Grassy Knolls

There are plenty of days that I feel like a bad mom, and few days that I actually am. Today I’ll take my prize as mom of the year because these moments of feeling that are far and few between. No parent is perfect. That should never be the goal. Our hope is to love them well enough that they love themselves. To give them experiences, and opportunities that inspire, excite and expand their lives. Sometimes that is as fun for us as it is for them, and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s a true labour of love. Both my girls love music. Maya musical from an early age, sings and plays, and a diehard fan of the artists she loves. The girl who will line up at 7am when doors open at 1 just to get barricade. The one who knows every lyric to every song, and who is the very definition of a loyal fan. Seeing Gracie yesterday for a 4th time is but one example. Marisol is musical too, a sense of rhythm and musicality seen as much in her dance, as her eclectic musical taste. Following closely in big sister’s footsteps of wanting to go to concerts and shows and get as close to the artists she loves as mom will permit. So when 13-year-old Sol asked to go to Osheaga, I reluctantly agreed, telling myself it would be fun for me too, dreaming of sitting on a grassy knoll, further back, enjoying the artists while watching her and her friends take it all in. That did not happen. There was no sitting in the grass, or watching from afar. There was no sipping of drinks in the sun while the kids enjoyed the show. There was fighting our way through the crowd, vying for a spot, all while making sure everyone was safe and hydrated as we stood for hours shoulder to shoulder with fans decades my junior so that a group of teens could experience Osheaga the way they wanted to. Well they wanted to be barricade with big sister, but they’ll need to wait a couple more years for that. I might be awesome, but I’m not that awesome. So no, no grassy knolls, or leisure taking in of the sights and sounds. No chilling with the other moms while our girls enjoyed the show. We were in it, with them so they could be in it too. I had not been to Osheaga since I was pregnant with now 17-year-old Maya. I cannot say that I’ll have the stamina to do what I did yesterday again next year. For now, I am grateful that I got to be there, to see it all through their eyes. Tired feet and all. That’s the thing about being a parent. You never know how you do what you do. You don’t know how you work all day, then work a “second shift” once you get home. You have no idea how you endured the sleeplessness of those early years (or the later ones when you can’t sleep until your kids are home). It feels impossible to manage your life, and their schedules. You don’t know how or why you keep saying yes when your energy stores are low and your bones are tired. Taxiing, late night picks ups, making plans while making sure fun is had safely by all. It all feels impossible, until it’s done. Dreaming of grassy knolls, and watching from afar… yet even as I write this, the day after the night before, I feel the pang of future me missing these busy days and tired feet, of when I was right there in it, with them, so they could be in it too. PS: My kids will think this post is so cringy, and will likely roll their eyes as I reminisce. They won’t really understand until they too are in it so their kids can be in it too. PSS: I got permission from them to post included pics.