Quietly Noticing

By Samantha Beidoun

“Mom! Take your shoes off! Come on!”

I stood about twenty feet away from my two-year-old waiting to push her on a swing or do a count down while she hyped herself up to glide down a slide. I had just gotten done with a three-mile run with her in a stroller at the loop at Hudson Mills. The only way we get through these runs is a lot of snacks and the promise of playground time, and I was ready for the playground time. To me, playground time is a time that I don’t have to keep my brain on high alert. Rinoa would play and I would catch my breath and not have to figure out how to run, push, grab, and unwrap a snack all at once as I had been doing for thirty minutes prior.

The sandy volleyball courts drew my daughter’s attention as she ran through them to get to the playground. Suddenly, the simplicity in my parenting plan took a turn off course. She took her shoes off and ran in circles. She was beaming with delight, and she wanted me to share in the experience. There was a slight conflict though: I didn’t want to take my shoes off.

When she sweetly told me to do so, I immediately thought of the feeling of dried sand crusted onto my feet and how I’d have to slip back on slightly damp socks over the powdered grit and then walk in snug shoes over all of that when it was time to leave. At first, I was put off by this barefoot romping time, but then I thought of all the simple experiences I’ve missed over the years with my kids because I didn’t want to do something due to the potential (and minor) discomfort I might have to endure. How many times have I refused to go outside because I didn’t want to be cold or wet even though I want my children to grow to love nature and know that rain and cooler temps won’t harm them? How many times have I decided not to take them to an activity at the library or a fun community event because I did not feel particularly social that day even though I want them to push themselves to try new things, learn as much as possible, and be comfortable with others? Motherhood breaks you down in many ways. It stretches you in the silliest of directions—directions you didn’t know you needed to go in.

At this particular moment, I was pulled back to an old memory of the previous year when Rinoa was just starting to walk. She’d tumble down often--especially outside during our morning walks. Sometimes when she fell, she would roll over and lay there for a moment and smile. One day I decided to take the time to get on the ground with her and notice each small sensation as it came.

She lay there with me, babbling. We pointed at the sky and the trees and the birds. We noticed clouds shifting and the trees swaying. An invisible force intertwined with our breath for a moment before waning and left a refreshed grin on my daughter’s face. The moment was beautiful in a way we don’t often stop to think of. When we got up, I heard the crunch of our honey mustard pretzel snack with her new little teeth; noticed the sweetness and tang that took over our mouths with each bite. The dewy grass soaked through the cotton of our pajamas, left the tips of our toes wet, and our shoes a tad squishy. Somehow our cat even seemed fluffier as he brushed his bushy tail on our faces. We followed the sound of sandhill cranes making their daily visit to the field across the street. We heard their calls every morning but never took the time to visit before. When we reached the magnificent pair of cranes there was a fragment of a rainbow with a vibrancy that seemed unmatched by any other rainbow that I could ever remember.

We are surrounded by so much beauty every day. As a mom, I’m personally distracted most of the time and it makes life seem tangled up. There is dinner to plan, and the groceries to buy, and timing out the shopping trip so that it doesn’t interrupt nap time but also doesn’t fall too late in the day so I’m rushing back to make dinner with enough time to get all members of the family at the table in the same hour before my son has to leave for karate or my oldest daughter needs to be taken to art class. And who is taking her to art? Motherhood leads to a fulfilling life, but there is much to plan and many logistics to unravel. I too often get caught up in thoughts, feelings, and crossing off the items on my to-do lists. I remember how good it felt to stop and take on a one-year old’s perspective—to lay on the ground and follow the small things, untangling and cherishing everything as if it were new and enchanting again. And with that memory coming to the forefront of my mind I took my shoes off.

I walked through the sand and felt the grittiness I had expected, but also rediscovered how soft it was, and how fun it was to run on it as it drifted up our ankles with every stomp. We bonded in our playfulness (and of course pretended we were dinosaur friends). It was simultaneously an imaginative and grounding experience to simply feel sand on my feet and follow a two-year old’s lead in how to interact with the world for a few minutes.

Life can seem complicated. There are too many appointments and deadlines, self-care, and relationships that need to be tended. But when we can slow our clock down and sink our attention into moments broken down into fragmented clips of time, life can be simplified—you can breathe ease into the nonstop. I hope to never lose sight of the simple parts, even if it’s my child that must reel my focus back in.

When you take a few moments to feel the cold of the snow on your face and hear the whisper of the chill in the air, notice the quiet in the ordinary, and the loud in the celebration you might discover that the overwhelming, complicated, conglomeration that we call life is mostly bound together with a lot of love lingering in the smallest parts that we are usually too quick to push away.

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