I have two grandchildren: Henry, who is 4.5 months old, just now coming online,
and Mavis, who will be 3 at the end of this month, but who has been telling us will “actually be 100.”
Some days I believe her.
I take care of Mavis and Henry three days a week, while their parents work.
It is the joy of my lifetime to be able to do it.
But, as is the way with infants and toddlers,
some days it is also complete and total chaos.
Friday of last week was just such a day.
I texted my daughter fewer words than emojis.
The one that is crying to the sky,
the shocked and screaming one,
the one that is smiling, but looks like it is melting into a puddle while doing it.
Things were being spilled, toys were getting haphazardly dumped, Mavis had her full fist, at one point, in my coffee.
Henry wanted to cry and be held constantly, while Mavis wanted someone to
come join Cirque du Soleil with her.
I was functioning on only three hours of sleep, because perimenopause is out to kill me.
The teenagers were taking turns texting me their own mini crises from three seperate corners of the county,
My mom was calling,
and Mavis was screaming that she had seen a fly, which is her personal arch-nemesis.
It was one of those days when all you want is to climb in bed and even put your head under the covers.
Life feels like too much lately, more often than it used to.
Some days I look at the news, or politics, and it feels like my sense of home has been lost.
Nothing around me is what I recognize.
Yes, my head is still above water,
but it requires a VERY frantic doggie paddle, worthy of a cartoon put out by ACME.
So, this particular day had gotten away from me.
My sixteen years of doing daycare in my home had not even prepared me for it.
Was it hot in here?!
Were my insides actually vibrating, or were we having an earthquake?!
You know.
That kind of feeling.
When my daughter came home, I basically bolted out the door to breathe.
It was a day that triggered feelings I think I had tucked away since my own were that age.
The next night, though, she and my son-in-law were set to go out to a black-tie event through his company, so I was on duty again, and I quietly prayed that it would be better than yesterday.
As nighttime fell, to burn off some energy, I bundled the kids up and told them that we were going on a walk around the neighborhood.
They were in mismatched clothes,
Henry wore one of Mavis’ old hats.
He didn’t care, though.
He babbled something happily that I took to mean he didn’t care that it had pink in it.
He was secure in his masculinity.
It felt like a LOT to get out the door, even though we were just making loops in our own neighborhood, but, as often happens, as we started walking, all of our cares started melting.
We live in a lovely neighborhood: The same one that I also grew up in.
Plants everywhere, big open fields…It is not rare to see deer, or foxes, or to hear owls above us.
Mavis wanted to hold my hand.
She will always choose my hand over anyone’s.
The fresh air worked like medicine for my soul.
I could smell that someone had a fire in their fireplace.
As Mavis ran to pick up pinecones, I thought about how my brother and I used to play in that same creek bed.
I walked along, looking down at these new little lives here, experiencing things for the first time in this place that, to me, feels familiar.
Everything to them is new.
They are sometimes overly excited. They need comfort, and safety, and guidance.
I thought about how I still need all those things, too, even though I am approaching 50.
We are just three souls, living for the first time;
Blessed to be here together.
Right about then, Mavis’ hand tightened on mine, and she stopped in the street.
I looked down at her to see why, only to see her gently smiling and looking up towards the sky in front of us.
“Ooh! A sunset!” She exclaimed with a smile.
“I see pink, and purple, and GREY!”
We talked about how the gray was kind of hard to see, and how impressed I was that she had picked up on it.
She went on, “It’s so BEAUTIFUL, but pink is my favorite!”
I just stood there looking at her for a minute, amazed at a two-year-old who not only noticed that there was a sunset, but saw the hints of grey at the corners.
I always notice those things, too, but I am an artist.
The grey wasn’t obvious.
To me, this is something that most people would not even include,
but my little two-foot-tall best friend had seen it.
When I tell you that one moment changed my entire mood….
I have thought about it for days now.
She had drawn my eyes to the margins, to what may go unnoticed,
and that is the main gift of a child’s existence.
It’s easy in life to focus on the big, obvious things.
Especially the ones that are in our faces daily:
The headlines, the global chaos, the loudest voices in the room demanding our attention.
It is the small voice that often calls us to look at the corners.
It is not lost on me that even the voice of God is described as a “still, small voice.”
I get it now.
It’s the whisper to see the quiet details –
The lesson that lives in your heart on the hard day…
The small hand in yours, reminding you tomorrow is new…
The babble of a baby who is fully reliant and trusting…
The beauty of so many seemingly ordinary things all around us.
It changed my mood because so often I need fresh eyes; I need to see things a different way.
I needed the reminder that this is the exact kind of moment I have spent my entire life working towards; Even in the mess and the chaos.
Each choice, each trial that I have survived, has formed my inner being, shaped my home,
my family, and my character, landing me here in this perfectly imperfect life, surrounded by people just like me who are also imperfect.
Those are my margins.
That is my grey.
That is what I need to see, even when it’s not easy.
It’s the subtle thing I might not notice if all I’m looking at is what is obvious.
I squeezed her pudgy hand, and we walked on, both of us looking up.
I went back home extra thankful for the gift of children in my life whose main job is to keep me looking.
She had noticed the beauty of the grey
so that I would remember to.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
