One evening not too long ago, we did our twice weekly walk at the riverside bike/hike trail. It’s something we’ve been doing for a couple of months now. Our four Littles are used to it, even if they don’t always enjoy every moment. We’ve cobbled together a combination of scooters and strollers, snacks and water bottles, wet wipes and even a first aid kit. It works for us most days.
Even with all the supplies we bring, that there are always a few places on the walk when someone isn’t happy. Everyone has their moments, but usually, it is Six. He doesn’t like any situation where he isn’t in control, and he knows if he slows way down or refuses to continue, we have no choice but to either wait for him or try to cajole him into some alternative – whether it’s walking a little further, going a little faster, riding in a stroller for a bit, or taking a piggyback ride.
This particular time, he was at it again. We were very near the parking area after an especially long walk – we’d gone further down the trail than we ever had before, and all the kids were tired.
Six was fed up with walking and stopped off on the side of the trail and refused to go any further. If we weren’t in sight of the end of the trail, we would be around the next corner. Two bikers loaded down with gear bore down the path, riding side by side. One of them spoke loudly as he approached us where we walked, a hundred feet or so in front of Six on the trail.
And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.
Matthew 6:28
When my senior prom was coming up, my mom took me, my favorite cousin, and my best friend Mac to a mall in Pennsylvania (where there isn’t any sales tax on clothing).
I don’t remember how many dresses I tried on, but I know that I would come out of the dressing room and if anyone on my team shook their heads “no” to the dress, I put it back on its hanger.
I still remember the looks on their faces as they unanimously voted yes to a navy blue number.
In a couple of weeks, I’m going to a semi-formal event.
I don’t have an entourage to take me to the mall or help me pick the right thing out of my own closet. And I really, really miss them.
Last week, I sat down on Monday and wrote a post in a state of overwhelm after a good, but crazy, few days. The busy weekend had merged into a disjointed beginning to the week.
This past weekend was quieter and more reflective, and I wanted to save the good parts for posterity.
The weekend started with a work shift Friday night. The out-going nurse gave me a great report – informative and unapologetic, just the way I like it. Over the course of my shift, I had unexpectedly meaningful conversations with a patient and a doctor, and a pretty deep phone conversation with a patient’s significant other.
I came home feeling grateful for the opportunity to connect with other human beings about the meaning of life and what comes after.
I slept like a rock that Saturday when I got home, until 6 p.m. It was the day before my birthday. When I woke up, I came downstairs, still in a bit of a fog. The kitchen was a hive of activity as my family worked to make my birthday dinner.
Having a self care practice has been one of the best things that has come out of the past year. It hasn’t happened all at once, and it took a while to figure out what it needed to look like. In fact, I’m still figuring it out, and it will probably change with time.
I’m excited that my kids will see me doing this for myself and know that I value myself enough to do it. When kids see their parents doubting their own worth (and one of the symptoms of this is poor self care), won’t they doubt the worth of their parents? And maybe, by extension, themselves?
The struggle is that in a household with so many moving parts, these moments of self care can feel ruined when something doesn’t go right. And then it can feel like it Didn’t Count.
