Fall Road Trip

I recognize that my longtime fascination with road trips may be a manifestation of attention deficit disorder.  After a quick trip to the mountains with June, I see that I'm right on track to pass that along to my kids.  Here is what we crammed into 24 hours:

• 6 hour drive, each way
• 10+ stops to gaze at fall leaves
• 4+ stops for photoshoots
• 3 stops for little hikes
• 1 lunch stop in Leadville
• 1 stop to watch a local parade
• 1 stop to get some school clothes
• 2 stops to read

At our destination, our pace was equally phrenetic: hiking, biking, running, eating, leaf boat racing, bookstore-ing, cafe-ing.  For the love of roadtrips, I don't think I'd trade the ADD.  The real conflict is  pollution.  We need a hybrid.

But, I do find that there are few better ways to connect with your loved one that cruising the world together.  Being present.  Taking it all in, side by side.  Or in our case, front seat - back seat.

A Walk around a Lake

All too often, there is a strange glue that binds me to my house.  In particular, my kitchen, my washing machine, my inside clutter, my outside clutter, even the elusive higher purpose manifested in my computer.  But during my mornings with John, I work hard to push us out the door, and I am never sorry.

Recently, we ventured to Coot Lake.  It is a trail to avoid in heat or high winds, but on a clear blue sky day, it is transcendent.  In fact, John looks fittingly philosophical in every picture - peering into the distance, surveying the land, contemplating the sky.  In reality, he is probably looking for dragons or thinking about a rock in his shoe or counting the seconds before he will ask for an "uppie."

Actually, he was quite proud to walk the whole way.

Parent & Chicken Line-up

Recently, on a wintry day, I was struck by horizontal rows of beings, out enduring the cold.  

As our family ventured out to go sledding, there was a perfect line-up of parents right on the crest of the hill.  It was a beautiful spot, with the trees forming their own line as a backdrop.  Some people were all decked out for adventure, some held coffee cups, and all were engrossed in the action going down.  

Bundled up there in a row, the cold parents reminded me of our chickens, who likewise form a line-up, usually in the the sun against the house.  1-2-3-4-5-6.  Catching rays, pecking around.  

I guess there is something about standing side-by-side, facing the cold, eating or drinking, and watching the show.

Wimpy Kid

I have long taken the parenting position of "simplify," "take away pressure," "make things easy," "slow down."  I have done so often to make things easier on me, but also to encourage a peaceful, even thoughtful state of mind when facing the world.  Life is complicated enough already.

On a recent trip to the ski slopes, however, I began to question the long-term benefit of my approach.  I watched as other parents pushed their kids to ski, laid on the pressure, ignored cries, dragged them down the mountain, kicking and screaming.  Honestly, maybe these kids will be tougher in the face of pressures in the grown up world.  Maybe they're developing a thick skin when it comes to immediate challenges, whereas my kids might dodge the pressure altogether.  After all, these kids do seem to be skiing.

On the one hand, I want my kids to know how to navigate, even minimize pressure, but what about the times they can't avoid it?  Will they stand strong, or run for their Boulder yoga mats? (Not that I find anything wrong with that...)

To be perfectly honest, I can push right up against that pressure threshold, too.  We were out there skiing.  I could have easily prompted (or exacerbated) a panic attack had I not:

• Offered endless pieces of gum throughout the day;
• Dangled the promise of "hot chocolate" in front of them so much that they don't even want it any more!
• Picked John up after almost every fall, rather than let him lie there and fend for himself;
• Strapped on John's little cross country skies, rather than let him take forever doing his own;
• Taken great care not to touch John as he dismounted the magic carpet ("ALL BY MYSELF!") even if all those behind him had a look of terror, anticipating a domino effect pile-up of bodies should he fall;
• Carefully orchestrated an advanced math turn-taking system for who gets on the magic carpet first;
• Lied a little.

Who really had control in our overall situation, they or I?  Honestly, I'm not sure.  And with all my accommodations, am I heedlessly dodging pressures or subconsciously still throwing my kids to the wolves?

With four kids and ten years of parenting, I don't know the answers.  In fact, sometimes the answers become less and less clear.  I just know that most of us follow our instincts and hope they are good ones, at least a good part of the time.

10 Feet of Beautiful

As an antidote to my 10 Minutes of Beautiful with John, we have recently been sharing about 10 feet of beautiful.  We drive into the snowy mountains and park beside one of my absolute favorite kid trails, summer or winter.  Just being there, breathing in the forest, taking in the quiet, it is worth the drive.  

Then, the kinetics begin.  John and I spend about an hour in and around the car, "gearing up."  This includes:

• going to the bathroom, somewhere in the snow
• having a snack
• putting on a snow suit
• putting on a hat
• putting on gloves
• putting on wool socks
• taking off a snow suit
• taking off a hat
• taking off gloves
• taking off wool socks
• repeat all the above to infinity

After an hour, we stumble out of the car.  We take another half hour to fastens boots and skis to our feet.   I am generally in a state of both surrender and aggression.  I surrender that it is a John-led winter event.  Yet, on the whole, I shaped our day.  I brought him to this place.  I initiated this activity, even imposed it on him.   And amidst my patience with his pace, I am aggressive about my singular goal to make it onto the trail with skis.  

And that is what we do.  We make it out of the car.  We "ski" about 10 feet.  It takes a good long time.  I am in heaven.  John seems to be proud of himself.  Then we turn around, get in the car, and reward ourselves with hot chocolate.

Leaving, I think of Robert Frost, from "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening":  

          The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, 

          But I have promises to keep, 

          And miles to go before I sleep, 

          And miles to go before I sleep.

I did get my piece of the lovely, dark, deep woods, but am honestly happy to turn to the view of little / big eyes peeking over a cup.

Milestone Ride

For years, I have longingly eyed a mountain bike path, one that stretches across Vail Pass.  This weekend, Will and I claimed the 30-mile span from Frisco to Vail.  It was a milestone ride to celebrate his 10 years.

The ride held all the elements of a good story:

• mystery - the path to us was new
• challenge - the climb, the cold rain
• struggle - there were 3 falls and slight altitude delirium
• determination - we paced ourselves with snack-point destinations
• joy - reaching the top of the pass
• beauty - breath-taking scenery
• euphoria - shouting to the wind at break-neck speed
• pride - we cruised into town, tired and content, just as the sun disappeared behind the mountains

As we rode, we spoke in code:  "2-5?"  "No, 3-2."  "1-4."  "2-6?"  "Yeah, 2-6."  It was his first time on a bike with more than 7 speeds.

On a grander scale, like the mountains around us, he pondered big questions:  "What is the funniest thing you've ever experienced?"  "What's the best thing you've ever done?"  "Do you talk to yourself?"  "If you could go anywhere, alone or with family, where would it be?"

At one point, Will said, "Wow - we are alone."  We were.  On that day, there were few others on the path.  But for me, the loneliness of the mountains, the rain, and the empty path felt warm because we were there together.  A mother of a fast growing 10-year old cannot wish for more.

Synchronicity

There is nothing better than biking home from school on a blue sky day and hearing an approaching train.  The tunnel is always just a tunnel.  We've biked through it a million times.  But today, a train passed over.  In John's eyes, it was a miracle.

Boxcar-ish Adventure

Clara is reading "The Boxcar Children" series.  In it, the four kids' grandfather repeatedly offers them  adventures on a plate.  In Clara's most recent book, "Surprise Island," he introduces them to his own family island and leaves them there for the summer.

I thought of him as I introduced my four to... a gap between our fence and the neighbor's.  Not exactly an island, but it did provide some adventure for the day.  It even has promise for occasional returns in the summer.

Little a Long Way

Over the weekend, most of it spent at home, a little snowshoe hike went a long way.  I was thankful for the day, the dog and kids old enough to make it beyond 20 feet.