A thousand words

If you could use one phrase to capture the essence of this photograph, what would you say?



Chaos?

Noise?

Joy?

Family?

Got birth control?

N took this photograph in early February on our first venture to the supermarket with all three children.

Depending on the kind of day I've had I might choose any variety of words to describe what I see here:

Exhaustion.

Overwhelming needs.

Blessings.

Lately, I've been getting out often with all three children in tow. N is away for the month and we need to leave the house for stuff like groceries, new library books and sunshine. I've come to understand that the image above is what passersby observe when they see me and my brood. And the picture these strangers see has become what you might call a conversation starter.

It might start with a middle-aged woman honing in on the spectacle of the newborn baby snuggled in my arms and shortly after the word "awe" escapes her smiling mouth, she glimpses my older two tag-alongs and the conversation turns to how many children there are and wow I must be very busy.

Others lob observations that often include: "What a handful!" or "I don't know how you do it!"

Someone even offered: "What are you a glutton for punishment?"

I don't think anyone means to openly critique my parenting situation, but it sometimes feels that way. Like the mommy at the playground yesterday who asked if having three so close together was "planned?"

Sometimes I feel the need to politely defend myself. Other times I just smile and ignore the solicitation for a heart-to-heart about family planning.

Yesterday there seemed to be no shortage of these types of comments and I was starting to feel a little defensive.

I was starting to half believe some of the critiques I've been receiving -- that I must be a little crazy, that I am overwhelmed and that I may have more than I can handle.

So this afternoon, when I was dancing with baby H on the sidewalk while L and C played, I started to brace myself for more unwanted summaries of my life from passersby. I saw an old man shuffling up the way with a bag of groceries in his hand.

As he approached, sure enough, he had something to say. As usual he started with little H.

"How old's your baby?" he asked innocently.

"Two months," I replied.

He nodded, then glanced over at my 2-year-old pushing along his new scooter, then at my 4-year-old turning onto our walkway on her bicycle.

Here goes, I thought to myself.

The man turned his eyes back to mine and smiled.

"You're lucky," he said.

Lucky. That was a new adjective. It caught me off guard. I stammered a little as the stranger turned to walk away, then managed to squeak out a response.

"Yes. I am lucky."

It was nice to be reminded of that at a time when I was beginning to lose sight of just how fortunate I am to be the mother of these three remarkable little people.

Starting tonight, the old man's observation is the only one I'm going to let myself remember from this week, because when I look at the picture I posted at the top of this page, I believe "lucky" sums up my current situation quite nicely.