Mark mentioned something interesting that has stuck in my head. I’m paraphrasing here, but he wondered why fun family events seem more fun in hindsight.
Is it because we’re hurrying through those events, and not stopping to give them much thought as we’re experiencing them?
Yesterday morning, Sarah and I walked to the Superstore. I needed olive oil and Balkan-style yogurt for that night’s dinner. I could have easily predicted the Superstore wouldn’t have the right yogurt in stock. The Superstore is a place where you can buy toddler-sized sport socks, canned sauerkraut, orchids, not to mention umpteen kinds of fat-free choco-cinna-whatever yogurt “desserts,” but if you’re looking for ordinary Balkan-style yogurt you only have about a 50 per cent chance of finding it. Whoever manages their dairy aisle must be asleep at the wheel, because they can’t seem to keep my particular brands in stock. It’s most annoying when I need to make a certain dish. In this case I was set to make tzatziki – and my recipe rocks and I NEEDED THAT YOGURT.
But the issue of yogurt availability isn’t the reason for my post. After we bought the groceries (including an inferior PC-brand 1% MF yogurt … hey, it’s not like I had a choice!) we made our way back home through Westboro Village. Our next stop: the hot dog guy outside MEC. We ordered two dogs to go, and happily proceeded to a sunny bench nearby.
I finished mine (onions, mustard, hot peppers) way before Sarah finished hers (ketchup, mustard, relish). She was doing more talking than eating. In fact, she supplied enough conversation and questions for the both of us:
“Look mom!”
“What’s that?”
“What is that man doing?”
“What is that other man doing?”
etc etc.
I watched Sarah’s hot dog getting cold. The shadows grew longer, my legs started to get numb, birds started to migrate southward (okay, just kidding about those last ones), but did I start to get fidgety. Time was TICK TICK ticking SO LOUDLY IN MY HEAD and all I could think about (a) that huge pile of work I had waiting for me at home (b) the state of our house (c) the gardening and yard work and the weeds, oh the weeds, they were growing taller and taller the longer I sat there (d) everything else.
And then, just as quickly as I started thinking about it, I stopped. I needed to change this. I forced myself to stop thinking, and to g.d. enjoy the moment already. I took a deep breath, leaned back, and listened to all of Sarah’s questions, answered as many as I could, and watched as she s-l-o-w-l-y ate the cold dog. All that remained was two pieces of bun. One was stained yellow with mustard, the other was red from the ketchup. She looked at it closely.
“It’s artistic,” she proclaimed happily, sizing up the colours.
“What is, the bun?”
“Yes. But I’m full, and I can’t eat it anymore.”
I wiped the mustard from her face, she put the artistic bun scraps into the garbage, and we went to school. We walked away, hand in hand. She was happy. I was happy. I am glad I changed the moment for myself.
