We pulled out of the zoo and immediately they started asking for more.
“Can we go out for Ice cream?!” “Can we go out for dinner?!” “Oh please Mom! Oh please!”
We’d just spent hours traipsing around the zoo, petting the wallabies, climbing the wooden train and tracking down the tigers.
We weren’t there for me. I mean we were, but you know . . . not really.
As our sticky, crumb-infested mini van pulled out of the parking lot, my husband looked at me . . . “I’m not going to tell them ‘no’ about dinner. What do you think?”
“I have a meal plan in place at home, but whatever you want, baby.”
“Let’s flip a coin, Mom! Heads is dinner at home and tails is a restaurant!”
It was a very expensive tails.
We decided on a local brewery, because we live in Grand Rapids, beer city USA, and any restaurant that lasts either is a brewery or supports local beer culture.
We walked in and I scanned the trendy dining room, full of local art and hipster beards. I sighed with reassurance when I spotted the stack of high chairs in the corner.
High chairs, okay, we’re allowed to be here . . . I reassured myself. There is nothing like taking kids out to eat to remind you of just where you are in life.
We sat down and ordered drinks and melt-in-your-mouth fried pickles. While our kids wiggled and spilled, I leaned over to my husband and whispered; “It’s like we’re the PSA for why not to have kids . . . or at least not to take them out to fun restaurants . . . everyone must wonder why we dared emerge from our hot dog cave.”
Then my daughter leaned over and said: “Actually . . . I bet they’re all thinking “Wow . . . they have three awesome kids. They are soooo lucky.”
And I was put. In. My. Place.
She was right. Lucky. Blessed. Full of life and love and craziness. That’s my life. She’s wise beyond her six years.
I sighed and stared out the window as the city full of hipster beards walked by on their evening commute, reflecting on much I was going to miss it.
You see, we are moving in 4 weeks to a rural town in Southwest Michigan after only a year here in glorious Grand Rapids.
I love it here, I feel at home among the breweries, and farmer’s markets, and cloth diaper stores.
I’m not a small town girl . . .
I want to be here. Why, God, why can’t we stay here? Why are we moving for a third spring in a row?
Is here too good for me?
Then suddenly my attention was drawn back to our table and I was trying to figure out why my daughter’s face was splattered in ketchup.
Like I said, I have wiggly kids, so I wouldn’t be surprised if during my daydreaming she squeezed the soft plastic and wound up covered in ketchup.
I looked at my husband, back to my daughter, and then to my waitress to try to figure out how things had gotten this out of hand.
Apparently, according to my waitress, in breweries, the yeast in the air makes the ketchup bottles explode sometimes.
So I did what any parent would do… I took a picture. Our adorable, pink-haired waitress photo-bombed the shot just before helping me wipe her off with a warm towel.
We laughed it all off as a ridiculous fluke and an amazing Christmas card contender and went on to enjoy our meal. As we did my husband leaned over to me and said: “When I was working in a upscale Italian restaurant we would have had to comp a meal if a ketchup bottle exploded on someone’s kid. This is fun, this is better . . . It’s better to laugh and just go with it . . . take a selfie.”
And he was right. You can’t predict anything. And instead of getting upset and complaining and demanding compensation and apologies. . . it’s better to laugh, shrug, and take a picture.
To wonder how in the world things got to this point . . . again . . . or for the first time.
How are we moving again? How am I going to make it work in a small town after a year of children’s museums, posh restaurants, and family nearby?
I have no idea . . . I haven’t become that person yet. But I believe in her. I believe that even though things have exploded again that I will come to, look around, and bloom where I am planted.
It’s easy to be afraid of something you don’t understand . . . or even want. This is because you haven’t seen who you will become yet.
I haven’t walked out of the van yet, unloaded the boxes, or settled into a new version of myself.
This season is the end of something and the beginning of something new. It’s a chrysalis, a doorway, an end . . . and a beginning. Again.
I didn’t want this, but I stand at the precipice of it anyway with a choice: embrace or mope. I did the moping and sulking and understandable grieving of the way I thought things were going to go down.
Now there’s nothing left to do but emerge as something new and become whoever it is I will be in this new home and season.
This is life, it will surprise us and explode in our faces. Let’s live deeply anyway.
- The Parable of the Exploding Ketchup - May 22, 2015
11 thoughts on “The Parable of the Exploding Ketchup”
‘This is life, it will surprise us and explode in our faces. Let’s live deeply anyway.’ Yes. To all of this. Our family get by on the catch phrase ‘never mind’ said in a totally over the top happy way when we hit our rock bottom, but I think we may have to change it to ‘it’s just a ketchup explosion.’ Thanks for this Leanne.
‘This is life, and it will explode in our faces’ – that gave me chills. I know you’ve had more explosions than most, and I love the way you find joy in unexpected places. You inspire me to do likewise.
I just love everything about this. Mostly because my life is exploding on me.
Leanne, this is great! I loved reading every bit of it and felt like I was right there. And like the others who have commented I love this “This is life, it will surprise us and explode in our faces. Let’s live deeply anyway.” And I can so identify with this “… I stand at the precipice of it anyway with a choice: embrace or mope.” So many times I’ve done the moping, but I’m finding that when things are out of my control the best thing is to embrace and go forward, because that’s the only way to get through it. But still, sometimes I can’t help moping first. 🙂
Thanks for sharing your journey. Your daughter is wise beyond her 6 years 🙂
This hit me: “It’s easy to be afraid of something you don’t understand . . . or even
want. This is because you haven’t seen who you will become yet.” I sense hope underneath your post and it gives me hope. Thank you 🙂
This was amazing, Leanne. To ketchup!
Well said. Here’s to some tasty life experiences (sweet and savoury)
Leanne, live does indeed surprise and explode in our faces, regardless of our age or our journey. YOu will look back on the exploding ketchup parable and be continually reminded of how blessed you are regardless of where you are. May God’s grace envelop you every step of the way.
I think we look at explosions in two different ways. There are those we consider disastrous where they destroy and tear down. Then there are those explosions that are meant to clear way for the building of something new and exciting. I hope like you Leanne that we embrace the explosions in our life as the ones that are blasting away for the building of something new and wonderful.
I have totally been there! Life can be so crazy, but God always shows up, often in the form of our kiddos!