I didn’t have energy to do the dishes or put the kitchen floor hazards away so I instead shoved, scooted and piled. It was late and I was making room for more making. Specifically, making something for Margot to share with her class on her birthday circle day.
Easy and fun I chanted as I sifted through our pantry. I recalled a conversation I had with my friend earlier in the day. She said, “I have to drive to Lolo to pick up my meat because I didn’t have time to butcher my own deer this year. I am giving myself permission to not be a total badass all the time.”
I found a crispy half-bag of marshmallows and decided there is no way those things ever expire. I turned to google, readying to type something like marshmallow dessert that isn’t hideous but then my eye caught the 13 pound bag of gourmet popcorn I had just received in the mail. My eyes twinkled and I squeaked, popcorn balls!
The birthday circle at her school is a big deal. At least I anticipated it would be. Margot would lay on a giant piece of paper and the room would sing the sweetest song about growing while her teacher traced the outline of body, the one that used to inhabit mine. Then, each classmate would make eye-contact with my girl and tell her what they appreciate about her while her teacher recorded every word inside her outline. It feels big—in the achy, awesome acknowledgement that Margot’s excitement is her own: she has her relationships, her space, her celebration; and I have mine, as her mama, in the space she proudly loves and shares with me.
I could hardly contain my heart under my ribs at her birthday circle the next day, as a room of tiny souls who adore my girl proclaimed their love for her hugs, her playground skills, her smile. Margot’s teacher chose different colored markers to document each child’s words. I dutifully memorized the event, feeling suspended in blissful parenthood: Margot’s long body leaned into mine, not a baby in the least. Ruby sank into Andy’s hard-working Carhartt lap. I smelled Margot’s hair, felt her react to her friends’ words. I resisted hugging her so tight. I swear I could have stuffed her back into my body.
The night before, the popcorn balls failed and I spooned the molten goo into the chicken scrap pile sometime around midnight. Andy stayed up with me and we laughed and sculpted treats for our oldest daughter and her classmates. We said we couldn’t believe she was almost four. We managed to get it done, as we parents do again and again. We piled the peanut butter popcorn balls in a bowl, walked away from the mess and fell into bed. Our home. Our growing kids. Our sticky sweet life.
This is an oldie but goodie post from one of our favorite bloggers Mama Digs!
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