Simple Pleasures

On a summer trip to visit family in Massachusetts, I spent a morning with my husband and son at Walden Pond, the former haven of the simplicity-loving Henry David Thoreau. Every time I visit, I can understand why Henry D. chose Walden as his respite from the oh-so-complicated world of nineteenth century Concord. The pond is deep blue, ringed first by white sand and then by lush New England woods. Even with the summer crowds, the reflective stillness of the place hasn't been lost over the centuries. It's peaceful and it's beautiful.

As a true American and millennial parent, I couldn't resist the urge to pick up something for the little man in the gift shop dedicated to Thoreau (which is a bit ironic) on our way out. Nestled between the Audubon stuffed birds and the framed prints of Walden throughout the year was a children's book incorporating Thoreau's philosophies about life with beautiful illustrations of the pond. I had to have it, even though I'm sure it will be many years before my son chooses An Afternoon with Henry David Thoreau over Monster Truck Mash-up as bedtime reading.

One line from Thoreau has stayed with me: That man is richest whose pleasures are the cheapest.

I've tried over the past year to glory in simple pleasures, which I believe is a form of gratitude. The first step to enjoying simple pleasures is to recognize them--and often, because they can be so simple and mundane, it's easy to overlook them. Here are a few of mine (in no particular order):

Taking a really hot shower when I'm really cold from sitting in wet clothes after a run in the rain.

Diving into beautiful water and keeping my eyes open until right before I break the surface.

Sitting on the my deck at dusk and looking up at the trees and sky.

Planning trips--real or fantasy.

A run that doesn't feel painfully hard, where my stride feels natural and my breathing easy.

Skiing on Radar Lake, a private lake that holds a special place in my heart.

Opening the mailbox and seeing a new magazine and then savoring that magazine while eating a meal alone.

Getting into bed next to a man I adore.

The smell of my son's breath--morning, afternoon, evening.

Standing on an open field in the sun.

Watching mist rise off water.

Researching restaurants for date night.

Nightly dessert with my husband--the actual dessert matters far less than the ritual.

Hearing my son call for "Mommy."

Getting an insight into a scripture that I've read a thousand times before.

Connecting with my Heavenly Father in prayer and then feeling his love and care surround me.

Singing simple songs of praise (always off key given my musical acumen).

 

Best of Both Worlds

I’m living the dream. I quit my full-time job at a Fortune 100 company to stay at home with my first baby. Since then, I’ve been working part-time, contract, and freelance positions as a marketing consultant. When I tell people what I’m doing, the response is usually something like, “That’s great! You really have the best of both worlds.”

“Oh yes,” I say, smiling. “It’s just the best.”

Let’s talk about conference calls… the thorn in the side of every work-at-home mother without a nanny. Do they always have to be scheduled at 9 am, the one time during the day when my baby will never, ever be asleep?

Conference calls fall into two camps: the ones where you can stay on mute the entire time and pretend to listen, or the ones where you actually have to participate.

For the stay-on-mute version, I pick a floor of the house to trap us on and then get out every toy/item-that-could-potentially-be-a-toy, hoping that these will provide enough distraction to get us through the next hour of living hell. It never is.

The first few minutes are trickiest because you might be forced to make small talk while everyone’s getting on the call and a toddler screaming, “Nurse! Nurse!” while Bobby from sales starts sharing his newest monetization strategy might as well be screaming, “my mommy’s completely unprofessional and disengaged from her career!”

Then there’s the actual call…those 60 minutes where you let your child run completely loose around said floor of the house while you struggle to focus enough that a) you hear your name when someone asks you a question and b) you can respond with something better than “Um, yeah, I think, sure, yes.”

I’ve let my son tear apart every drawer in my bathroom and spread the contents of my make-up bag across the floor (sparkly eye shadow is so crumbly). I’ve drawn dozens of animal stick figures on sticky notes as a distraction technique. I’ve whipped out my boob and shoved it in his mouth as a “calming” technique, hoping he doesn’t suck too loud if I’m forced to say something. I’ve let him bang (with hands and feet) on my husband’s keyboard. I’ve given him a head start on the art of teenage TP’ing by letting him unfurl rolls of the stuff around my bedroom.

And those are the easy calls. The ones where you actually have to participate the whole time…those are brutal. It’s literally impossible to keep an 18 month old quiet for an hour, even a half hour. They just can’t do it—nor should they. But the point is, if you’re going to not look like a complete idiot, you just can’t have your baby babbling while you brainstorm about business models. Which leaves only one choice: crib prison.

Now to me as an adult, the idea of being put in a soft, quiet place with nice books, warm blankies, and lovely classical music and being told I have to chill there for an hour sounds like a sweet deal. Apparently not so much to a toddler. By the way my son reacts, you’d think I’d stuck him in a Gitmo cell. He screams, cries, throws himself on the mattress, and hurls those warm blankies and nice books on the floor. I lock myself in the far corner of my bedroom and hope the microphone on my phone is too weak to pick up the prisoner pleading for release in the background.

Just as a comparison, here’s how conference calls work in the “real” world. You sit in your quiet office by yourself or with a couple (adult) co-workers and listen intently while you stalk old high school friends on Facebook and buy a new pair of shoes (for yourself) on Gilt. Yeah, that’s definitely worse.