It’s been a busy few weeks. With so many places to be and things to remember, I have not had the space to sit quietly and consider what is whirling around in my head. My reflective walks in the woods have been few, because of the busyness, yes, but mostly because the weather has predictably shifted from 50s and rainy to mid, even high 80s and hot, hot, hot. My forested respite becomes a haven for all sorts of bugs—mosquitos, ticks, and gnats are the top offenders. Summer is my least favorite season. I know, unpopular opinion, but the heat and the humidity make being outside and moving more difficult in every way. I have an easier time mustering up the energy to bundle up with a long, down coat; cozy, knitted hat; and warm, fleece gloves to get myself out for a walk than knowing that even with the least amount of clothing possible on, I will come home overheated, salty sweat dripping off my forehead and stinging my eyes, and all the energy drained from just a walk around the block. While the evenings are currently delightful, climate change has ushered in more and more nights when sleeping with windows open is next to impossible.
When the boys were younger, we would spend two or three weekends camping in the woods of New England. Since M was four years old, we celebrated Father’s Day camping in a tent on a lake in a state campground. For the first few years, it was our family eating mostly hot dogs, yogurt, and fruit, catching frogs in the pond and swimming in the lake. Once we got a little more comfortable with shifting our routine outside, we invited good friends. Eventually, it became a neighborhood trip with our group of families occupying all the lakefront sites on the small wooded island we loved so dearly.
I admit I was a reluctant camper for many years. When you have small children, spending extended time away from home can offer a much needed change of scenery, but it is often harder than being at home. While I loved being outside, swimming in the lake, reading in the hammock, hiking on wooded trails, climbing through caves and gorges, playing card games, and roasting s’mores, I did not love all the work involved in setting up and taking down our camp, prepping and cooking and cleaning up meals for the two or three days that we would camp. I found it all stressful and exponentially more work than being at home. After a few trips, we got really good at camping with packing lists for each boy to follow, grocery lists to prep all the food we could, meal planning, and bins carefully packed and marked to make set up and take down as easy as possible. D figured out how to make good coffee at the campsite. The boys got older and could offer substantial help. Bringing other families into the mix meant the boys were occupied with friends and I had more people to play cards with, meals were communal affairs.
In hindsight, I wish I had been more relaxed, had been better able to appreciate the beauty of being outside for a weekend with the four people I loved most. That I could let all the small irritants go and just be present. I have many fond memories of sitting by the fire, the boys telling stories that involved butts burning in fires and people with silly made-up names that would have them laughing hysterically. Waking up in the middle of the night on our anniversary to discover D was no longer in the tent. He had heard a noise and gone out to discover a whole family of racoons chowing down on our chocolate bars and Reese’s peanut butter cups. Apparently, they thought the s’mores were for their enjoyment. Driving through the lush, green valleys with the majestic White Mountains surrounding us on our way to Santa’s Village for the day. Playing in the rocky creek bed behind our campsite, feeling completely enveloped by the forest, forgetting all the stress of the world we had left behind. When you are in the thick of raising these kids, you are so busy just trying to make it through every day, you don’t see that up ahead, around that corner is high school, graduation, college, and then, off, on their own.
Recently, I got to spend some precious time with a dear childhood friend. We caught up a bit on our lives and children and marriages and families over lunch, and then headed off to pick up the delightful three-year-old she was caring for that weekend. And my goodness was this three-year-old just enchanting. She had not yet learned to hide how she felt, not yet been taught to feel ashamed of her feelings or body or thoughts, and thus she was deliciously herself. She took her time figuring out if I was someone she wanted to talk to, but once she determined I was okay, she and I were fast friends. She took my hand and held tight as we crossed the street, trusting me to keep her safe. She asked for a bite of my ice cream and declared that she would like to keep it because the flavor was one she didn’t realize she liked. She asked to play hide and seek and laughed with such glee as she and our mutual friend hid from me. And while I know I would have found her company joyful at any point in my life, this time, this time when my primary mothering days are numbered, when parenting teenagers feels tender and hard at the same time, well, it meant that I could just join her in the present moment and feel the complete and total joy and wonder of discovery, connection, captivation, and bliss of being alive.
At other times in my life, I would have felt sadness that my friend and I had not caught up on all the things, shared the hard things in our lives and talked deeply about all that had transpired. It has been decades since we were in the same physical place, and much of our lives are unknown to the other. And yet, this seemed the perfect way to spend time together. My friend was the older sister I always wanted. She was there to offer advice and encouragement and unconditional support when I was a confused and often sad teen myself. While we now live about 2,000 miles apart, we have kept in touch over all these years. And we both share a deep love of our children and the families we have created to raise them. We are in a similar stage of parenting, with our kiddos fast becoming young adults. She has already walked this road ahead of me, as her older two are firmly adults with partners and jobs. We both similarly relished the time with this smart, curious, hilarious, imaginative, wonderful child. I saw my friend laughing, her beautiful smile breaking across her face, the sparkling light in her eyes as she engaged with this little and mighty girl. What better way to visit than this?
I am trying to have this approach with my own boys. It can be admittedly harder, given that they don’t respond with quite the same gleefulness as a three year old. When L performed this past weekend, I soaked up his confident portrayal of Rapunzel’s Prince in Into the Woods, taking in his rich voice singing of the agony of loving a princess who is locked away in a tower. I know, given his wavering interest, that any time I see him perform could be the last time I hear his voice, see him up on a stage. I didn’t see it coming with Z. When Z and I went to a small repertory theater we love to see Spring Awakening, I opened up the conversation on the way home, inviting him to talk about all the heavy topics that were portrayed in the show (and it covered pretty much all of them). I don’t want to have regrets. I don’t want to find myself wishing I had said more, asked more questions, made it easier for them to talk with me about anything. I ask M about his glass designs on the way home from glass studio, inviting him to share with me what creative gears are spinning as he makes art every week. I try to give him space, though I know I push too hard sometimes.
I delight just as much in my three young men as I did in their three- and five- and ten-year-old selves. While I miss those little faces and sweet, high-pitched voices with an ache that is hard to even put words to, I am so incredibly proud of the men they are becoming.
I hope that the stress and irritation and frustration that peppered those early years are not what they primarily remember, what they heard, what they saw, what they felt.
I hope what they have heard and seen and felt as they have grown is that I am so delighted in them.
I will always be, whatever path they chose, whatever struggles they face.
I will always love them.
Children Will Listen
Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see
And learn
Children may not obey
But children will listen
Children will look to you
For which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say, listen to me
Children will listen
Careful the wish you make
Wishes are children
Careful the path they take
Wishes come true
Not free
Careful the spell you cast
Not just on children
Sometimes a spell may last
Past what you can see
And turn against you
Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen
Children will listen
~Stephen Sondheim
All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.
Thanks for spending some of your day reading this post. I hope it resonated. Periplum of motherhood and other wonderings is free. If you enjoy reading, please leave a comment and share it with friends!