So there I am, loading the kids into the truck. Tying balloons onto car seats so they make it home from the birthday party. Fastening buckles. Unwrapping Smarties and Dum Dums for the short ride to back to my mom's house. Rearranging the bags in the front seat so there is room for me to sit and drive. Chattering to the kids. Answering their questions. Finding their sippy cups.
As far as loading in goes, this is a successful venture.
A car pulls up. A window rolls down. I catch it all in the corner of my eye.
“Everything OK, Jen? You need some help?”
Huh? I’m thinking to myself. What? Why would I need help? And then I glance around. The recently full parking lot is empty except for this car beside me, carrying the birthday girl and her parents, and us: Me. And my three children.
I laugh, I think. (I hope.) I say something like, “We’re fine. It just takes 25 minutes to load everybody in.” I laugh again. Realizing my time estimation is an exaggeration. Also realizing that my friends had to load up all the gifts and leftover cake along with the newly 3-three-old herself, and still I was taking longer.
A smile reciprocated. A see you later. And off they drive. The birthday girl and her parents. Friends who live too far away but, fortunately for us all, close to my mom, so we could come to the party and make a weekend of it.
I finish the loading and arranging. Observe that guests for the next birthday party are beginning to arrive. And off I drive, with me still chuckling. Then, I call Sarah, because I know she will get it. This moment of “what it’s like to be me.” She does. We laugh.
I have written before about how long it takes to accomplish just the basics when you are outnumbered three to one by your kids. But it’s nice to be reminded, especially when it’s going well, that this is just the way it is. And, it occurs to me, it’s the way it’s supposed to be, really. Somehow I was meant to do triple the kids. Because on the days that it does work, there’s nothing better than looking back at my three children, all tucked in together in the back seat of our pick-up truck, squealing at their goodies from the party, looking forward to an overnight at their grandmother’s house–where surely they will be spoiled–and chattering amongst themselves. In her own “I will not be left out way,” even my 1-year-old is taking part in the conversation.
But here’s why this one small moment sticks with me, now more than a week later. Here’s what it all comes down to: My friend noticed something. That we were still there? That I was outside of the car? Actually, I don’t know what he noticed, what made him stop. Perhaps just the fact that we were still in the parking lot even though we’d left the party before they had. But he checked in. He offered to help. And that is more than many people do when they see a mother, trying her best to manage. No matter how many children she has in her charge at the time.
This particular time I didn’t need the help. But I’m grateful for the offer. I am. Since that unexpected exchange in an unfamiliar parking lot it has occurred to me that people don’t offer to help each other enough.
But that is a topic for another day. On this day, life with three was as it should be.
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Originally published in March 2010