Auto Paralysis

Lately, I find great pleasure in quiet car moments.  Quiet, as in the car is parked and kidless.  We've made it home, everyone spills out, and I am catatonic, unable to move.  

I imagine all the noise that just shifted from the car to our house - dragging and dropping things, racing to the kitchen, everyone talking at the same time.  Quickly, the noise feels far, far away.  It's so peaceful behind the wheel, even behind the broken windshield.  

I don't worship my car like I used to as a late teen or 20-something, before "dependents" and evern before much climate change awareness.  I am not relishing in some song, or in the freedom of the road.  But this silent, grey, aged mini-van cradles me in a freedom just as vital:  the freedom to catch my breath.

Police Officer Parenting

Today, my son begged and begged for a thing I just couldn't (and shouldn't and wouldn't) deliver.  We were at a park, and he wanted to find "Poppy," the perfect acorn.  Nothing fit the bill.  I couldn't make it right, nor could a genie in a bottle or a million dollars.  Yet, sitting with an agonized child, sitting with their agony, is not a simple task.

Also today, I begged and begged a police officer to give me a warning rather than a speeding ticket.  The traffic and construction crossing town was unpredictable, and about 1/4 mile from school, I got stopped.  I don't think the officer felt my agony, nor did he feel any agony in giving me the ticket.

I don't want to parent like a police officer.  I don't want to set my kids up to expect rigid people and a rigid world.  I want them to feel room to be creative, with words and deeds.  But, I also want them to go the speed limit, and accept cold consequences when they come, be it a lost acorn or a humiliating fine.

The No-Hit Necklace

This morning, John directed my attention to his necklace:  "When I want to hit people, I can hold my necklace and it makes me calm.  It takes my hit away."

By habit, I was initially tempted to address John's all-too-present desire to hit.  But actually, if I'm honest enough to own it, I could use a calming necklace here and there myself.

We talk about "taking the hurt away," but why not gently take "the hit" away, too?  It's sort of the other side of the coin...

So, I am refreshed by John's honesty, and I have renewed affection for necklaces.

Runaway

It has been a while since anyone has run away in our household, or rather from our household.  Will made a habit of it as each new child entered our home.  He'd pack his suitcase and head up the hill, but never really made it out of our sight.  And he always returned for dinner.  

Recently, we had a new runaway.  She loaded up dresses, white shoes, and some books into a suitcase and headed out the door.  However, she ran the "wrong" way, so we had to follow.

The rescue had all the best elements of adventure, for everyone involved.  First, there was drama as she left and when we found her.  She climbed up into bushes with her airport suitcase until she got stuck.  Will gallantly stepped in with his "sword."  June employed her naturally shrill voice.  John was just happy to be there.

After the runaway settled under a tree, unpacked her stuff with her new assistants and hung it on a branch, we had a great time.  Whereas just minutes before, there were fierce battles and fire-breathing tempers, the energy morphed into discovery, adventure and just laughing around:

• We poked sticks into a swamp, 
• Will fell in a deep part of the creek chasing a catfish (?), 
• We made a game called "throw the rope down the stream and watch it go like a snake,"
• We made up a game called "throw the clothes across the river," 
• We made cattail boats, 
• We studied swallow nests under a bridge.

Every 30 minutes or so, the runaway would cry (with a smile) that she needed space.  She'd pack up and head on down the bike path.  The rest of us would just look at each other smiling and say, "Here we go."

Finally, we ended up in a rather industrial place where the bike path met an office building, a tunnel under a busy street, and stream filled with catails and big rocks and even crawdads.  Jeff met us there for a picnic before we all headed home.

The truth is, following Clara really does often mean following the fun.  By the end of the day, Will suggested that we do this every Friday.  The only condition, however, is no running away.