I agonized long and hard the last few days over a decision to cancel plans for our first-ever family camping trip next weekend. I had been looking forward to that trip, projecting it as the start of many years of camping and outdoor vacations for our family. I had tried to imagine how much our kids would love spending a night in a tent, how we would breathe in the mountain air with gratitude and relief after a busy week, how we would sit around a camp fire with other families, and how we would all return rejuvenated and refreshed.
Somewhere late in the week, as I watched Sava drop off to sleep at 7 pm every night and struggle to wake up for school in the morning, I realized that packing it up for a retreat that promised a brief escape but held many unknowns and the certainty of insufficient sleep was simply not going to happen. Not this week. Not when Sava is still in the midst of transitioning to a new school, getting adjusted to a new schedule, and learning all about what it means to be a "big boy."
I struggle with how much is too much and how much is too little when it comes to our kids all the time. We live in a place where pretty much anything is possible. You want dancing class for your twelve-month old? You've got it. You want a new hiking trail to explore each day of the week? You've got it. You want violin
and piano
and swimming lessons for your preschooler? Just write a check and buckle your belt as you prepare to face the traffic.
I thought about all this during the unplanned longish hiatus from Sava's violin lessons this summer. As we tried to figure out schedules and find a teacher nearby who would fit Sava's temperament, we talked a lot about what it is we want for our kids. We subtly tried to suggest to Sava that perhaps we should wait to resume lessons until he is older and settled in his new school. We talked, to each other, about not wanting to be
those parents who spend their days driving their kids to one lesson or another, feeding them lunch in the car, thrusting the iPad whenever the kids fidget, building resumes for a life of prescribed success.
Saying no to the extra lessons is easy. What's really hard is backing out of things like outings and trips to nooks of the Bay Area that, in a different life, we would love to explore at least weekly. We want to share with our kids the glory of this beautiful patch of earth, but we also wish to make sure that they get regular access to rest, sleep, and what is generally known as boredom.
We worry that, in a world saturated with digital media and instant entertainment, children's capacity for introspection can atrophy. We worry that they may fail to learn to love books, solitude, and silence. We worry that they may learn to expect life to be filled with activity every second of the day, leaving little space for the kind of self-reflection that, in our view at least, holds the sole promise of joy and self-fulfillment.
So, we canceled the camping trip. And we will probably go on a short day hike instead, like the trip to Hidden Villa we took today, from which we returned in time for both nap and an early bedtime.
 |
| always trying to keep her out of trouble; here, pulling her back from dipping her hand in dirty water |
|
|
Hidden Villa was more vibrant with colors than I had ever seen it. The kids crawled through tunnels, made tea in grapevine houses, and got themselves soaked in the ice cold water of the creek. It was the kind of Sunday morning that I hope some day they'll remember with fondness.
They even saw a banana slug for the first time.
*****
So yeah, I went all overboard with the photographing this week. I took hundreds of awful photos, but also enough to make this the longest post ever. Bear with me. The madness will pass, and we will be back to regular programing soon. Until then, tons and tons of pictures of one fearless little girl who at twenty-one months figured out how to ride the scooter. She doesn't know how to break
or make turns yet, so she is a mortal hazard to both others and herself.
She will
not be helped with either buckling (car seat or helmet) or dressing or putting her shoes on, so I plan an extra thirty minutes before every activity that involves getting her out of the door and in the car. She'll staunchly try each thing for about ten minutes,
"by yourself! samichka! by yourself! samichka!" and, eventually, will always succumb with,
"give mommy Ellie..."
*****
Despite our attempts at dissuading him, Sava prevailed and he is back at violin lessons.
He seems so big and mature at times, so fragile and vulnerable at other times.
During a mad rush to get out of the door on Friday, Rado and I both got testy for a moment and we spoke sharply as we asked him, for the twelfth time, to please put on his shoes, as we were late. He turned and shouted, "
Stop telling me to put on my shoes! I heard it!" When we got to the car a minute later, this mama still fuming with early-morning annoyance, he turned to me unexpectedly, and said in the softest voice,
"Mommy, I am sorry I shouted." I was lost for words, but had the presence of mind to apologize, too.
This is the sort of ability he has to make us feel like we are the kids, and he the parent. Humbling.
*****
Sunset and sunrise at Shoreline this week were magical. I indulged in the first alone,
and Raya and I witnessed the second.
 |
| pelicans? |
 |
| heron? |
*****
I've got way more photos of Raya this week, because we've been spending the mornings all alone, and hikes and walks alone or with friends have happened with planned and spontaneous regularity. We feel so very blessed to have the lovelies possible friend for Raya just next door. Heaven, I tell you.
They attended the Tiny People Summit this week, where questions such as
"what kind of water bottle do you like?" and "
should we dump water and sand all over your backyard?" were discussed.
A landscaped garden in the middle of Palo Alto is one of their favorite hangouts lately.
 |
| what is it about pebbles that fascinates all little people? | |
Funny thing to note is that, while in most pictures Raya appears serious, in reality she is giggling or jabbering or laughing maniacally through much of the day. It's just that, in those moments, she is usually engaged in some life-threatening activity as well, so I have no time to be snapping pictures as I rush to save her life. And then there are the moments when laughter cannot be seen, as in this here photo of Raya wearing, at her loud insistence, a pair of Sava's size 6/7 underpants, as both of them laugh hysterically, and we try to convince them to please prepare for bed.
They are such a funny pair, so tender with each other, so wildly in love and affectionate. She drives him nuts sometimes, and his being the older and more skilled at things makes her crazy with desire to emulate, but their love is contagious and perfectly hilarious.
*****
Some day we'll take those camping trips. And some day she'll no longer nap, and we will all learn to sway with the strange prescribed rhythms of school and work.
But it's still a work in progress, and the quiet times spent at home playing with legos and trains or reading books often feel almost as salutary as an outing to Hidden Villa.
So, I mend my broken heart over the canceled trip, and we move on to a new week of learning to love each other. It is hard work, but so worth it.
"Wherever we go, there seems to be only one business at hand - that of finding workable compromises between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us."(Annie Dillard)
Workable compromises, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment