Here lies your key to a treasure chest full of gold doubloons
Here lies your key to a treasure chest full of gold doubloons
The little things are the big things
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I love visual imagery, and a resonant image I sometimes share during speaking engagements is “friction nuggets.” Friction nuggets are the minor aggravations and conflicts that are—in the big picture—rather inconsequential and result from differences in opinion on how to get from point A to B; for example, how to deal with laundry or load the dishwasher, whether or not the “right” sippy cup was packed for daycare, how someone handles an RSVP, and so forth.
If you allow these friction nuggets to take up space and accumulate, there eventually comes a time where adding one more nugget that isn’t really a big deal on its own topples the whole pile over and then you have A BIG FUCKING DEAL on your hands.
The goal is to try to not let the little things take up more space than they deserve.
Sometimes that is easier than other times.
I think about friction nuggets in all of my relationships. It’s a continual, necessary, and protective exercise to help me decide what is actually worth getting my knickers in a twist over. And I have been thinking about the nuggets concept—in a positive valence—following a conversation I had on simple and compassionate parenting tactics with Dr. Tina Payne Bryson.
Tina’s commentary in an article I wrote for CNN (5 ways to support tweens’ and teens’ developing brains) reframed my thinking about my own parental stress response. Parents are often quick to fret over what’s happening in a given day, week, or month, but instead, Tina recommends that parents think about kids’ progress—especially in times of struggle—over time to consider instead, “Are they more mature and responsible than they were six months ago?” This reframe helped me fret less about the day to day and take a more reasonable long view on development, akin to the relief I felt when I decided to stop stressing about whether my kids ate a balanced collection of foods each and every day and instead focused on a week’s view.
OMG so much less stressful.
But back to the nuggets. In my conversation with Tina, I was reminded of the formative nature of the tiny, everyday, mundane-seeming touchpoints of care and compassion in relationships. Even though the small moments where you let someone know you see them, hear them, care, want to listen, and value their struggles as well as their strengths may seem—in and of themselves—like no big deal, in the positive valence, the accumulation of these moments is like loading a treasure chest with gold doubloons.
And this treasure chest comes in handy in the face of AN ACTUAL BIG FUCKING DEAL.
The weekend before last was my daughter Violet’s 12th birthday. It was a Saturday and Laurel was home for spring break so everything felt festive and we were like, PARTY ON, VIOLET GETS A WEEKEND BIRTHDAY! We kicked things off the night before by shutting off the lights and pelting Violet with glow in the dark balloons as she walked in the door following theater rehearsal. (I highly recommend this celebratory tactic, by the way.) The next morning we wore springy St. Patrick’s Day headbands with pictures of Violet’s face pasted over the shamrocks and delighted in her present opening. Per usual, she wanted to open some of her presents in the morning and save some for the evening after we sang happy birthday and enjoyed cake (this year Violet asked for a black forest cheesecake, which I had prepared the components for that morning). I took Violet and Laurel out for celebratory manicures midday. Everything was lovely.
And then the day went sideways.
Emergency phone call. Lightning huddle to make a plan. Drive to the accident site. Injury assessment. 911 phone call. Gathering of essentials. Many hours in the ER.
Worry. Frustration. Boredom. Anger. Exhaustion. Hunger.
My many years of training in emotional shutdown are both a strength and a weakness—the strength being my ability to get shit done, the weakness being where the feelings lodge in my body (invariably, the result is neck pain and an inability to poop). Through every moment of chaos and uncertainty that day I was calm, steady, and focused on how I could advance us to the next step.
Seek solutions. Advocate. Be kind. Stay focused. Be persistent. Say thank you.
The hours ticked by and at some point that evening I called home. I apologized to Violet. I had already given Laurel instructions about final assembly for the cheesecake. I told them to go ahead without me for cake and presents.
I went back to my bedside station in the ER hallway.
A few hours later, we finally had initial scan results and a plan for the next 24 hours. I felt OK leaving the hospital. It was late but I thought, maybe Violet might still be up? I held out hope that I could wish her a happy birthday on the actual day. I had never missed birthday cake and candles for her before.
A privilege, I know.
I zipped home, the edges of my stoic calm beginning to fray. I growled at the person going well under the speed limit ahead of me. I blew out some long exhales to try to dissolve the knots that were lodged in my neck and back. I felt tears prick my eyes and blinked them away.
When I got home, I rushed up to Violet’s bedroom. She was fast asleep. I inhaled the warm sleepiness of the air around her face and kissed and hugged her and said, “Oh Violet, happy birthday. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I love you. I am here.”
And at last, in the cover of dark, against her warm cheek, I wept—for that moment and for everything that had happened that day.
The next morning Violet opened the rest of her presents—she knew I had wrapped some of them and wanted to wait for me. I donned the celebratory headband. I ate cake. We had a do-over.
Laughter. Exhalation. Contentment.
I thought about Vi’s steadiness when I apologized on Saturday on the phone, and about her compassion on Sunday when I told her that I kissed her and cried at her bedside the previous night. She said something like, “Oh no Mom, don’t worry! I know you were doing what you needed to do and we are having fun right now!”
All of our many seemingly tiny moments of compassion and care made it easy for her to not wallow in what was lost on Saturday; to instead view Sunday as another day of potential delight.
I was reminded again—with deep gratitude and awe—about the value of our chest of gold doubloons.
Endnotes
Just last week I wrote about how you don’t need to show up for all of your kid’s things. Missing a birthday felt like a much bigger deal than missing a recreational soccer game and yet the parallel running thread is amazing.
Referring to our birthday do-over reminded me that there is a great long-view parenting episode in the Edit Your Life catalog. In Our Parenting Do-Overs Wish List,
and I talk about the things we would do differently, if given a parenting do-over.Last week was a big milestone; the 300th full-length episode of Edit Your Life! Tune into this episode on identifying your values.
Speaking of Violet and birthdays, this memory from 11 years ago left me with all of the feelings regarding the relationship between siblings.
I didn’t know black forest cheesecake was a thing until Violet asked for it. I was looking around for recipes that didn’t use booze and was a little hesitant about using a sugar company recipe (not sure why) but this black forest cheesecake recipe from Imperial Sugar is fantastic and easy. I made my own cherry topping but was at the hospital and couldn’t do the finishing chocolate curls and whipped cream piping, and it was just fine!
