Toilet Paper War Stories

My 6 year old comes in for a bedtime hug with, “love you Mommy” to which I reply, “I love you too”. A strong hug and a moment later I say quietly, “do you know how much I love you?” and I get the standard response, “yeah”. I take a deep breath before whispering, “you will never know how much I love you; never ever.” and then tighten the warm snuggly hug with my oldest, soaking in the fact that she still runs to me for a pre-bedtime embrace. After a beat I get, “Mommy, I don’t like that toothpaste” and the moment was over and ruined, in an instant.

I shouldn’t say it was ruined. I enjoyed it. Even though it was short. I have always been painfully aware of the inevitable reality that is time. Always. Within a week of meeting my future husband he asked me where I saw myself in 5 years. Like, what?! How dare he ask me that. I was 22! (I told him I’d be married, with 2.5 kids and a house.) Goal oriented, and looking toward the future, always. We bought a house together 9 months later, and married 17 months after we’d met. By 5 years in we were on our second house, and second kid.

Do you know how many times I’ve been told to slow down? You don’t. Do you know how many times I’ve told myself to slow down?! You wouldn’t have a clue. We hear all the damn time about how the baby years fly by – “take a million pictures!” they say. Reality check: the baby’s first 3-5 months actually kinda suck. Sorry, not sorry. But you’ll need those photos to remind yourself of why you’re putting yourself through this misery. That adorable, perfectly doughy, screeching pile of greenish-brownish-blackish-yellowish poop definitely translates as much more perfect in photographs. Take the damn pictures, woman. You’ll look back on those months fondly. I promise.

Do you know what other months you’ll look back on fondly? These ones. The ones happening right now. Yes, I’m talking about the apocalypse. Whether you’re in a greasy, non-showered new baby haze, or you have a toddler, or three toddlers, or a school-aged child, or four school-aged punks. You’re in the thick of it. We all are. It’s sorta, kinda, a little bit like every single one of us in the world has a newborn. We’re all a little unkept, afraid to leave the house, trying to work when we can from home, eating too many snacks and trying to just keep the kids alive and well. But we will look back fondly on these times. Though it might be hard to imagine right now.

We will look back years from now and instead of seeing our memories in a baby book we’ll see our story in a high-school textbook. We’ll be those parents regaling our adult children and grandchildren with stories about the worldwide pandemic that we lived through. We’ll have to explain ourselves for storing a month’s supply of toilet paper in the basement at all times. We’ll have hand sanitizer stations at every door, and we might never shake hands again. I can hear it now…,”do you remember way back when we actually used to shake hands with each person we met?!”. Hah. Our grandchildren won’t even believe it. Like the days without internet, except millennial edition. But do you know what will excite them the most? PHOTOGRAPHS.

A moment in time. It might seem like forever right now, but in the long run this will fly by. We’ll be talking about the coronavirus in past-tense before we know it and all that will be left is photographs. So take them. Even if you’re un-showered and out of work and frustrated about the virtual learning shit we’re all trying to figure out. Take a photo of your 1st grader at the only computer in the house. It will look ancient in 10 years. Take a photo of your spouse playing with the kids in the middle of a Tuesday because he’s home, even if it’s not by choice. The kids will remember that you played together, not that you were out of work. A photo of your pets next to a ceiling-high stack of toilet paper. Or the family gardening together, or your grandfather playing solitaire at the dining room table, or your young adult in uniform heading to work at the local grocery store. Take the picture.

These days seem endless right now and quite honestly I don’t know that we even have an end in sight. But it will end, and we will look back on all of this some day and by then it will seem like it flew by. Just like those newborn days. Just like my eldest daughter crawling into my lap for one more goodnight hug. The days are long, but the years are short. Try to slow down and enjoy these moments, though they may be wrought in stress and loneliness, they will be remembered by our stories and photographs by generations to come.