The Good Old Days

I've been thinking about this quote from Andy in The Office—it was in the series finale, and it's Andy reflecting on his time with his coworkers.

"I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them."

Sometimes, I find myself in a train of thought about how it will be so nice when the kids are in school—so I can feel like myself again, have hobbies, and be able to work without needing childcare. It makes me feel like I'm in a waiting spot until this ideal moment, or what others call a "sweet spot." I think, "Life will be easier, and I will be less stressed or overwhelmed," or "I can have time to be me again."

I felt this way many times during my daughter’s first year. Everything was very overwhelming with my toddler at home while trying to keep this infant alive. Days felt like the movie Groundhog Day. My oldest son would ask me, "Mommy, what are we doing today?" I just wanted to catch up on sleep after multiple sleep disruptions. I wanted to have lunch in peace. I wanted to simply go to the bathroom without a baby crawling to me crying, while my toddler was trying to wrestle with her. The repetition felt like there was no forward movement. We were doing the same thing every day, with minimal change.

I remember talking with friends and family when I was really struggling with this stage of life—where nothing is structured and you're the one running the show, choosing what each day looks like. I remember my sister-in-law telling me how she missed this time, when it was more free-flowing. She also validated how difficult it is to always be “on” when your little ones are home with you. I remember thinking how what she and others could describe as a "sweet spot" in their lives felt like pure chaos to me.

I was looking back at my Google Photos today—at a video they made of my older son when he was one. He was at the same park that we go to now. We have videos of his chunky fat rolls in the same swing we walk to today.

It got me thinking about how, even though there appears to be no forward movement—since we go to the same swing every day—the forward movement we make each day is enormous.

I was watching my child at the same park today, playing with a friend. He was imagining with him about making a house, and he took the role of construction manager. He told him how they needed to gather sticks to cut down trees. They used the sticks to cut down the trees and loved walking around with them. He had the time of his life with this friend, and he kept asking for more timers to delay going home. My friend and I didn’t want to go either because they were playing so well, and it was so fun to watch them in their imaginary world as construction workers. But lunch was calling, so we did have to go home. As we walked back, my son said, "That was a fun day," and he described all the hard work he did. I just smiled and thought—this was the sweet spot today.

I was grateful for this moment, and it helped me open up to other moments that were my "sweet spots"—the ones I didn’t recognize in the moment. I was too overwhelmed and too future-oriented. However, I’m grateful for this moment today. I loved watching my child play, using his mindfulness and imagination. They had a mission, and that was all that mattered to them.

This "sweet spot" moment was beautiful—and it didn’t last all day, of course. When I simply wanted to eat and my son wanted to play with me on the floor, I longed for a day to eat lunch without disruptions. But the sweetness came back when I saw my daughter walk toward me while picking up the kids from the kids’ club at the gym. She heard me, instantly walked up to me with the biggest smile. I was the most important thing in the world to her. Sometimes, that feels like a burden or an annoyance—to feel so needed—but today, it felt like an honor to be loved by my daughter.

Yes, this is my "sweet spot," and I am so lucky to have my beautiful kids. The moments that previously made me feel like I was in Groundhog Day now feel like a beautiful thing. I make a train track every day with my son, and today it was just plain fun. We made train sounds and talked about how many cabooses he had. I read books to my daughter, and my son helped me make animal sounds. These are things that may feel repetitive, since I'm with my kids all the time.

Google Photos gave me a new perspective. Time has passed so quickly—from my son swinging at the park as a baby to having the playdate at the same park today. It felt slow at times, and sometimes it still does, but this new perspective helped me enjoy my son's growth and imaginative curiosity today.

I think we far too often miss these sweet spots because we’re so distracted by our thinking patterns or expectations. Our expectations can sometimes be unrealistic—and when they aren’t met, it can lead to disappointment or grief. On the other hand, our expectations can be realistic, and life can just be hard. Finding the sweet spot in those moments can be difficult, especially when what we want is considered normal or healthy. Sometimes we miss it because we need help seeing it—from our friends, family, therapist, or medication (which there is nothing to be ashamed of).

I think often it’s time that helps us see the sweet spots—but usually from a retrospective point of view, similar to Andy. 

I have no how-to points in this blog, since this is more of a reflection. But I think it brings up a point: what if we lived as if we were in the sweet spot of life now? Our sweet spots will transition and become sweet for different reasons. But finding what makes a time period sweet can help bring joy to the moment.

Yes, I probably won’t be able to eat my lunch in peace right now. Maybe I’ll miss that later in life, due to the silence of the home when my kids are at school—or when they leave the nest. Maybe I’ll say, "That was a sweet spot in my life."