Honey Hands: a Sweet Blend of Parenting and Childhood

By Shannon Bussnick, LSW

In the midst of the spontaneity that is parenting, there’s a peculiar, sticky phenomenon that, while slightly vexing, is undeniably heartwarming—let’s talk about the legendary “honey hands.”

These are the hands of our little ones, often coated in a layer of gooey sweetness after a meal that somehow involves honey, no matter how improbable the connection might seem. It’s a humorous yet touching spill-fest that speaks volumes about the joy and chaos of childhood—of parenting, too.

If you’ve been there, you get it. It’s been a long day, energy reserves are nearing depletion, and dinner is the last hurdle before the finish line of bedtime.

YES, so close.

The menu? The ever-reliable chicken nuggets, a side of broccoli (the singular green our toddler twins and four-year-old will usually entertain), and some form of fruit that’s on the edge of overripe. Only kidding. Sort of. Then, the grand finale—a touch of honey for dipping, because why not? Filling in the compartments of that “suction plate” is far from an easy task some days. But believe it or not, it’s in these moments that the magic happens.

As a sea of dino nuggets plunge into their honey bath and crayola-coated utensils become immersed in nature’s offering, the edges of the table begin to don their honeyed fringe. And yes, while the immediate mama-mouth-drop drifts towards the impending cleanup, the stained clothes, and the honey streaks tangled throughout freshly washed hair, there’s an undeniable charm to it all.

Rushing to the bathroom post-meal, squeezing together at the sink to wash away the remnants of dinner (or whatever that was), there’s laughter and a shared warmth that radiates from those tiny, sticky hands.

It’s in these moments, amidst the chaos and the mess, that we’re reminded of the simplest, most profound joys of parenting.

Honey, in its essence, is more than just a sweet treat. It’s a nod to nature’s remarkable remedies and healing powers, a source of energy, and a symbol of our interconnectedness. It’s a reminder of our shared history, not just as parents, but as humans. The act of sharing honey, in all its sticky glory, is a reminder of our purest form of human good, of unity. It’s a piece of the puzzle I aim to fall into, to protect fiercely against lifting. And especially, to recall on the nights of piled up vinegar-soaked-rags scattered upon the floor.

Tonight was one of those nights—a lesson in the art of letting go, of allowing kids to just be kids. The mess, like all messes, will be cleaned up, as it always is. (I don’t know when exactly, but it will be). Because those honey hands, they’re something else entirely. They’re a connection to us, an emblem of the sweet, fleeting moments of childhood that stick with us, quite literally, for life.

So, the next time you find yourself facing a sticky situation, remember the beauty in the chaos. It’s these moments, these honey-handed memories, that remind us of the joy in simplicity, the sweetness of life, and the endless possibilities that unfold when we release control and embrace the beautiful mess of life.

In the end, isn’t it the sweetest thing to bear witness to—the laughter, the mess, the shared experiences that bind us together? Honey hands, in all their gooey glory, are more than just a pending cleanup. They’re a reminder of our roots, our collective journey, and the boundless joy that comes from embracing the sticky, sweet, and utterly beautiful mess of life.

And so, I’ll savor those little honey hands for as long as I can, dimpled with infinite crumbs and my purest love.