I fidget in my seat. “Hey, girls!” My 10-year-old, Mia, looks up from her device with a slow blink. “What is it?”
“Please turn off the screen and look out the window—we’ve arrived!”
She rolls her eyes, powers down her iPad, gives her big sister, Zoe, a playful poke, and shakes her little sister, Lily. “Wake up, we’re here!”
Lily protests, “But I’m not done watching Ariel!”
Zoe sighs, removes her headphones, and gives me a look, as if I’ve just asked her to do something outrageous.
“You can finish your show later,” I respond, trying to maintain a cheerful tone despite my irritation. “For now, let’s bundle up and go for a walk. It’s chilly outside.”
More grumbling ensues, tears flow from Lily, but I push through. We’ve just pulled into Mariposa Grove at Yosemite National Park, surrounded by towering sequoias. Although it’s winter and quite cold, there’s no way I’m letting them stay in the car when we have such breathtaking beauty around us. This is a family experience we need to share.
With a 12-year-old, a 10-year-old, and a 3-year-old, coordinating family time is like attempting an impossible puzzle. I understand why the older girls don’t want to visit the kiddie park anymore, while Lily isn’t ready for activities meant for big kids, such as shopping trips or ice skating. To minimize complaints, my husband and I often split up, taking one or two daughters to run errands while the other takes someone to a soccer game or a friend’s house. By Sunday night, I’ve barely had a chance to connect with my husband, and we both feel drained, lacking quality family time.
I envision a day when everything aligns perfectly. Zoe will effortlessly fix her hair with a quick ponytail. Mia will accept that we’re headed to the zoo instead of an amusement park. Lily won’t throw a tantrum over a snack being taken away by our dog. My husband will refrain from checking work emails, and I’ll stop fretting about whether everyone is warm enough. We’ll find ourselves in a blissful moment of togetherness, creating cherished family memories. I’m not saying this needs to happen all the time, but a bit more frequently would be lovely.
After what feels like an eternity of bundling up, we finally emerge from the car. Just moments later, Lily begins to cry because she doesn’t want to walk, prompting my husband to scoop her up. Meanwhile, I rush after Zoe, who has decided to explore an area marked “Do Not Enter.” Mia, concerned about her sister’s mischief, runs off to catch up with her, leaving me behind. We’re scattered along the icy path, navigating through the majestic sequoias, like pins stuck on a world map.
Once again, meaningful family time seems to slip away. “Isn’t this incredible?” I call out, hoping my voice will draw everyone together. No one responds. I lean against a wooden fence surrounding the fragile roots of the tallest trees, close my eyes, and tilt my face to the winter sun. I recognize that my children are at distinct stages of their lives—the wants and needs of a tween, a preteen, and a preschooler rarely converge unless ice cream is involved. This disconnect frustrates me, igniting a sense of guilt that makes me question if I should be doing something differently, while another part of me reminds me to embrace our current reality.
With renewed determination, I set out to find my husband and daughters. As I navigate around the nearest grove of trees, I spot Zoe and Mia leaning against the rugged bark of a massive sequoia. They’re in a half hug, faces turned toward each other, laughing, their eyes shining. Each of their outer arms extends as far as possible, comically attempting to encircle the trunk. Sunlight glimmers off the patches of snow at their feet, highlighting their hair. In that moment, they look like angels.
This isn’t the picture-perfect moment I had envisioned, but it is a moment nonetheless. Perhaps family time doesn’t always require all five of us to be present, with our various desires and needs. There is value in the smaller connections, in those spontaneous and beautiful instances that arise. For more on family experiences, consider checking out this couples fertility journey. Moreover, if you’re interested in celebrating your child’s unique traits, there’s insightful information on July baby’s birth flowers that can brighten your days. Additionally, don’t forget to explore this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, creating family time doesn’t have to be a monumental effort. It can happen in small, beautiful moments when we least expect it.