Beautifully Happy

Fostering and appreciating our childrens’ joy.

I love witnessing Piper’s happiness, especially when she doesn’t know I’m watching.

For so many reasons, it’s hard to be a teen in 2024. Don’t come at me with lectures about the privilege of internet and all the things we never had when we were kids because A) you sound like your grumpy old Uncle Gary and B) I agree, and have already gone down that path of reasoning. Our kids are dealing with all the shit we grew up with - plus a complete lack of privacy thanks to social media, increased sexualization and predation, who-knows-what in their vape pens and fentanyl-laced weed, and the unlikely but not implausible threat of being shot and killed at school.

For so many reasons it’s hard being a parent in 2024 (see above.) Additionally, if you’re parenting with any degree of consciousness and integrity you’re fighting the upstream battle of limiting exposure to some weird-ass shit, while granting them the freedom to make their own choices and learn how to healthily interpret and process what they see.

But I digress.

Getting Piper to do anything is a challenge, and I truly mean anything. She’s hungry but nothing sounds good. She’s tired but doesn’t want to go to bed. She wants to see a movie but can’t decide what to watch. She doesn’t want to get dressed, leave the house, or see people…until she does…and then it’s guaranteed that I’ll get in the way or do it wrong.

Prayer and wine are what get me through many of my days.

On Thursday I got an email from our local art museum announcing upcoming events. Every two months they offer a teen art lab, and this weekend they featured bookmaking taught by a local artist and friend, Jerry Phillips. “Piper, I made plans for Saturday afternoon.”

“Ugh!” That’s literally exactly what she said as she simultaneously rolled her eyes. “I thought we were gonna’ watch ‘Infinity War!’”

“Dude, that’s three hours of our evening. Pretty sure we can squeeze in a trip to the Frist. Jerry’s leading a bookmaking workshop for teens.”

“Fine. But we’re getting breakfast first.”

“It’s at 1 pm; we’ll get brunch.”

Saturday rolled around and we rolled out of bed and made ourselves presentable. Hit the local diner for crunchy French toast (hers) and the supreme skillet, hold the bell peppers (mine.) Our self-implemented no-phone rule encouraged us to play Snappy Dressers, a card game that lives in my purse along with Tums and ibuprofen. She beat me two games in a row before we finished our coffee and hot cocoa, and headed downtown.

Despite the Rock N’ Roll marathon, traffic and parking were a breeze. We checked in at the members desk and headed upstairs to the classroom where we were greeted first with big hugs, and then a few examples of bookbinding. Piper chose her seat and I left her to it. I intended to sit in the café and read for an hour or so, but it was being prepped for a private event. I strolled back upstairs to browse an exhibit and checked in on the classroom en route, and can I just tell you how my heart soared.

I had an unobstructed but unnoticed view of my kiddo. Her hands were busy and her face was so beautifully happy. Engaged, social, smiling, doing what she loves. No phone, no internet, no anxiety about decision making or people pleasing. Just Piper and her art. I continued down the hallway and found a quiet place to sit and craft my own art with these words.

An hour later Piper texted me. “You can come get me I’m in the sculpture gallery past the kids art thing.” I entered the “Monuments & Myths” exhibit and found Piper sketching in the book she’d just made. When I quietly greeted her she turned to me, absolutely beaming. “Look what I made!” She said it with the enthusiasm of a toddler and the pride of an adult who has accomplished a great task. I wanted to hug her right there in the gallery, my heart was so full. I showed her the two kits I was given to bring home and told her that she can teach me how to make my own, and she was absolutely giddy.

Y’all, I hope your kids are able to discover and pursue their passion. I hope you have the wisdom and courage to let them, and to gently push them when they’re feeling unwilling. It would have been so much easier to stay home yesterday. Three days ago señorita grumpypants was not excited about going to the Frist. She did not want to make a book, she did not want to put on real clothes, she did not want to socialize.

I did not care.

You cannot make your kids happy. You can’t make anyone else happy, that’s a universal truth of relationships that I’ll save for another essay. You can’t make your kids happy, but you can cultivate in them the habit of allowing happiness and creating joy. It’s intentional and challenging and so incredibly with the effort. Teach them to find genuine happiness in what they do, and watch them immerse themselves in the outcome. Those smiles and confidence are worth every ounce of energy you spend as a parent.

Especially when they don’t know you’re watching.