Older women seem to enjoy offering compliments to younger moms and their families. We can all recount at least one time when a silver-haired matron in the checkout line told us we had “beautiful children.”
It happened to my family the other week. My husband, daughters, and I were traveling to celebrate the holidays with my parents and siblings. We stopped to eat lunch and let our oldest daughter play at a McDonald’s in a small town just north of Bloomington, Illinois. As we were getting ready to hit the road again, a woman told us we had a “beautiful family” and told my husband he was a “lucky man.” We smiled and thanked her as we gathered up the girls’ coats and Happy Meal toys. I wished her a good afternoon and we left with our stomachs full, our legs stretched, and our moods light.
Back in the car, my husband and I wondered aloud what prompted the woman to speak to us. Did our little family remind her of her own family? Or did we remind her of a family she does not have?
I have been more keenly aware of my family lately. It started on Friday, December 14, 2012, the day a gunman walked into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, and killed 26 people, including 20 young children. I watched the noon news report in tears as my girls ate Spaghettios a few feet away from me.
After lunch, I turned off the television. I couldn’t watch any more. The weather was mild for mid-December, so I put sweaters on the girls and we drove to a park a few minutes away. Taking deep breaths of brisk air helped me relax and lessened the ache in my head.
The girls seemed to come into sharp focus as I watched them play. Most of us mothers of young children have been encouraged to enjoy every moment because they grow up so quickly. That carpe diem mindset has never come to me as readily as it did during the days immediately following the shooting.
One day later, a Saturday, I spent the morning working on my Christmas to-do list, sending out the last of the cards, ordering the last few gifts. Holiday preparations left me feeling a little stressed and I wanted to clear my head. The weather was still unseasonably mild, so I dressed the girls in their sweaters again and we headed to another local park.
We stood near the pond and tossed bread crusts to grateful ducks and geese, and we spent the last hours of daylight exploring several playground areas. I noticed the way my oldest daughter effortlessly climbed the jungle gym, and the way my younger daughter toddled around the mulch-covered play area while the wind blew her fine dark hair. We played on the slides together and I gave pushes on the swings. I chatted with my oldest daughter and listened to what she had to say. It was my small effort to recognize those children who had been lost.
I was more aware of each moment back at home, too. If my older daughter dawdled while getting dressed for preschool, I was less irritable. If she was in a talkative mood, I paid attention. If the girls squabbled with each other, I was more patient when correcting them.
My daughters were not in that school building in Newtown. They are alive and well. I get to see their bright eyes and tousled hair every morning. I don’t presume to put words in the mouths of the families who recently lost children, but maybe I can honor them by making a renewed effort to appreciate my own children.
That’s where I get help from those kind older women I run into from time to time. Their admiration reminds me to enjoy my family, to savor the small moments. It’s normal to get caught up in the mundane things that make up our daily lives, but while my family was busy dumping the trash from the plastic McDonald’s tray and putting shoes back on little feet after a romp in the Play Place, someone else was marveling at the beauty of it all.
To all the older women out there, thank you for speaking up.
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Category: KidsTags: carpe diem
