This summer has been exhausting. Totally and completely exhausting. The boys have all aged out of summer day care or camps. They are not actively engaged in any sports at this time. They get bored. They get “creative” in so many ways to take up the long hours of day.

So three teens with minimal impulsive control, brains that crave dopamine rushes, and with flaring tempers has been a daily struggle.  I have fought to stay a step ahead of their activity.  I sleep with the car keys under my pillow to prevent any additional joyrides by underage boys.  I lock up the alcohol (only to find that a boy has tried to open the lock and damaged the mechanism). I monitor the security cameras to see who is sneaking out in the middle of the night and when. Keeping up with full-time work and volunteer positions, managing the greater food intake by teens (funny how much those school lunches made a difference) and the endless piles of dirty dishes and laundry seems impossible.

Through all this, though, the 12-year-old Little Guy did participate in the community summer swim league. He didn’t actually want to be there and didn’t do any of the daily practices because he just wanted to “hang” with his friends. But with generous encouragement, he joined the swim team for competitions every Tuesday and Thursday.  He swam well and helped win many relays.

At the end of the 8-week season, the neighborhood pool team had championship races which culminated in an award ceremony.  As parents gathered around, the coaches took turns presenting the “Fishy Awards” in which they said 1-2 sentences about what most impressed them about each child.  The swimmer was called forward to receive a fish-shaped paper with a couple words on it and a gift of an embroidered swim towel. My boys have participated in this swim club for the past eight years and I always look forward to hearing what strikes the coaches about each of my children.

As the Fishy Awards wrapped up, I suddenly realized that The Little Guy had not been selected to come forward at all.  The microphone had been passed on to thank the volunteers. The coaches had walked away.  I left my chair and walked over to the head coach in his mid-twenties and asked, “Why is my son the only kid who did not receive any recognition?”

The problem was, I had hit my limit. All the stress of the summer fell upon my heart suddenly. The injustice poked at my brain. The lack of sleep knocked down the walls that hold in emotions, and I was flooded. When the coach couldn’t grasp why I wanted him to take back the stage for a moment and call my son forward to recognize him like every other member of the team, I just walked away. I found myself in the bathroom sobbing until I could stem the tears a bit. Gathering up my things, I sat in the car and waited for The Little Guy to wrap up with the party.

A friend came over to chat and when The Little Guy joined us, he kept saying, “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t mind at all. It’s no big deal.”  I reassured him that my flood of emotions was just the culmination of fatigue and stress and disappointment. I added, “I just love you so much and sometimes as a mom, it is just really nice to hear how much other people love you too.”  I just needed those 20 seconds. Just 20 seconds of encouragement that my kid is doing okay and that I as a parent am doing okay. Yes, it was an unintentional mistake in dropping the “award” and not recognizing my son, but it was the absence of a much needed 20 seconds in just that moment of my life that punched.

Dry the tears.

Shove emotions back.

Gather up.

Parent on.

So I thank all the people over the course of this summer who have given me 20 seconds of stories about how well the 14-year-old is doing when they see him at his job at McDonalds. The friends who provide 20 seconds of stories about their struggles with their own kids and yet are doing okay. And the 20 seconds of sitting silently together, exhaling deeply about just how hard parenting is.

Share those 20 seconds with others. We all need them.