A local library hosted a bubble show for kids1 last Friday morning as a kick off to summer, and as library events are known for, this was free to the public. Sign me up. Except there weren’t sign ups, you were just expected to show up and claim your spot. We’ve attended several story times at this library over the last couple of years, so I figured I generally knew what to expect when it came to the potential turn out— how different could a bubble show be from story time? I marked the date on my calendar let the days drift by.
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The Friday prior to the big day, my friend Sierra texts and asks if we want to get our kids together at some point over the next week. We compare calendars and after floating the bubble show option by her, she decides to join with her son.
A few days later, my friend Mandy sends a message to a group of moms asking if any of us want to join her and her kids in attending the show. Our friend Mackenzie responds yes, she will be there with her kids, and I let her know we will be there, too. So by Friday morning, we have a group of 4 moms and 7 children, all bursting with excitement to experience whatever a bubble show has in store for us. This is going to be quite the production.
Friday morning rolls around and of course, my daughter and I are running late because in the year of our Lord 2024, we are out of checks. After nearly a decade with nary a check written, in the past three years my husband and I have found ourselves writing at least three a month, two of which go to our house keeper.
On this particular morning, said house keeper is on her way and the last person to write her a check (ahem, not me) left the empty checkbook in the drawer without a replacement. Which is how, mere minutes before we need to walk out the door, I find myself on my husband’s closet floor, cowboy boots jutting into my ribs, rummaging around our safe for a new checkbook, while a two year old climbs me like a jungle gym.
Once the checks are procured and one is made out in the correct amount, we load up and head out. Sierra is 10 minutes ahead of me, but Mandy and Mackenzie text saying they will arrive a few minutes after the 10:00 start time, so I don’t sweat our 10:03 ETA too much.
Until I take a wrong turn and that ETA turns to 10:07 at the exact moment a text from Sierra pops up on my screen, reading, “it’s PACKED in here.” Lovely.
Several disgruntled noises erupt from my mouth, but no foul language, which takes restraint. My daughter comforts me with, “it’s okay mama, I’m here”, which is very sweet, but unhelpful.
We pull into the parking lot and I immediately realize Sierra wasn’t exaggerating when she said the room was packed— the parking lot is exploding with cars and I’m lucky to find a spot. As I’m parking, another text comes through, this time from Mandy, “Y’all this is insane. I can’t fit in the door.” So maybe this bubble show has been blown into a bigger ordeal than I anticipated.
I pluck my daughter from her carseat and speed walk to the door, spotting Mackenzie and her kids a few paces ahead, while out of the corner of my eye noticing a steady stream of parents flowing in with strollers, unloading carfuls of kids, and looking for parking spots of their own. We aren’t the only stragglers.
We reach the front door, four kids between the two of us, only to find two librarians cosplaying as bouncers. “Sorry, we’re at capacity”, they inform us flatly.
We stand, staring back with blank expressions, not knowing what to say or do next. It’s not like we paid for tickets, so we can’t demand they let us in, and technically we are late, but still, this feels like a blow.
The library has a kid’s play area and I suggest we head that way while we wait for our on time, know-how-to-follow-their-map friends to finish the show. As we trudge down the corridor, we pass a clear display wall, which has always been here, but does, in fact, have bubbles inside. “Look! It’s a bubble show!”, my daughter effuses.
At this moment, I am fully aware of how ridiculous it is for my mood to dissolve in this situation while my two year old sparkles with positivity. Sure, there’s a lesson here about appreciating the little things in life and taking time to slow down. But as moms, we know the second we opt for that, this scenario plays out:
You scrub down the dirt encrusted water table they beg to play with; you even go the extra step to add soap so bubbles will form and they can see a bubble show today after all. You spray their arms and legs with sunscreen, bag dog poop so they won’t get their feet dirty, and offer every setting on the water hose in an attempt to understand what they mean by the “normal one”, only to have the activity end in tears. You offer a snack and they accept. You offer cheese as the snack, which they also accept. You bring out the agreed upon cheese, but they scream they don’t want cheese, they want a “sprinkle granola bar”. You know sugar isn’t the answer, so you hold them close and offer sips of water while they continue to cry, saying they want to go inside, and you finally relent—once again leaving the bubbles behind.
But I won’t get to experience that fun encounter until the afternoon— all I know in this moment is I worked hard to get us here, our morning is disintegrating before it’s even begun, and yeah, maybe I’m really bummed to not find out what happens at a bubble show.
So we make our way to the play area, which once ranked number one on my list of favorite library play areas2, but right away we notice they have rearranged and condensed their toy selection since the last time we were here— plus the oppressive weight of disappointment has deflated our spirits.
Mandy and Sierra both ask if they should leave to come meet us and we reassure them no, they should stay and enjoy, but 10 minutes later they materialize in front of our eyes. Apparently, the librarians weren’t actually trained as bouncers and children were diffused everywhere, spiraling out of control. Go figure.
Not wanting our morning to be a total bust and feeling the library was no longer meeting our entertainment needs, I suggest we pop over to the church next door with the free indoor playground and the coffee shop with fantastic lavender honey lattes. After all this, we have definitely earned some lattes. We corral the children and head for the cars. Already, I can sense our morale rising.
On our way, Sierra calls to ask which church entrance she should use, so I round the corner to lead the way. Mandy beeps in while we’re still on the phone. I don’t see her car in our mini caravan and worry she doesn’t know where to go either. However, when I answer her call, my original fear fades and my heart sinks.
“Are we sure the church is open today? I’m realizing the reason I’ve never been here is because I don’t think they’re open on Fridays.”
You have got to be kidding.
We all angle in next to each other, no other cars in sight. Mandy jogs up to the front doors and we watch, oozing disappointment, as they refuse to budge no matter how hard she tugs. What little optimism I’m holding onto completely evaporates.
Once again, the disgruntled groans escape my mouth.
“What’s wrong mama?”
“Nothing. The playground is just closed so we have to make another plan.”
At this point, I feel personally responsible for the fact that it is now 10:45 and no fun has been had. I am the common denominator of this group— each of these friends know each other but since I made plans with two sets of people, I am the gel holding us together. Not to mention I suggested the show to Sierra, I was one of the late comers, I directed us to the play area, and now to this fortressed playground. If I was a cruise director, I’d be out of a job.
Out of other ideas and feeling the pressure boiling, I suggest the one place I know we can count on. The one place I know will appeal to all eleven of us— mothers, babies, toddlers, and children alike. The one place I know will serve as a tonic for our souls.
Chick-fil-A.
We rally once more and trek to the nearest location, where we spend the next hour in delightful chaos. It’s disorderly, we end up spending money instead of attending a free event, and at one point a certain child is found blowing raspberries on a stranger, but we leave with full bellies, minimal tears shed, and a story to tell. It’s not the morning we had planned, yet it is still a morning spent with people we love, in a place we love.
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This saga capped off a week chockfull of imploded plans.
Two rained out (outdoor) library events.
A rescheduled eyebrow lamination and eyelash tinting appointment after the same storm caused the salon, nearly an hour away, to lose power. I won’t even mention the childcare arranging of it all (or maybe I will).
A canceled meet up with an old friend from Houston after her husband and daughter woke up sick on the morning of their trip.
A continually delayed dining room table order resulted in an entire day of research for a replacement, which still won’t arrive in time for the bridal brunch I’m hosting for my sister next week.
And need I rehash the water table incident?
Typing these disappointments out one by one feels trivial— there’s nothing life altering in their midst. But lately I’ve noticed my grief over the larger losses in my life bubbling over into these smaller disappointments, like the time I cried in the Target parking lot when a friend said she couldn’t get together at a time when I was free.
As we slip into summer, while I certainly don’t hope for more disappointments, I know they are brewing. I’m already anticipating more suspended plans and toddler meltdowns. I know more deferred appointments and tabled get togethers are on the horizon. Heck, a get together around my new table may not even happen until August at this point.
My prayer for this season, when plans fizzle and people fall short, is that I won’t implode. My prayer is to live in the moment— to find beauty in whatever bubble show I’m attending, whether planned or improvised. (Maybe there was a lesson worth learning there after all?)
My prayer is to learn how to pivot, to not take for granted the opportunities and friends surrounding me. After all my intercessions and tears begging God to allow me to raise my children back in this town, alongside by these people, I pray one letdown won’t burst my bubble. I pray I’ll remember where I am and who I’m connected to, even on the hard days.
And my prayer is to remember, when all my other plans explode into thin air, there is always a place I can rely on, a buoy in the stormy seas— Chick-fil-A.
Dinner
These BBQ chicken bowls have long been a summer staple in our household. They check the boxes of easy, healthy, quick, and delicious. I don’t opt for making my own pickles with this recipe, but if that is your journey, may the Lord bless you and keep you. The customizability of this dish earn it another check mark!
Rave
On Memorial Day, our next door neighbors invited us over for swimming and burgers. The week prior, my daughter and I had gone blackberry picking and I had visions of us baking a blackberry cobbler together. I knew a cobbler would go to waste at our house since my husband doesn’t eat sweets (I know), so this was the perfect opportunity to share our creation.
Instead of a cobbler, I settled on these blackberry pie bars, and holy moly, they were absolutely the right choice. The plan was for a mother-daughter kitchen date, but as baking often goes with, the fun lasted all of 3 minutes. However, if I make these again in the future, which I plan on doing, this recipe is two year old sous chef approved.
Not only was the recipe easy to follow, but these bars turned out delicious, and I’m not just paying myself a compliment— my neighbor ate two, I left half at her house, and she texted me nearly a week later asking for the recipe, so I’m considering those signs high praise.
These bars will be my go-to dessert this summer for any BBQs or get togethers and I invite you to do the same.
What’s a bubble show you might ask? I asked myself the same question. Such an intriguing premise.
Yes, that’s a real list I have