Standing at the park, sweat was dripping down my shoulders with the impending one o’clock heat advisory just minutes away and baby wrangling no where in near sight.  With chalk drawings in the fountains, sliding and swinging at the park, chasing the chipping sparrows, and a sandwich picnic behind us nap time was suddenly something of utmost importance.  Stripping down two tired sweaty boys and putting on dry clothes for a decently long drive is no easy task.  In this Georgia heat it is down right difficult.  With a swing over my shoulder I put Rowan on my back and then moved on to tackle the task of convincing my two-year old to come with me too.  To no avail I sloshed my way over to the park to where my little man had made a sudden dash.

“I feel that I am the only mom here whose child is not listening at ALL.” I sighed to my dear friend had been visiting us here down in the sticky south.  She is a friend from what seems like another life time ago but somehow we managed just fine and picked up right where we left off without skipping a beat.

This friend of mine.  This girl, who no lie, when telling you the tale of her life you will hear a tale so intense you don’t want to believe it, while at other points it’s so perfect and peaceful you feel light as air.  She has a way of putting things that simply ease your mind.  I hear her comfort her daughter over the phone with just the right words.  I hear her relieve a worried boyfriends mind with such tact and gentleness.  Her understanding and kindness of staying in a household with a one-year old, a two-year old, two cats, a puppy, and five chickens is unprecedented.  Her vigor for life and humans and beauty is absolutely contagious.  I am so grateful that we have reconnected after so much time and space has kept us apart.

“No no. You are not.” She said calmly with a smile.  While I so wanted them to, of course these words did not penetrate my exasperated  mind, nor ease the pain of the sweaty chase.

So with a grunt and some determination onto the playground we went.  My “captain” already in place at the driving wheel was apparently in some sort of squabble with a little girl who looked to be about his age.  I galloped on over, little boy not so happily jiggling on my back, to hopefully help swiftly settle this.  But alas, the little girls mama beat me to the chase with a desperate call to her girl, “Georgia.  Georgia!  Give him space!”

These words rang in my ears.  These words were impossibly familiar.  “Don’t worry!” I assured her. But, she nervously continued to attempt to disengage the girls arms from my confused little man’s neck. What she was not aware of was the scary similarities our two quite obviously had in common (even in the less than one minute I had ever been in contact with this family it was clear).  Keeping a comfortable and not over bearing distance from others has been a constant discussion with me and my little man of the late, to put it lightly. Truly, it has been a constant battle.  A subject of distress, I hate to admit.  And to hear another woman feel my pain at this exact moment, was precisely what I needed to have a change of heart.

We made small talk.  Park talk.  Discussed our hometowns.  The heavy weight of the humidity that weighs so heavily on this southern state.  The whole time the underlying topic of the difficulties in raising her little lady weaved in and out.

My friend and I kept making sparkling eye contact unable to control our laughter.  Not at the the mothers expense I assure you.  My pure happiness of knowing that in no way am I alone was something to celebrate.  And that truth be told it turns out when seeing my problems through another set of eyes, this whole having a little boy (or girl) who can’t stop hugging, is not such an immediate problem after all.  Of course it can be an area that can be labeled “needs improvement”.  But in no way does it call for the red flags that I had been flying for some time now.  I attempted to coax the other mama into calmness with words of sympathy and understanding and I truly hope she was as settled as I through our identical over loving children (for lack of better words).

“Synchronicity” My friend  said with a laugh.  Once again she hit the nail on the head.

Taken straight from Wikipedia-

Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance, yet are experienced as occurring together in a meaningful manner.

These three days I got to spend with her were so refreshing I sang my way clear through bedtime tonight. I swear to you.

I was so lucky to have a dinner just the two of us, feeling like the old days.  An evening sitting on the porch, drinking wine and watching a lightning storm roll in.  Simple understanding, good laughs, and shared stories.  She gave me a renewed sense of calmness that came at just the right moment.  Synchronicity.  Thank you.


the livings easy

To say things have changed in the way I do a beach day in the past few years would just be an understatement.  Looking on at a couple of girlies sunning with nothing but a towel and a book in tote made me quite reminiscent.  Oh those days.  Those days where I would stumble to the beach with out so much of a thought about lunch or snacks.  With a foggy mind from previous nights fun.  With hours to kill and nothing really on my plate but just sitting in the sun, floating in the waves, and a couple of good laughs.

No need to go into detail of all the junk that’s brought along these days.  I still consider myself a beach minimalist (not talking about swim wear of course) but even so the equipment these days does require a carrying mechanism.  Now there is a giant picnic basket to be filled.  And of course the ever-growing bag filled with beach toys.  And what feels like gallons upon gallons of sun screen.

So yes.  I stared at those lackadaiscal ladies just baking in the sun with a little sadness.  Sadness that my days like these are long gone.  For now at least.  Sadness that my Lee and I would only be indulging in a saturday afternoon after beach beer across the street if we could somehow lull our little men into a slumber in the stroller.  Sadness that leaving the beach I may have to endure a fit.  And most of all  sadness at the fact that I knew better than to even bring my current read.  There is no reading with a one year old and a two-year old on a day by the shore.

But then my little man ran up to me and grabbed my hand.

The four of us headed down the wet packed sand directly to one of the single most enjoyable moments of my whole entire life.  We waded into the sparkling sea, tossing our boys up over the rolling waves.  I washing machined them.  I let them crawl onto my back and we walked like lobsters.  We dug for shells with our toes.  We did everything I could think of that makes the beach spectacular when you’re a kid.  And you know what?  It still is spectacular.  Probably even more so.

I remembered I never really was much of a beach sitter anyways.  I have always been more of a beach do-er.

And I had the kind of day where I wish I could live forever.

I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweet heart.

Besides, getting boys to sleep after a day playing at the beach is a cinch.