1m2aSandbox

Last year, Maddie and her friends undertook that classic kids’ boredom game, Digging to China. Many of you will remember that Maddie’s posse began assiduously working on a hole to China on their school playground, calculating that they should be finished by sixth grade. Maddie even asked Brian to be there the last day of school in sixth grade – and bring scuba gear for getting through the oceans – so the family could go to China together. Fortunately, the gang called it quits a couple weeks into the project after one mother brought up concerns that their digging might cause shifts in the tectonic plates, triggering earthquakes in other countries. Ever ones to worry about causing other people harm, the girls regretfully called a halt to their diggings.

Until now.

Cora has impeccable timing: last night I’d juuuuuuuuuust sat down on the couch and pressed “play” on my DVR’d Newsroom when Cora began calling out: “Mooooommy! Moooooooommy!”

I walked into the darkened room and said, “What’s up, bug?”

Cora shuffled around a bit in her bed. “I was just wondering if you might need to get some snuggle right now. Because, you know, if you need some snugs you can, you know, just take some whenever you want.”

And she patted the bed next to her.

As I began to tell people this summer that I’d be a baby empty-nester – both kids in full-time school – come fall, I also began hearing the same question over and over again. Sometimes asked wistfully, sometimes bewilderingly, sometimes dripping with envy, but almost always the same question:

“So . . . what are you going to do all day then?”

And you know what’s ridiculous? I often feel the need to give a play-by-play justification of an answer to them. “Well, I’m going to spend hours cooking gourmet dinners, and change the sheets on the bed every day, and of course devote a significant amount of time to caring for the poor.”

I may have hinted, here and there, that I am a wee bit sad about school starting in general, and my baby starting kindergarten specifically.

A wee bit.

So to everyone who called or emailed yesterday with their condolences –er, sympathy –er, kind words – I say a heart-felt thank you. Deeply.

To those who sent well-meaning words of encouragement along the lines of “this doesn’t have to be an identity crisis”, I thank you for your intention, but you missed my point.

Dear Cora:

In a few short hours you will be starting kindergarten. Something irreversible will have begun, and though I’m loathe to see it happen I’m so proud you’re doing this so well. You’re marching forward with joy and anticipation and I’m doing my best to hide my sorrow so it won’t taint your happiness.

For yes, I am sad. You are my heart, my little love, and I will miss your daily presence in my life. And yes, I know you went to preschool last year, but five hours, three days a week is simply not the same as seven hours, five days a week. Last year we had two days a week for pure Mommy and Cora fun, and those two days were the best parts of my week. If I could put myself in your backpack, I surely would: I have spent the past week furiously cooking make-ahead breakfasts and muffins for lunches, labeling water bottles and laminating favorite photos for you to hide in your backpack. I’ve done everything I can, short of drinking Alice’s shrinking potion and stashing myself in your pocket.

I had a great day with the girls yesterday. A fantastic day. We got up early, played at a sandbox park, played in a sprinkler park, ate lunch outside, hung out with my niece, went ice skating and clothes shopping, ate a quick supper, played around the house – a fantastic day.

Which leads me to this: remember the other day when I said I was ready for school, finally able to move forward and to let go?

Yeah, that was what I call a false positive.

Last week I spent some time with each girl individually, doing whatever fun thing she wanted for a special day together. For Cora, I suggested rock climbing; she’s always been instinctively athletic and coordinated, and it was something I thought she’d enjoy. I mentioned the idea to Cora, who considered it, then vetoed the plan in favor of a trip to our city’s indoor water park.

The waterpark, I should mention, is in the same building as the city’s fitness center, which has, you guessed it, a rock wall. So after we had a fun few hours playing in the pool area, Cora and I sat on a bench and enjoyed a snack while we watched someone climbing. After a few minutes, Cora said thoughtfully, “Is it too late to do rock climbing too?”

Always wanting to encourage my kids to do new things, I said, “Nope!” and we cheerfully raced home to get her sneakers. Twenty minutes later Cora was being tightened into the world’s smallest harness and clipped to the on-staff belayer. Belaying guy? Not sure what the real title is there. At any rate, Cora was snugged up, and she began to climb.

Monday afternoon if you had driven slowly through my neighborhood, looking carefully at all the houses, you would have seen several hundred pairs of eyes peeking out at you from behind curtains. Should you turn onto a certain street, you’d hear several collected inhales from behind closed doors – followed by a sharp exhale when people saw it was “just you”.

Were all the mothers in my area hoping for the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes Prize Patrol van? No way, man – we were looking for something much more important.

Our school teacher’s letter.

I spent yesterday living as close to the life of a typical soccer mom as I have, and let me say, I was exhausted.

And I don’t think I’ll be enlisting any time soon.

I know I’ve waxed rhapsodic about our recent family vacation, but in the interest of full disclosure I feel honor-bound to tell you about the worst part of our trip – just to even things out.

That would be our first travel day.

Anyone else's kids completely entranced by the Olympics?

We recorded it the whole time we were on vacation, so now we're catching up and pretending we don't know the results. Every night we eat dinner in the living room - a HUGE first, I assure you - and watch another evening of DVR'd Olympics. The girls adore the gymnastics portion, of course, but are much more into other sports than I'd anticipated.

When my husband and I go on vacation someplace gorgeous, we love to be outdoors. We’ll explore national parks and pull over at scenic vistas and climb through tunnels and traipse up to see cliff dwellings – love it. And if we’re in Hawaii, our two favorite things to do are hanging out at the beach, and taking long hikes. Pre-kids, we’d do 8-11 mile hikes in a day, then collapse for a couple hours on the beach to clean up and cool down. Heavenly.

Now, we knew going back to Hawaii with kids would be different, and it was. We knew we wouldn’t be able to do our 4,000-feet-in-the-air, clinging-to-a-cliff’s-edge, 11-mile hike. We knew that. But we also wanted to expose the girls to hiking, and see if we could give them a taste of it so they’d love it as much as we do. So we picked out a few of our favorite hikes, ones with really spectacular, one-of-a-kind views very shortly into the hike, and prepared the girls. We grabbed walking sticks, water bottles, hats, and sunscreen, and headed out.

The verdict?

Happy Hikers, the Next Generation.

Last week I read a series of essays (while lying on the beach, heh heh) entitled Because I Said So, all written by mothers, on a variety of topics but all in some way tied to motherhood. A few of the essays resonated with me, particularly one about a single mom and her thirteen-year-old daughter: as the mom tried to find her way in the newly-single world, she had to take a good look at her daughter and figure out a whole new way to parent, and in the process she asked the question, What is it that makes a good mother?

“As far as she could ascertain, it seemed to boil down to a fairly simple set of issues. A lousy mother was someone who looked at her kid and said, ‘Here’s who I want you to be’ and ‘Here’s what I’m going to give you.’ A good mother was the one who looked at her kid, really looked at her, and asked, ‘Who are you?’ and ‘What do you need from me?’”

I have tried to find a flaw in this – perhaps because it’s sometimes more effort than I’m willing to put out – and I cannot. Who are you? What do need from me? I ask these questions, and my parenting style shifts. Subtly, but distinctly.

Well, I’ve had the vacation of a lifetime and unfortunately it had to end, so I’m back.

Not that I’m bitter.

Seriously, I think that’s the best vacation I’ve ever had – a long week in Hawaii with my family. And yes, I know, Hawaii is amazing, but beyond that, I had a really excellent time with my kids.