This is really exciting because it is out of the norm and adventurous, and such a fun way to make a memory with our sons in the middle of summer in 2020- the year of The Quarantine. (More of THAT to come.)
He suggested it yesterday, and fulfilled his suggestion today, as, during his lunch break, he came home to root through our basement and pull out the tent, erect it, and then scadaddle back to work.
Acts of service. Making things happen. *swoon*
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With the tent in our yard, across from the fire pit on the south side of our yard and the swing set on the west side, our three sons excitedly went inside to discover and play.
Like little men discovering a cave...a cavern...an adventure!
And perhaps the most exciting objects found were the two mesh pockets on the counter walls of the tent, wherein Penguin (Thatcher's Lovey) immediately found a home. Within moments, Penguin was surrounded by a handful of friends: Lion, Lexi, Hootie, Jelly, Fishstick, Corndog, and Machi- all other Lovies belonging to Thatcher and his older brother, Demitri.
Next came an umbrella ("in case it rains, mom", said Zeplin), two Badminton racquets (in case we want to play, obviously), the first of many, hopeful, blankets, and a container of books.
And that's when I lost it, a little.
"Boys, enough! There is too much stuff! We do not need All. The. Things.
Back!
Back in the house everything goes!"
Admittedly, this was not too much stuff on their end, and it was too much of a reaction on my end.
The thing is, I am... I just...
It is a lot.
A 24-7 LOT.
And I don't type this to complain.
A friend kindly reminded me that children (or one child, for that matter) are a lot.
They require a lot.
To say and have heard.
To need and want.
And it is ongoing because -graciously- they are alive and living and the living need to live.
They are doing what they need to do.
And they are children.
So I try to have grace.
I offer to read just one book before insisting the others are returned to indoors.
I remind a son that, "If we want to play Badminton, the racquets are better off where they were- near the net. They are better off there than they are in the tent."
And I breathe.
After a few minutes, I am promptly/accidentally hit with a Birdie (Shuttlecock) from the Badminton racquet and I raise my voice a little louder than previously and I say calmly/not calmly...
What. The. Crap, Boys? Seriously??!!
This time everyone goes inside and I am left feeling both overwhelmed and guilty.
During this time of summer vacation (most especially this one following a two-month virtual home school and a quarantine),
it is a hunch of mine that there are many of us crying Uncle.
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We just need...a break.
A few moments (or a full day), of not deciphering between two children speaking over one another, a sink full of peanut butter spoons, and children begging for MORE MINECRAFT every 7 minutes of every single day.
So I realize when, after acknowledging the dishes, the laundry, and the other tasks of the house; after seeing my sons -really seeing them-
and knowing that the overwhelm is approaching-
I do the most sane thing for us all: I say yes to Minecraft and I sit down to type.
It is a win-win- WIN.
They win. I win. As a unit, WE WIN.
We love our children, and there is not a "but" to go alongside that.
There is, however, a simple fact.
Just as they are living, so are we.
Just as they are living, so are we.
And we are all human.
We all need space and community- and neither is bad.
They can giggle and jump off the couch in excitement as Pierce and Aphmau discover holes to fall into and houses to build in the wonderfully eclectic-annoyingly addicting- confusing and mind boggling world of Minecraft.
To sum all of this up: Grace, we all need it.
And space. The idea of us all being in the same room and yet able to have our own "bubble".
And truth. Because, as much as grace is a blessing and much needed gift, sometimes a good pout, curse word (uttered not in the presence of your beloved), or a run with a good podcast are in order- and that is the truth.
Happy Days to you all!
It is better to talk a break and cry Uncle than to loose your crap and make your children cry.
Every time, this is better.
All the best!
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