The Becker household has struggled this summer.
We somehow managed to roll into the quarantine craziness of March and April with relative ease. Slowing down was a welcomed change, and I found great joy in hunkering down with my little team. It was sort of fun having Stephen working upstairs all day. Remote learning wasn’t too bad because although there are millions of things I know nothing about, elementary education is my jam so our hour of “school time” each day turned out to be a highlight for me. I tip toward the inverted side of the scale, so I didn’t really miss people or plans or events, and although I spent $50 on just the right yearly planner, I didn’t mind closing it up and tucking it away for a couple months. I will always remember these early months with sadness and joy—sadness for the heartbreak and death happening around the world, but joy for what was happening in our home. There were in fact many times through April I quietly admitted to Stephen, “I think I’m living my best life right now.”
But then came May. And June. And July. They kicked our butts. Hard.
The end of the school year brought out unexpected big emotions for our kids. The novelty of Stephen working from home wore off and became more complicated. Milo stopped napping and started crawling out of his crib instead. The start of summer felt like a tease without pools and parks and food truck festival and roller coasters and roadtrips. My mom kept calling from Chicago with more bad news about the deteriorating health of friends and family members. Then our basement flooded which sent me into a downward spiral of overwhelm and anxiety. And just when I was settling into my own pile of self-pity, our nation erupted with even more reminders of racism and division. For the first half of the summer, I ignored discussion of what a new school year would bring, but as expected, come July I could no loner ignore the decision of how to best educate our kids this year. The intensity of this decision put my mind on overload and activated yet another surge of fury toward the leaders of our nation. It has been impossible to be an engaged mother when I want to collapse in a pile of grief and anger. I stopped living my best life, and instead, longed for the day I can say “one day we won’t.”
It is necessary to keep my head up and my eyes out, both aware of and engaged in our broken world. But sometimes, for the sake of my health, I need to zoom in and turn my attention to the ones next to me—the ones who are right here, talking to me, touching me, and needing me all day long. I am intentionally looking for the ridiculous and tender moments of childhood I know won’t always be there.
Right now our home is engulfed in childhood, and if I am not careful, I can be annoyed by it. There are so many bikes and scooters in the driveway, and there are so many shoes in every room of the house—shoes I know they are not wearing because all their little feet are disgusting by the end of the night. There are milk cups left in the garage for days. There are massive glitter spills (yes, spills, plural) that takes weeks to recover from, and the other day I found a suitcase in the shower.
I started this series years ago when I found a single purple Croc with an acorn inside it on my bathroom counter. It was so random, and it made me laugh. I desperately need to laugh more after months of tears, so I am looking for the hilarious and tender moments to remind me that this season of childhood—the kind of childhood that invades every corner with scooters and glitter and ridiculous outfits—is far too brief. So today I will notice those moments.
Milo,
Because one day you won’t be entertained by a mud puddle.
Because one day you won’t cover your little eyes with those chubby hands each time we pray.
Because one day you won’t be allowed to go outside in just your rain boots.
Because you day you won’t share your bedroom with your dad’s office.
Charlotte,
Because one day you won’t tape Tubberware to the wall to create a doorbell to your room.
Because one day you won’t invite all your friends onto a Zoom call to teach them how to make a glitter jar.
Because one day you won’t save your money to buy cotton candy extract, a gecko, and nail polish. (This is the perfect summation of Charlotte.)
Because one day you won’t lead a craft session with your brother teaching him to make a toilet paper mask.
Andrew,
Because one day you won’t create a grave site for a worm. RIP Scwigle. (Squiggle)
Because one day you won’t wear argyle socks for a bike ride on a 90 degree day.
Because one day you won’t unroll an entire roll of paper towels because you needed a telescope.
Because one day you won’t wear a swim mask into Panera.
And because one day you won’t be so thrilled by a cheap, old, holey slip-n-slid.
#becauseonedayyouwont
