Are we quite certain that weekends still exist? Ours have been so busy lately that they fly by in a heartbeat. From a college graduation to a baby shower to moving, the kids are keeping us hopping these days with a flurry of milestones and changes and celebrations.
They’re doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing: growing up. Changing. Spreading their proverbial wings and launching new chapters in their lives.
And us? Well, we’re doing our very best just to keep up!
At his side for all of it, I have watched not only the kids, but also my husband. I watched him nearly burst with pride when he saw his older daughter in her college graduation finery, and I gently patted his back when I noticed his eyes ever-so-slightly mist up when she crossed the stage and searched for his face in the crowd, beaming at him with excitement.
I was standing beside him when he found out he is going to be a grandfather again, and I watched with amusement as he carefully selected just the right onesie with a funny saying on the front. He and I got up very early on a Saturday morning to cook and bake for the baby shower, and I have had the pleasure of listening to my husband talk to his two sons about raising sons of their own.
It’s been exhausting lately, sure, and emotional, but also exciting and joyful. What kind of parent would not be stirred by changes like these in their children’s lives?
Well…unfortunately, I can tell you exactly what kind of parent, because I’ve watched that, too.
Tight lips and snide comments because she can’t tolerate someone else being the center of attention, even her own children. Staring at her phone because nothing in the kids’ lives could ever be as important as the contents of a mobile device. Jealous glowers. Bitter outbursts. Spiteful complaining. Huffing and puffing so everyone knows she is angry about something, then storming off when no one cares, because she’s always pissy, so what’s new about that?
She is incapable of being happy for the kids. Unless they are singing her undeserved praises or giving her a photo opportunity to beg for attention and likes, she has no damn use for them.
My husband and I thoroughly enjoy sharing experiences and events with the kids. It’s hard not to see echoes of them as little children, even now, even as they stride across stages or announce a baby’s name or tell us about a new job. I suppose they will always be, in our minds at least, a mix of the child they once were and the grown-up they are now, and we embrace each moment with a blend of pride and happiness but also nostalgia for when they were small, remembering everything we dreamed and hoped for them.
My husband looks ready to burst at these events; he’s so excited and happy and proud. He takes pictures, videos, saves programs and ticket stubs and any other reminders from the day. The last thing on his mind is who is talking to who, or who is sitting where, or who is getting a picture first, or anything at all, really, except the kids and me.
That is the difference: we are there for the kids. She is there, as always, for herself. And so our experiences are worlds apart.
It shows. My husband leaves smiling, glowing, happy, eagerly replaying everything that just happened.
She leaves frowning, sulking, perpetually pissed.
I heard someone comment the other day that she looks even older than her mother, and it’s not an exaggeration: day in and day out of being sour, sullen, and bitter takes it toll, inside and out. It leaves its mark. Deep. Harsh. Unforgiving.
I am quite sure we have not attended the last ceremony or party or event, and I look forward to those upcoming ones as much as I have anticipated and enjoyed all of them so far. I love celebrating the kids, love watching them grow and change, but most of all, I love watching how my husband treasures and fully delights in these moments. It’s impossible not to be happy, too, when you watch the ones you truly love being happy.
Sweat & Sparkle 