This weekend James looked at me over the top of 3 little heads and said, “this is like living in a zoo. These kids are little animals.” And it is and they are.
Dirt on the carpet. Handprints on the windows. Crumbs on the couch. Candy wrappers in the bed. Halloween is my favorite holiday and a huge deal here in San Francisco. But the day after is a parenting nightmare. On Saturday we gathered our grown-up treats (coffee and fancy french pastries) and retreated to the playground where the little animals could run and climb and jump it off. The rubber ground was teeming with them, these fun crazy tiny people fueled by (sugar and) a zest for life that we tend to lose somewhere along the way.
On Sunday we ventured to the edge of the west coast, the ocean pulling us in with her cavernous well of magnetism, intoxicating the children with negative ions and subtly salted air. Their smiles swelled with joy. The joy radiated from them, leaving a trail like cookie crumbs or pixie dust.
They communed with the sand—crawling across it and burrowing under it and face planting into it. Now there’s sand in my car and my shower and my laundry machine. Parenting guarantees a dizzying assortment of messes. And though the infinite work exhausts me, it also fills me up. Because all that laundry means we played today and all those dishes mean we ate and drank well today. We roasted in the sun and tasted the earth and dipped our toes into her generous bounty.
Everything revolves around our kids these days. Parents are notorious for making extreme sacrifices, our lives no longer belonging to us alone. The needs of our children become the tippy top of our priorities at the expense of our other relationships and passions and commitments. The little animals need us to survive after all, but we need them for something, too. They remind us why we are here. To feel joy when we manage to find it.
Where do you find joy? Was the day after Halloween as bad for you as it was for me?