This Is Your Life
It was my son Charlie’s 21st birthday. I wanted to do something special with him, just the two of us. I asked him to be prepared for a long car ride that would end with lunch at any restaurant he chose.
We started our adventure at 9am on Monday morning. When he got in the car, I handed him a piece of paper that had 21 locations listed on it. He questioned what we were doing, and why Baystate Hospital was at the top of the list.
I explained to Charlie that I was taking him on a “This Is Your Life, So Far” tour, and that we’d be starting at the hospital where he was born.
He was skeptical.
As we drove the 15 minutes to the hospital parking lot, I shared with him how much I loved being pregnant, and how I didn’t know until he was born that I was going to have a baby boy. I told him what it was like to be a new mother to a preemie baby, that he was only five pounds at birth, and he spent the first four weeks of his life in NICU. I shared about my worries initially, and then how excited I was when he was finally healthy enough to come home.
Charlie was quiet but listening.
From there we drove to the house we first lived in. I pointed out the dogwood tree in the front yard that was planted in memory of my father. I explained to Charlie that the house would always hold a special place in my heart because it’s where we spent our first year together, and where I painted the mural on the wall of his nursery.
Charlie began opening up and sharing stories and feelings about his childhood. We had a 20-minute ride to our next stop: his nursery school. We talked non-stop the whole way there. He shared memories I didn’t even know he had, and I shared stories I had never told him before.
We proceeded to drive past his kindergarten, middle school, junior high and high school. In between, we drove past all the basketball courts he played on, the house where he learned to ride a two-wheeler, his summer camp, and each of his favorite local restaurants. He reminisced about a few other places that weren’t on my list, and we drove past those, too. All the while, we shared memories and funny stories about the past 21 years.
At the end of our three-hour-tour, Charlie turned to me and said, “That was actually pretty cool. I wasn’t really sure at the beginning what the point of all this was going to be.”
I parked the car in the parking lot of the restaurant he picked.
Then he hugged me.
“Thanks for all this, Mom. For real. This was a cool way to start my birthday. I hadn’t thought about those places in a long time. It reminded me of what a fun childhood I had. I have to be honest. You were a really strict mom growing up, and I’m not gonna lie, that sometimes sucked. But you always kept pushing me to do better. Now I understand: you just wanted me to try harder and be successful. I get it now.”
I sat next to my son in the car, listening to the words he was saying, feeling so incredibly grateful and thinking, this is a confetti moment.
A confetti moment is a time in life when you feel profound joy, happiness, surprise, and celebration. It’s not something an outsider may care about as much as you do. And it’s not grand like a graduation or a wedding. What I’m referring to are the smaller, more subtle times in life where you think, cue the confetti because something terrific is happening to me right now.
That moment with my son in the car was a real confetti moment for me. And apparently it was for him too.
I shared this Confetti Moments concept with a group of friends over dinner, and I asked them what examples came to mind. These were some of their immediate replies:
When my daughter lost her first tooth: The excitement on her face, the anticipation of the tooth fairy coming, all of it. If I had confetti, it would have been the moment to toss it over both of us to make the moment complete.
Getting my driver’s license: I will never forget the moment I got in the car alone, pulled out of the driveway, and felt a freedom like I had never felt before. (You can feel it too, right? Cue the confetti.)
Performing in the high school play: I was so nervous on the opening night of the play. Yet I remembered all my lines. I felt like I belonged up there. The months of rehearsals suddenly felt worth it. And when I finished my solo, I got a standing ovation. That was a confetti moment for me for sure.
The day my son left for the Marines: I had been a nervous wreck planning for that day, helping him pack, and trying not to show my emotions. When he came down the stairs in his uniform ready to leave, I had never felt so proud in my life. I can still feel it to this day. It was one of the hardest but best mom moments.
Other notable confetti moments included the moment Sasha’s puppy finally learned to sit on command at puppy school graduation, the day Mike and Michelle got the call that there was a baby ready for adoption, and when Jackson got to ring the bell at the hospital signifying that his cancer was officially in remission. Personal, proud, profound little moments, each of them!
We have all experienced these special times. But as soon as I gave the feeling a name—a confetti moment—I started to become much more aware of them. I began recognizing confetti possibilities in the smallest things, like the tiny cucumber growing on the vine that appeared magically overnight.
Confetti moments are all around us. We just have to look a little more closely to notice them.
Thank you, Charlie, for that special day, and for allowing me to share your story.
Love, Mom
