parenting

The Magic and Freedom of Low Expectations

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

The Magic and Freedom of Low Expectations. (Photo: Young white boy facing a fence, looking at a fountain that looks like a manatee)

My younger son points urgently at the manatee stamp on his arm and then at the real creature in the water. “That’s right, a manatee!” I exclaim and smile. I watch it float, just letting the water hold its massive bulk like magic. “Geeze, they really aren’t very bright, are they?” I think. Then I shrug and think, “Eh, whatever.”

We’re at Homosassa Springs Wildlife Park, a state park in Florida that’s home to five resident manatees and a variety of other Florida animals. It’s also where I had a life-changing experience when I was 10.

As a nature-loving third grader, I fell hard for the manatees. They were so cute and so innocent! I found out they were endangered, convinced my class to adopt one, and became a lifelong environmental activist.

Except when I returned as an adult, Homosassa was not the same as I had remembered it. Disappointing is an understatement. I left with a bad taste in my mouth, my heart just a little broken.

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10 Funny Truths About Parenting

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

“Your shirt is not a mechanism for storing snacks,” I said to my two-year-old after he tried to shove food down his shirt. Better than throwing it, I suppose, but not exactly what we were going for.

There are a lot of funny moments in parenting, but very few of them are substantial stories worthy of a blog post. For at least some of them, I’ve made them into memes that I share on the blog’s Facebook page. As I’ve never shared them here, I thought it would be fun to gather a number of them together in one place.

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Learning to Accept the Uncertainty of Being a Mom

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Learning to Accept the Uncertainty of Being a Mom (Photo: Two young boys sitting on a couch that looks like a giant pair of lips)

“Tell me I’m a good mom,” I say to my husband, Chris. Most of the time when I say that, I’m half-joking. This time, I’m not.

We’re sitting on our couch side by side. I’m usually writing or reading blogs while he watches people play video games on YouTube. Today, I’m staring blankly at the turned-off TV. He looks up.

“You’re a good mom,” he replies. He’s not smiling. His seriousness just reinforces my worry.

“We’ve done what we can, right? I mean, I think it would have been worse if we had done other things.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

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How I Became a Third Grade Environmentalist and What Happened Next

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How I Became a Third Grade Environmentalist and What Happened Next (Photo: Manatee swimming in water)

My parents didn’t have a clue what the impact of bringing me to Homosassa Springs State Park in Florida at the tender age of nine was going to be. It ended up not only shaping my elementary school passions, but determining my life’s work.

I first wrote this essay about the strange ways childhood experiences shape us for the wonderful live show (and podcast), The Story Collider. I performed it live at Busboys and Poets in Washington D.C. on January 26, 2017 and you can check out the video on Facebook. As I’ll be returning to Homosassa Springs tomorrow with my kids, I thought now was an appropriate time to share it!

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Keeping the Faith as a Mom When the Future Seems Dark

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Keeping the Faith as a Mom When the Future Seems Dark (Photo: Young white boy hugging a small tree in a yard)

A twig of a tree stands in our yard, a few buds starting to form. In the future, those buds could become branches. But now, they’re nothing but green and brown nubs off of a slim trunk.

It’s hard to believe that one day we’ll be eating pears from that tree. In fact, we may not. Deer may nibble the buds or disease may fell it.

And yet we planted it anyway.

Just as we plant tiny seeds in fine, fluffy soil each year. Then we tend them under the soft glow of lights in our basement. After exposing them to the sun and wind, we transplant them into our garden in the hopes that they’ll grow hearty and bear us vegetables. The groundhog may chomp on the leaves or the squash bugs may suck them dry. There are never any guarantees of what we’ll get.

And yet we plant them anyway.

Just like we chose to have children, despite the constant uncertainty of this world.

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Why Did I Bring My Preschooler to an Art Museum?

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Why Did I Bring My Preschooler to an Art Museum? (Photo of kid in a bunny hat and flannel shirt pointing to a painting of railroad tracks)

Thick curved lines and straight angles danced on a red background. Pointing to the painting, I said, “It’s part of a series of paintings called ‘Playground.’ That one reminds me of a teeter-totter.”

Studying the painting, my four-year-old (nicknamed Sprout) piped up, “That one reminds me of a slide!”

“Yeah, it does!” I replied.

Photo of a Paul Klee painting of bold lines against a multi-colored background.

Photo courtesy of my four-year-old – I let him use my camera to take photos!

At the next painting, we read that Paul Klee painted bold dots because he liked Bach’s bass notes. So I played classical music low on my phone so we could recognize the similarities. In other places in the Phillips Museum, we stood in silence to take in the singular colors of Rothko, discussed how artists sometimes paint what they’re feeling instead of objects, and boogied in front of an Edward Hopper painting of train tracks.

It may seem odd to bring a preschooler to a modern art museum. It may seem even odder that he looked forward the trip. But we didn’t go because I’m a tiger mom or think he’s an art genius. (In fact, I have no idea what the heck his pictures are most of the time.)

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Discovering Spring in the Wintertime of Parenting

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Discovering Spring in the Wintertime of Parenting. (Photo: Adult holding a child with kites in the background against the sky)

A flutter of wings in the dark glided through the sky, just barely within my sight.

“I think that was a bat!” I exclaimed to my four-year-old son as we walked from the car to the house.

Another dark shadow flitted by. Then another.

“The bats are waking up!” he yelled.

Although it was bedtime, I lingered outside with him. As he danced around like a springtime sprite, I sat down on the grass. I stared up at the moon, glowing behind the fog of a cloud. The shadows of deer moved among the gravestones in the cemetery behind our house. My son regaled me with tales of the bats coming out of hibernation and the geese flying back to their homes. The signs of spring. All may not have been right with the world, but there was a little peace in that space, at that time.

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When Fear Strikes Your Heart as a Mom

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments


TW: Miscarriage/pregnancy loss; general kid medical problems

Two trips to urgent care and three trips to the emergency room for two different medical issues. All in one week.

As I drove to the ER for the second time, going 25 miles an hour in the freezing rain, REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” came on. Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but laugh. What could be more appropriate?

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And Now We Are Two: Loving My Baby on His Second Birthday

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Loving My Baby on His Second Birthday (Photo: Young white boy in pajamas running out of frame)

“Up Up Up!” my younger son cries, jabbing the air with his finger. I swing him up onto my lap, resting him on my left leg. He continues to clamber up me, holding onto my shoulders. “Up Up!” he says again. I can only say, “Dude, you’re as far up as you can go!”

But that’s his personality – always up, always bigger, always faster. Like his nickname of Little Bird, he’s both tiny and longs to fly.

Even when I was pregnant, he was constantly stretching and kicking, reminding me of his presence. He came into the world in a rush, almost a month early and with a labor so short that I gave birth less than a half-hour after we left the house for the hospital.

And now he’s two.

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Reflecting on Our Past through Photographs

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Photo: Framed photograph of a white man and woman walking down stairs in wedding clothes, surrounded by people on both sides

Holding my wedding photo, I look down and see a snapshot of a moment almost 12 years ago. My hair up and my dress poofing out, I’m stepping down the church stairs, holding my husband’s hand. We’re both grinning the grins of those who are young, in love, and finally able to wake up next to the person they adore. On both sides of us, friends and family are blowing bubbles and cheering.

Back in the present day, my four-year-old is sitting next to me on the couch. He points to the person on my right. “Who is that?” he asks. I respond, “That’s my friend Drew and that’s Nana…” as I go through and identify everyone in the photo. No matter how many times I identify these people, my kids still ask. There’s a sense of magic in the ritual. It’s as if I’m evoking that day for them, allowing them to experience something they could never participate in.

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