This post is dedicated to my mom and dad….who have always been, and continue to be the ultimate empty chair parents…and who are furthering the tradition by being empty chair grandparents. No one does it better than you. I embarrassed myself in public today. You both would’ve been so proud.

Summer break is officially here, and this afternoon I took the boys to their favorite public pool. They love it because it’s more than a pool. It’s got slides, and one of those annoying buckets up in the air that claims multiple victims when it tips over every 8 minutes. There’s never been a time in its existence when this pool is NOT insanely crowded, and it causes me anxiety every year when we go. The second we walked through the gates today, I did what I always do: I began searching frantically for an empty chair. This is one of the only times in my life when I’ll speed walk. I’d run, but that would be embarrassing. The kids were jogging to keep up with me, dragging towels and goggles while I intermittently barked commands like “Keep up YOU GUYS!!” and “I’m not coming back for you if you fall behind!!” If you’re a public pool dweller you know…..empty lounge chairs are the unicorn of the aquatic industry. People have been killed for less.

I couldn’t find one. Huge pool area. Hundreds of chairs. Not one was empty. Defeated, I walked over to the chain link fence and dramatically dropped my bag. The kids threw their stuff down on the concrete and took off, as I stood there watching the rest of the adults sunbathing and reading books and checking their phones.

A few minutes later, with nowhere to go, and the Midwest heat blazing down on me, I made a weird decision that changed the whole course of the next 4 hours. I stripped down to my swimsuit, waited for a good spot to open up in the water, and I took off running towards the pool. My kids saw me coming, and I can only describe the looks on their faces as that of total confusion and fear. My 40-year-old body was also in a state of shock. It was like, “how about let’s NOT, okay?” Nevertheless, I continued running, and when I reached the edge of the pool, I launched myself up and cannonballed into the water.

It was so ugly, you guys. So so ugly. My last cannonball was in 1992.

I shot up from under the water like a deranged sea creature. My hair was all over my face, and I felt immediately embarrassed. I looked around to the occupied chairs and could see a few moms snickering to each other behind their magazines. Feeling awkward I turned to face my kids, and that’s when I saw the utter elation on their faces.

I’ve seen my kids smile thousands of times over the last several years, but never like this. All 4 of them came arm-stroking over to me and dogpiled on top of me. Even my 12-year-old who will barely let me touch him in public, threw his arms around my neck. “I can’t believe you did that!” they said. “That was awesome!”…… “Do that again!” So obviously I did it again…because my pool reputation was already ruined for the day. And then we played and wrestled and rode every slide 23 times together. And for the next 4 hours I left my bag at the fence…even when chairs began to empty, and people started going home.

Today was a really good day. My kids are going to remember the mom I was today.

Because I couldn’t find an empty chair.

Everyone is in bed now, and I’m thinking about how us parents love to fill chairs. Don’t we? I think we love chairs for a variety of reasons. First, adulting is hard. And parenting is exhausting. It’s a beautiful thing when our children reach that age where they’re no longer in constant danger of drowning, or electrocuting themselves, or falling down flights of stairs, or eating poison. Going through the infant and toddler stage 4 times has equated to YEARS of me not getting to sit down at Thanksgiving dinners, and restaurants, and movie theaters, and anything that involves anything. Now that my youngest is almost 7, I’m ready to sit down, man. Give me all the chairs. I’ve earned it.

We also love to fill chairs because spectating is our parental jam. Ball games, dance recitals, Christmas plays, swim meets……our kids do the thing, and we fill the chairs around that thing. We are cheerleaders, and clappers, and “Great job!”-ers……and this is fantastic. This is what it means to show up. This is a crucial element of being their support system. And basically, we rock at it.

We need to continue filling chairs around the lives and activities of our children. But how often are we choosing to empty our chairs for the purpose of going from spectator, to participant? How consistently are we meeting our kids inside of their world? Are we cannonballing in? Have we actually been a part of the water fight, or played the video game, or asked them to teach us those moves they learned in dance class? Have we turned everything off and had whole conversations with our COMPLETE attention on them? Have we surprised them in the car one morning by playing their favorite song, and knowing ALL THE WORDS to it?! What if we knew all the words AND had hand motions?!! I can’t even. It’s on my to-do list.

Are we intentional about being “empty chair” parents?

That’s a hard “No” on my end, and it hurts to admit it. I’ve been doing a lot of sitting, and feeling pretty okay about it, until today.

So here’s my plan:

I’m going to empty my chair for my kids a minimum of 10 minutes every day. And for those 10 minutes I’m gonna jump all in. They might be weirded out at first, but that just means it’s working. I’m going to put my life down, and do their life with them. A little bit. Every day.

And here’s what I think will happen:

I think they’ll feel understood by me in a way they’ve never felt before.

I think they’ll feel loved by me on a whole new level.

I think they’ll feel more valued, more worthy, and more accepted.

There’s a depth to our relationship with our kids that can only be achieved and sustained through empty chairs. It can only be realized when we get up, and get in. I want to remember this for 10 minutes every day.

So, let’s get ugly at the pool this summer, okay?

Let’s allow people to snicker.

Let’s miss out on a few adult conversations because we sat at the kids table.

Let’s get weird.

And then…let’s watch what happens.

As always, I love you guys.

Laurie