I Want Fall Magic, Not Another Mom To-Do List

I love the idea of fall.  The actual administration of fall is where I start having questions.

Give me the cinnamon smells, the pumpkins, and a cup of coffee that tastes vaguely like dessert.  Give me a porch where I can sit without feeling like somebody left the oven door open.

But somewhere between “Wouldn’t a pumpkin be cute by the front door?” and “We need coordinated outfits for a seasonal family experience,” I apparently become the unpaid executive director of autumn.

Y’all.  I already have a job.  Several, actually.  Most of them involve locating things that are directly in front of other people.

Fall has arrived.  Georgia has not signed off.

Starbucks brought its Pumpkin Spice Latte back on August 25 this year.  The pumpkin people have officially clocked in. 

Meanwhile, here just outside Atlanta, I know better than to let a coffee menu tell me what to wear.  My sweater and I will reunite when the weather is ready to commit.  Until then, she can stay in the closet and think about our future together.

I am absolutely willing to enjoy fall in sandals.  An iced drink and a decorative pumpkin can coexist.  We do not need to suffer in a cardigan to prove our enthusiasm.

That is one benefit of being an older mom.  I have spent enough years being uncomfortable for an outfit.  I would now like to be comfortable for an activity. Preferably one with a chair.

How a cute idea becomes an unpaid internship

With a five-year-old, a seven-year-old, and Nugget, there is plenty of personality in this house before I introduce a themed itinerary.

There are shoes to find, snacks to pack, and somebody who needs to go outside.  Sometimes that somebody is the dog.  Sometimes it is me.

Still, I can look at one cozy fall picture and start mentally arranging an entire weekend around it.  A pumpkin patch!  Apple treats!  Matching shirts!  A movie night!  Perhaps a craft involving leaves!

Bless my heart.  I do love volunteering Future Me for things!

Future Me, however, still has laundry.  She is not a separate woman with a personal assistant and unlimited patience.  She is just me on Saturday, wondering why Thursday Me was so ambitious.

The problem is not loving seasonal fun.  I love seasonal fun.  The problem is when my nice little idea quietly becomes a requirement, and then another requirement, until I am irritated at the people I was trying to make happy.

That feels like a useful place to stop and reconsider the pumpkin agenda.

I want the memory, not the production credit

I have been thinking about the difference between making room for something lovely and making myself responsible for manufacturing a feeling.

I can offer an outing.  I cannot guarantee that everybody will be delighted, appropriately dressed, and emotionally available for photographs at the same time.

I can bake something.  I cannot guarantee that either daughter will suddenly appreciate a new texture because it is shaped like a leaf.

And I can buy a pumpkin.  I cannot promise that Nugget will understand that seasonal décor is not a new category of chew toy.

The part I get to choose is the amount of work I attach to the fun.

So here is the question I want to ask before adding something to our calendar: Am I excited to do this, or am I excited to have successfully done it?

Those are not always the same thing.

If I mostly want the finished photo, I may need a smaller plan.

My fall plan needs fewer moving parts

I am not making a giant bucket list this year.  I am trying a tiny menu: one outing, one easy thing at home, and one thing that is just for me.

Not all in one weekend.  We are celebrating a season, not competing in a qualifying round.

The outing could be a pumpkin patch.  It could also be letting the girls choose pumpkins during a grocery run.  I get to decide what fits our time, our budget, and our actual energy.

The home activity could be a movie with popcorn, a coloring page, or cookies made from dough somebody else had the good sense to prepare.  Opening a package is a valid contribution to family joy.

My thing might be coffee on the porch with nobody asking me to cut anything into smaller pieces.

Small?  Yes.  Appealing?  Deeply.

I also want to ask each girl what she is actually hoping to do.  I can spend a remarkable amount of effort solving for a magical childhood experience without first checking what the children consider magical.

Their answers may be simpler than the elaborate plan living in my head.  And if they are not, we can pick one idea together.

The smaller version is still the real version

Here is the part I need to remember when a plan goes sideways: changing the plan does not automatically ruin the day.

A shorter outing is still an outing.  Leaving before everyone is miserable is allowed.  Bringing familiar snacks is not an admission that I failed to make the apple cider donut sufficiently exciting.

If the ambitious baking project becomes cinnamon toast, we still made something warm and sweet.

If the outdoor adventure becomes a living room movie because nobody has the capacity, including me, we still spent time together.

I want the girls to know that fun can bend.  It does not have to collapse because the first version did not work.

And I want them to see me enjoy our life sometimes, not just manage it with a bag over one shoulder and a strained smile on my face.

Mom gets to have a season, too

Some days, even the small plan will feel like too much.  On those days, I reserve the right to be disappointed for a minute.

I can fume a little.  Eat some chocolate.  Admit that I wanted the cute afternoon and got a difficult one.  Then I can decide what we need next without turning the whole thing into a verdict on my mothering.

Maybe that is a snack.  Maybe it is a break.  Maybe the pumpkin can wait until next weekend.

I do not have to earn a cozy moment by completing every seasonal activity first. Neither do you.

Put out the pumpkin if it makes you happy.  Skip the matching outfits if they make you tired.  Enjoy your fall drink in whatever temperature your particular corner of the South is currently serving.

There is still room for a lovely season inside an ordinary, imperfect life.  You are not behind, and you are certainly not the only mama trying to make a little magic while looking for somebody’s other shoe.

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