Joining in

We took the kids to the Cowtown Bowling Palace before Mass this Sunday.  Mark had been asking to go and Sunday morning discounts make a family bowling bill less than a Costco pizza/1.5 gallons Horizon organic milk/the very smallest pack of diapers (whyyyyy did I not purchase those cloth things 6 years ago, since I'm way post-squeam in matters of poop, human or poultry, these days), and we were there at opening. Bowling is the ideal event for our family right now: boys throw (ahem, roll) heavy things, June plays with the brightly colored balls and carpets, I make up high school AP Physics exercises, and Luke pretends he is The Dude.  We all cheer for each other a bit, tease each other a bit, and enjoy the velocimeter a lot (3? 3 mph boys? Forget outrun, we can outCRAWL that ball!).  It's great.

And so I'm quite glad I joined in.  At 8:30 a.m. I almost stayed home to do breakfast dishes, start lunch, and make things easier on everyone by keeping the littlest out of the way. But! Life is full of boring adult chores that need to get done.  All chores and no play make Jackie a dull girl, and no one wants to hang with her.  I'm a big cheerleader for moms joining in -- jumping in the ocean with or without the perfect swimsuit body -- and being center stage for the fun memories, rather than always behind the scenes. I think the men like this, too. Luke and I signed on as co-adventurers throwing our fortunes together, not as the man and the woman behind him.

I remember my mom in cold, muddy Georgia-clay rivers up to her pretty shins, sifting for starlites. I remember her dripping gloppy sand into sand castle spires.  A couple weeks ago I saw her swim underwater with her grandkids. I love this memories that have her in the middle.

And even more than joining in, I'm a proponent of letting your family and especially children see you enjoy life even when it is a minor inconvenience to them. That's why I spent 25 unnecessary dollars and an out-of-our-way trip to rent myself a wetsuit for our last California beach day last year. It's why I kept beating the drum for my chicken coop dream. Full-time parenting is often, to me, an exercise in less: spending less on bills, serving less sugar, keeping little voices quieter and little hands and faces less messy. Sometimes I feel less entitled to spending because my name's not on a paycheck this year. I know deeply that less makes room for the important more, but I still have to practice pulling myself out of the Issuer-of-No role to join the fun. I'm going to pick engaged and joyful over receeding most every time. Ladies, moms, siblings, parents: we love being the helpers that make our dear ones' dreams come true.  Let's let them do that for us on occasion, too.