My 13 year old son was in a soccer tournament out in Schaumburg over Memorial Day weekend, and we traveled out there for games Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon. Then, his team made it to the final, and so we returned one last time on Monday afternoon.

My body has felt SO sore the past couple of days, and I think it was just from standing on the sidelines for each game (with occasional jumping and cheering). And that was from standing- I can’t imagine how these kids felt from playing all of these games! But moving on, as this post really isn’t about my sore hips or how holding my body in a floating lunge position during my barre class a couple mornings ago almost brought me down. Instead, this post is all about loving my son.

The midwest did its typical midwest thing during the soccer tournament. On Friday night and Saturday nights I had to layer up and pulled up my hood midway through the games. I brought and USED my winter hand warmers. We breathed sighs of relief standing inside the heated restrooms and moving our hands under the warm hand dryers. It was cold (I know I know, I’m always cold. But it was truly chilly. Even a non-Lindsay would have shivered as they stood at the sideline).

Sunday got warmer, and THEN, on Monday, it was HOT. Full sun, temperatures above the mid-80s out in the suburbs (love that ‘cooler by the lake’ feeling in the summertime that just drops away when you travel west along 290). My son’s team had to play on hot turf that had been absorbing the sun’s rays for hours; the heat ricocheted back up into the atmosphere around their feet. It was the final match and so we convinced our daughter to come cheer on her brother, but once we got there and she was stuck under an umbrella with a cooling towel around her neck, I began to feel a built guilty about my directive. Teenagers tend to melt quickly.

In the morning hours, before we started our drive back out to the suburbs, I began to think through what it was going to be like for my son to be in his game on such a hot and sunny day. I remembered that he didn’t have any sandals or slides that fit him, which would allow him to kick off his hot socks and boots after the game was over. Gosh, can you imagine playing in close-to 90 degree heat and not being able to kick off your soccer boots as quickly as possible? I also remembered those battery-operated combination spray bottle/fans, which would have been an asset to have on the bench. Once you think about having one of those spray bottle fans on a hot day, you can’t un-think it. It instantly becomes a NEED.

An hour before we left our house, I decided to run to Target as a woman on a mission.

Now, we live just two buildings away from a Target, so it’s not like this was some epic quest across the city. But I was on a tight timeline, so there was some definite brisk walking to get over there. I was shocked to see that the pharmacy was open (on Memorial Day- goodness), and my son’s asthma inhalers were ready to be picked up. Right away I felt some empowerment- “heck yeah, I just got that done!” And from there, I went in search of those spray bottle fans (per Amazon these are called “water misting fans”, but I am going to resist calling them this. I am a child of the 80s. We rode our bikes on subdivision streets and took care of cleaning our own wounds when we wiped out. There was no gentle ‘misting’ during my childhood; this was not a part of the vernacular. Even the lawn sprinklers stung when you got too close).

On my way over to the seasonal aisles where they have swimming pool inner tubes and diving toys, I passed by the freezer section where I eyed two boxes of organic popsicles that were on sale. I thought of my kids coming home to some popsicles, and that made me feel happy, so I grabbed them (“Did you get good ones?” my daughter asked when I shared what I had purchased. “No,” I said, “I bought bad ones.” Teenagers…). Now I had frozen goods in my basket, which meant that I had to move even faster through the store. I buzzed through the swimming pool and sprinkler gear, and nothing- no spray bottle fans. Wouldn’t that be the perfect place for them to be? But while I was there, I grabbed spray sunscreen, which we didn’t have, but I know my son likes for when we are outside. Prescriptions, popsicles, sunscreen spray… I was feeling quite pleased to be grabbing these items.

But I was still 0/2 for what I had gone to Target for to begin with. I took the escalator up to the second floor and headed over to the sports section where I hustled through the water bottle aisles, and then the aisles with water games and balls and the like. Still no dang spray bottle fans. I began to feel very disappointed by Target, in that moment. But I kept moving, as there was no time to stop (and remember, the popsicles!), and I headed over to shoes, with my head craned in the direction of all the homegoods aisles I was passing, just on the slim chance that they contained spray bottle fans (they didn’t).

Once in the shoe section, I became confused. I looked at the sandals and thought, are these men’s shoes? Or just women’s? Turns out that they keep women’s and children’s shoes in the same spot, but men get their shoes in a separate location over in the menswear department. Who knew? I certainly didn’t until that moment. It was also a startling, and slightly sad (for me) moment. For my baby is now a man-child, confirmed by the fact that I had to then wander (yes, at this point I was very much slowed down by confusion combined with melancholy) over to the men’s department. But- huzzah- I found him some slides AND some flip-flops (summer footwear was set!), which I threw into my basket.

Prescriptions…popsicles…sunscreen…flip-flops. I felt more and more excited for my son’s game. Not only that, I kept thinking of how much I loved him. How proud I am of him. All I had to do was look in my basket and there it was, my surging joy.

I rode the escalator down to the registers, content with my basket of goodies even without the spray bottle fan. As I descended, I happened to glance up at some central aisles on the second floor. At the end of one aisle were boxes of floor fans. I would have stopped walking, except for the fact that I was on an escalator and that wasn’t an option. “They surely wouldn’t be there?” I said to myself as the escalator lowered me down. “Yes, I agree,” another part of me responded, “But you have done a lot of searching here— do you really want to leave having not checked that one aisle?” (I talk back and forth to myself in this way an embarrassing amount. Please don’t tell anyone).

I stepped off the escalators, made an instant about-face, and headed back upstairs. And guess what? There they were, those battery-operated combination spray bottle/fans, right there at the very end of the aisle of plug-in floor fans.

During the game I saw my son and his teammates passing the fan back and forth on the bench, and my heart grew three sizes.

We all go to the store to get items we need. Sunscreen, shoes, popsicles. This story is not about anything out of the ordinary.

But at the same time, for me, it’s a story about everything.

On Loving

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Notes on Life