Newfangled Hygge

I was exhausted.

So exhausted, in fact, that I was barely conscious when my 10-year-old told me he threw up, barely missing the toilet. We were barely a week into my husband’s offshore rotation but I was feeling his absence deeply.

But the next morning when I woke up to three out of four kids with fevers and vomit to clean up, I was awake as any parent will be in that situation.

I instructed my oldest to stay in his cave (basement room) as much as he possibly could to save himself (it didn’t work). I got to work ordering the necessary groceries and tonics and anything I could think of to help everyone be comfortable. I surrendered most of my expectations and went into “fix it mode”, otherwise known as, “I can do this” mode. 

When my five-year-old-daughter had a wave of feeling better amidst her fever-weariness, all she wanted was Mama.

Can we paint our nails?

Can we have teatime and read Charlotte’s Web since I actually like the lemon tea now? It can be real teatime.

Can you sit in the bathroom the whole time I take a bath?

Can you color with me?

You would think that since she was sick, I would react how any mother would like to think she’d react.

Absolutely, baby. Pick out the colors you want.

Yes, let me start the kettle! I can’t wait to see what word Charlotte does in her web next for Wilbur.

Of course I can. Do you want extra bubbles?

Yes. Let’s use my special markers this time!

Unfortunately, that was not the case. My shoulders went up to my earlobes and all I could think was, “I just need to finish something before this day is over.” And by “something,” I did not mean something with my daughter. I meant something on my to-do list. 

Yes, honey, but not right now. I have to get your brother some water.

I can’t do teatime right now but we can do it tomorrow and we’ll read at bedtime, okay?

I would love to, but I need to make dinner. I’ll keep checking on you, though!

Why don’t I ask a brother to color with you? I have to clean the bathroom so hopefully no one else throws up.

I’m not saying my reasons weren’t valid reasons. My responses were true. I did have things that needed to be done, and three other children to take care of, and a list that only I could finish since everyone was sick. We were nearing the end of the day when all her requests came, one after the other- and I was tired. My instinct was not to stop and say yes, but to tense and say, “not right now” in the gentlest way I could think of. After all, if I gave her a reason why we couldn’t do what she asked, surely, she’d understand!

That night as we lay in bed and read Charlotte’s Web, I had a tingling of guilt. Here was my five-year-old, almost six-year-old, daughter asking for these small moments of love, comfort, and attention- and I had just brushed them all off. I could justify it and say it wasn’t that simple, because what is in motherhood. But the truth of it all was that I could have taken ten minutes to do any of the things she asked me to do.

Just ten minutes.

None of them had to be picture perfect or fancy. I didn’t have to set up a whole at-home salon to paint her nails or get the fancy dishes down to have a full-fledged tea party. She just wanted a moment together, small and quiet and meaningful. 

The next day, I made a different choice.

Everyone seemed to be more on the mend and I was hopeful that my second-born would be the only one who threw up at all (it wasn’t the case). After lunch all the kids were watching a movie and I seized the moment to make some muffins. I could have done laundry, or cleaned the downstairs bathroom, or vacuumed the couch that was covered in crumbs—but I didn’t. I wanted to do something I enjoyed. 

And as the muffins were baking and I was cleaning the kitchen:

I turned on the kettle.

I grabbed what teacups were clean and what napkins we had.

I grabbed Charlotte’s Web and set it on the table with everything else.

The timer for the muffins went off and the kids, of course, immediately asked what the timer was for. My response was full of quiet excitement. “Muffins and teatime,” I said.

I watched as my daughter’s face lit up. 

“Because I actually like the tea now!”

The boys, who still felt worse than their sister, raised eyebrows and asked if they had to stay to listen to Charlotte’s Web (a book they’ve already heard at least once and probably twice). The answer was, no, they didn’t have to. This made my daughter even more excited. In a house full of boys, one-on-one girl-time was pretty sacred. 

This moment was the flip of a switch. The spark of a light. 

This moment felt like a shift. 

Hygge is not an American sentiment or way of life. It is a word, a meaning, that has gained traction and popularity these days. Hygge means warm blankets, candles, perfect colors of creams and greens. That’s what social media and influencers tend to push. Hygge is a way of life found in the colder months that is made prettier and presentable if you buy these things. I’m not saying those things are wrong, or that buying those things (if you can) won’t add to the ambience when trying to practice hygge. But those things aren’t, in themselves, hygge.

I realized, after a ten-minute teatime with my daughter, that I was working so hard to maintain our life, I had begun missing it. 

When anyone asks me to do anything, it doesn’t feel like a simple request. I hear, “another to-do” or “something else to feel guilty about.”

It shouldn’t be that way. I don’t want to miss these moments. I don’t want to miss the boys wanting to show me something or my daughter wanting me to paint her nails, or a family dinner, or… any of it. 

But if I’m honest, 85% of the time I think, there’s so much to do not I don’t want to miss this.

These ordinary moments are the ones we often rush past. With the looming social media, to do lists, work deadlines, and our constant availability to the world thanks to smart phones- life has more, or perhaps different, chaos in it now than ever before. 

Let’s ask a bigger question, maybe one that is scary to say out loud:

How do we stop rushing through the life we worked so hard to build? 

There is a difference between making memories and truly being present for them. Now, more than ever, we have to be purposeful with putting our phones down, stepping away from the distractions, and being present for the little moments that matter the most. 

In Disney Pixar’s Up, Russell says, “That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.” 

That’s what I want for my family. I want my kids to remember the day-to-day moments as much as the big family vacations.

I don’t want to miss any of the moments- “boring” or otherwise.