.
Deep down I knew it would be worth it. These friends have seen me through nearly twenty years of ups and downs. We met in college and have gone from holding each other’s hair back to holding each other’s wedding bouquets to holding each others’ babies. For this visit, there were six families with a combined fifteen children. The parents had plans to leave the kids with two sitters and head off to a concert together on Saturday evening- something we haven’t done in at least a decade.
So, while Friday was stressful, Saturday began the five-day stretch of bliss that I started to tell you about.
I woke up to the sound of children laughing, with my husband’s arm around my waist on an air bed under an unzipped sleeping bag in a Super Mario themed bedroom, and I inhaled happiness. I wandered downstairs in my PJs, and was greeted by hugs and a staccato chorus of kids shouting, “Watch this!”
Saturday was full of bacon and swimming and trampoline jumping and cooking and drinking and laughing and choreographed dance moves (I’m not going to clarify whether that was the moms or the kids). This group works like a well-oiled machine. Someone lifeguards. Someone pushes kids on the swings. Someone naps. Someone mixes drinks. Someone referees the fights in the pool. Someone sunbathes. Someone sets a timer for the next turn with a toy. Someone washes dishes.
And with seamless awareness, we switch. We all relax and we all pitch in. We all laugh and we all eat and we all tell stories. Our kids function like cousins, separated by distance, but coming together joyfully and with the confidence that comes from having known each other for longer than they can remember. They play and they bicker and they soothe each other. They compromise and they tease and they laugh. They share and they clean up their messes and they have dance parties. They form a ‘band’ and practice combining a cacophony of keyboards and guitars and recorder and drums with choreographed cartwheels and dances and then they make all the parents sit on the couch and judge their performance on a scale of 1-10.
And the parents sip cocktails and lean on each other and enjoy the fact that THESE moments are forming our kids’ childhoods.
That was Saturday. The morning and afternoon passed quickly, and when it came time to head out for the concert, we piled too many people into a minivan somewhat illegally (a la 1999) and left our children in capable hands.
As we headed toward the concert, I was a bit skeptical. “I’m too sober for this,” I thought, as I walked behind a stumbling young woman who seemed too old to be so much younger than I. We trekked about a mile and a half from the parking lot to the venue. My feet hurt and I felt old and tired and a bit wary about leaving the kids. The afternoon wine buzz had worn off, and I was questioning my judgement in having decided to participate in this chaos.
And then the band began to play. We spread out a blanket to stake our claim on the lawn and we danced and swayed and closed our eyes and enjoyed the music. Tears fell as I rested my head on my husband’s shoulder through “Highway 20 Ride.” We all drummed the air through a cover of “Take Me to Church” and I danced with my girls like I was on spring break again as the band played “Toes.” The band played a song I had never heard, and I leaned back on my husband who stood behind me with his arms around my shoulders and whisper-shouted, “I want this to be our new song.” And as the concert came to a close, a line of moms wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders and laughed and smiled and swayed and sang along to, “With a Little Help from My Friends.” It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.
On the way home we stopped at a gas station for snacks and after paying the babysitter and checking on the kids, we grabbed our Doritos and Beef Jerky and headed outside to the fire pit. We told stories and reminisced and, one by one, began dozing off in front of the fire. After some good-natured ribbing, we headed off to bed.
Then, with the exception of the concert, we did it all again on Sunday morning. After the chaos of goodbyes with such a big group, we jumped into the car and headed home. Even in the pouring rain with the terrible traffic, I sat in the afterglow of a weekend of renewal the whole way home.
I picked up Bea, and we quickly returned to our normal rhythms. Sunday night, Jack and I were both preparing for work; him for his first day at a new job, and me for the last day of the school year. We were energized now, in a way that massaged the nerves into excited anticipation.
On Monday morning, I woke up to the knowledge that I only had to get myself ready. No lunches to make, no kids to wake, no permission slips or babysitters or breakfast to worry about. The kids would sleep in and eat cereal when they got hungry. They would spend too much time watching TV, but it was well-deserved after the weekend’s flurry of activity. I hopped in the car and stopped for a coffee on my way to work.
I said a lot of goodbyes that day. I said goodbye to students that had been with me for three years. I said goodbye to retiring colleagues and friends who are moving away. I said goodbye to co-workers I likely won’t see again until the fall. Goodbyes are hard and beautiful, and each one opened my heart a little wider.
Then there was the end of the year party. A bunch of colleagues gather at one teacher’s house and we all bring food and drinks and our families and we kick off the summer well. All three kids came along for this, and I think that was the best part. I got to chat with friends, but I also got to watch these three play and bicker and plot and plan like siblings. A year ago, Bea came to this pool party timidly, and was still struggling to find her place in our family. Two years ago, she came to this same pool and refused to swim because she was so unsure of herself. As I watched the kids splash and play, my heart swelled. They’re getting so big. They’re growing and learning and changing and I am so blessed to get to be a part of it.
While we were at the party, I got a text that my in-laws wanted to take the kids to an amusement park the next day. Bea and I already had plans to do some shopping, but the boys were eager and enthusiastic.
So, on Tuesday (my first official day of summer vacation), the boys went on an adventure with their grandparents and their cousin, and I took Bea on a mission to redecorate her room.
As a general rule, I don’t enjoy shopping. What I do enjoy is watching as she compares products and checks out prices and prioritizes her needs. She loves to redecorate, and knowing that it’s an entirely unnecessary proposal, she’s saved up the money to do it herself. She’s budgeted and made a list and tackles this whole thing with a commitment and sort of professionalism that makes me smile. We spent the day shopping, with one short break at home for lunch and the bathroom.
Dinner was chicken sandwiches with avocado mayonnaise (from my Weight Watchers cookbook), and as it was just Jack and Bea and I, nobody complained or said it was too spicy or refused to eat. Overall, it was lovely.
When the boys got home, they were full of stories. They had a great time. Turns out, Cal loves a good roller coaster, and is fearless enough to go on them by himself. Lee enjoyed watching and taking pictures, which worked out, because that’s more his Nana’s speed anyway. They had a blast and came home happy and tired.
The night ended with the whole family in the living room, sprawled on top of each other and an assortment of blankets. The dogs were curled on the floor, Jack nodded off a little, and we all watched Doctor Strange. As I sat there, watching a movie we’ve seen at least four times, I breathed in. I tried to freeze that moment in my mind; our little family, peaceful and tired and content and safe.
That feeling was still there, resting at the nape of my neck and filling my lungs when I woke up this morning. I don’t know how long it will last. Today’s plan is pretty low key; a little cleaning, a little time at the lake, a little cooking and a little painting, some video games and some writing. I don’t know if I’ll still feel this peaceful at the end of the day, but I’m optimistic.
In my life, I’m very intentional about choosing gratitude. I try not to get sucked into negativity and stress. I’m mindful of my blessings and I try to see beauty in each day. But some days, that’s harder than others. It’s hard to appreciate the sunset over the water when you’re just trying to keep from drowning. It’s hard to stop and smell the roses when you’re focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
And so, God gives us ups and downs. I truly believe that this week feels so beautiful because last week was kinda hard. Not “death of a loved one” hard or “escaping a war-torn country” hard. It was just “one foot in front of the other” hard. It was tough enough for long enough that when a peaceful calm finally reappeared, it took my breath away.
The beauty becomes mundane without challenges, so we are blessed with both. This summer season, I’m praying for the faith to appreciate them equally.