When the Super Bowl comes, I’m usually just there for the snacks and the commercials.
I don’t really care much about the game.
It’s always the same old not understanding how three minutes can feel THAT long,
the same old three hour long scowl on my husband’s face.
My daughter and her husband brought the baby over during the game, though.
She is always a delight to me, and so, while they all discussed touchdowns,
I tried (and failed) to keep her from getting into everything.
She did her standard loop: Handful of dog food, splash in the dog’s water bowl, attempt at caressing the inside of the toilet, then she circled back to one of her top favorite activities,
which is prying a photo of my husband she loves off of the wall, and clutching it to her chest while she says, “Pops.”
I told her she is grounded for saying his name first instead of mine.
How hard is “Grammy?!” “GRA-MMY.” She giggles.
I think she does it just to taunt me.
After the half-time show, I sunk deep into my thoughts.
I’ve been doing that a lot these days.
It feels like every day lately I’m over there in the corner, just like that, telling people not to eat the dog food, cleaning up after them, and trying to run interference on things.
But then, as everyone else ate chips, and talked and laughed, and I teetered again on the edge of my own sanity, my little Mavis looked right at me, and said another new word she has been working on instead of just learning to call for me:
“Outsiye? Outsiye?!”
She patted the back of the door.
Her eyes willed me to understand what she was asking for.
I am a grandma now, after all, so obviously I said, “OK.”
It was dark. It was cold, but I could use some fresh air.
“OK, Mavie. Outside.”
I grabbed her coat then went to get mine.
She smiled gleefully as I picked her up.
She loves when her people understand her needs.
She clapped her hands as I bid the family goodbye, and my daughter asked after us, looking concerned, how long of a walk exactly we had planned.
“I’ll leave that up to her,” I said, and out we went, with me whispering to Mavis with a smile, “Some things just take as long as they take, right?”
She flashed her 9 precious teeth.
We watched our breath curl under the porch light a bit, and then, without any light source at all, we went off walking in the dark down our country lane.
The moon was full and blue.
I introduced it to her, and smiled when she called it the “Mun.”
In a quiet voice I talked about the silhouette of the trees,
and used my finger to trace the line of them in the distance for her.
With voices of awe we searched for the stars. I said, “There’s one!” and she responded with an appropriate, “Whoa;”
And it was there in the dark street, with my head tilted to the sky, and that little girl I love in my arms that I was reminded of all that love, life, and the weight I feel is about;
How what is beyond us is still tied to us.
All it took was the weight of carrying someone I love.
All it took was being responsible for a baby into a cold, dark world.
From our vantage point in the street we could still see into the house, hear cheers, and see through the window to all that was going on.
We were separate, but still a part.
We had stepped out from the warmth, and all the familiar things, and had gone in search of all the beauty that lies beyond;
Beyond our little home on our little street, the same street that I had grown up on,
there was something bigger, and beautifully mysterious that waited for us.
The owls hooted, and the foxes called.
I felt both powerful, as a teacher, and protector, and also so noticeably small.
A bat flew overhead.
Coyotes howled in the woods.
It felt wild, but also like we belonged.
I have always been down for getting outside.
I was raised in fields, and with legs covered in grass welts, always bringing home burrs.
I am in awe of the world around me; The land and the people.
Every year I take my girls camping on my own.
And on that night, holding her warm little body close to me, cheeks illuminated by the moon,
I saw that moment for what it was:
I want my children and their children to know there’s a world beyond them.
I want them to pat the back of the door and ask to go explore.
I want them to marvel at how small they feel in light of the planets and the vastness of a sky full of stars.
I want them to contemplate all the other Grammys out there in the world who are looking up at the same moon at the exact same time they are, while they clutch their own special girl.
I want them to know they can face any darkness that may come,
and know they will be OK, know where their light comes from.
Just stand there for a minute. You’re starting to see. Just wait. Your eyes will adjust.
I want them to keep looking, keep learning, voice filled with awe, keep asking to be taken further to see and to learn.
“It’s about more than the music” is what I had just heard Kendrick Lamar say,
and this story is about much more than the moon for us.
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.
