Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls…” Psalms 42:7
As the kiddos have entered into the teen years, we started to feel them slip away from spending as much time with us, the parentals. I’m sure you are as shocked at this news as we were. They didn’t get the memo that we are totes cool. We were sad about this fact since we really kinda like those kids. So, in a desperate attempt to attract teenagers back to the fold – we bought a boat. Worked like a charm – yolo.
My favorite feature on the boat is the depth finder, it seriously amazes me. However, the infatuation I have with that little tool of information is distracting to everyone else on board. Especially since I usually end up sitting wherever there isn’t a kid, tucked in a corner where it’s hard for the Hubs to hear me yell, “Chad! How deep is it here?”
He will mouth back, “Huh?” Then point to his ear and shake his head – the universal code for “I can’t hear you.”
I’ll repeat my question until he slows the boat down enough to hear me and then give me the answer. The answer is always followed with one of my children rolling their adorable eyes and telling their friend on board, “She is obsessed with the depth finder.” Imagine this scenario on repeat x 101. It only took us a whole summer to come up with a code for my same ol’ question, because we are quick problem solvers.
Look at those teens, WITH their parents. #winning
It’s fascinating and terrifying that there can be 86 feet of water under us one minute then, without a sign or warning bell, it goes to 23 feet deep. I just need to know where we figuratively stand with this water thing. My friend Christine would feel better if the lake could be drained, just for a day or so, then we could see exactly what is under the boat. I think this plan is brilliant, no matter how crazy the Corp of Engineers think we are.
I wish people came with a depth finder gauge. Think of all the small talk we could cut down on – we could fit so much more in our day if we simply checked their depth gauge to determine if it is worth the energy of a chat or not. I have a friend who is honest enough to admit she has a disdain for small talk, and claims to be horrible at it. She is best suited in the deep waters of conversation, this has found to be true. She can give you several embarrassing examples of her attempt of the task. Word to those who want to converse with her – throw on a lifejacket and doggie paddle out to the deep. I love this about her and, for the majority of the time, I am dog paddling out there alongside my friend.
In my own life, there are areas I can go as deep as the ocean, and then others I’m about a shallow as a kiddie pool. My most shallow moments show up while organizing family photos – the highlight of every mother’s year.
Since a young age, I always wanted three boys. What I did not account for was planning boys outfits for family photos. Especially now that they are all basically the same sizes, and throw fits when I try to dress one in burgundy colored jeans to pull in the color from the other kiddo’s plaid shirt (Sorry son, sometimes you have to take one for the team, just think of it as a character building moment). It isn’t trendy or cool to completely match, we have to simply coordinate. Coordinating is supposed to look seamless, almost as an afterthought. Kind of like we all showed up, looked down at our clothes and airily laughed that we all wore the same color scheme, how precious.
It is freaking hard. Gone are the “Everyone throw on a black shirt with your jeans, and let’s go take a picture.” days. I miss the Aussie hair product family’s advertisements, where they proved how simple and fun matchy-matchy family photos could be. Gone are the simple times with robes.
Nothing says “Happy Family” like matching robes. Nothing.
For our 2017 family photos, I text the oldest darling at work and said, “What are you wearing tomorrow for family pictures?” We went back and forth discussing what he had and what we might need to shop for that night. T-minus 22 hours before execution. I informed him we were going with grays, warm neutrals, with a pop of red. He replied that we had already done red. I reminded him that was maroon, and his little brother had asked to do red for years and we had ignored him. Mason said, “Fine. But what kind of red are we talking about – Blood red, Lorena red, or like a muted red?” You see how I’m used to the deep waters of topics and conversations.
By the time we actually show up for family photos, I’ve given up on caring about the perfect-nice-normal-family photos. The pop of red was thrown out (sorry bud, maybe next year) and we just smiled. No matter my level of stress, the photos always turn out amazing, because any photo with my babies captured in it usually is. They are just handsome little suckers that will always have my heart, no matter the depth of our current water. Also, I might have had a wine spritzer inside of my yeti to help me chill out – this is just an assumption, not an admission.
See? Perfection.
To be authentically you, one has to be the same at 1 ft. of depth than you are at 80 ft. Authentic – who doesn’t love people who are described by that adjective? To show your real self, to live in your own skin and stand in the truth of who and whose you are is the best gift to give the world. And yourself. To put it eloquently, you do you boo. I’ve frequented both levels on my journey -swimming in the deep or wadding in the kiddie pool, and I’ll take deep waters over shallowness any day. Each come with their own scary stuff (Jaws and alligators – both equally as terrifying), but life is less peopley in the deep end, there is much less chatter. For that fact alone, swim out sister. After family photos of course.
* 2017 Photos by Taylor Nicole Photography
**Not the Aussie Hair family photo…that was produced by google.
