Balancing Act

There seem to be artistic fascinations in our household that define certain times.  This past summer, one such interest was rock balancing.  It seems to be a fad all over these days.  The Boulder Creek is dotted with these amazing, gravity-defying sculptures.  The back-to-basics elements mixed with herculean challenge seem to be reflective of the times we are living, although maybe people thought that about Stonehenge, too.  Anyway, here are a few rocks that captured the time and concentration of my kids this summer.

Close

I marvel at my childrens' pure desire for skin, for body heat, for the safety of family flesh.

This summer, as we took a roadtrip, John sat in the back of the car calling for whichever parent was in the passenger seat to sit beside him.  Just to cuddle.  Just to be close.  My girls, now 6 and 8, pounce on my empty lap.  I sit and in an instant, I have children fighting for my legs.

At times, my internal voice is crying out for space.  Or maybe even the food right in front of me that I can't reach due to the child in my lap.  It makes me laugh sometimes when Jeff comes home from work and raises his hands as if for help, wading, waist high in a swarm of flesh-grabbing children.

But when I really look close, most (not all, but most) of my claustrophobia comes from pressures in my head, not the weight of children.  I am worried about schedules, about managing needs, about the skills I lack, the things I'm not, the things I wish, faults, fears, my children's faults and fears, somehow connected to mine.  My own mental clutter is what limits my senses.

But, in that moment of their reaching out, what matters is my children and their skin.  It is right before me, pure, new, unscathed, beautiful.  And they are crying out for mine.

My wish is to soften, and to energize my own shell.  To make it present for them, so when they clamber for proximity, they can feel me close.  They can feel my belief in them, my love.  More my hopes and less my fears.  And they can know that they are more important than any distraction, even though the distractions sometimes take precedence.  And maybe, when they grow up, they will remember, they will still know the power of touch, and the magic of family flesh.

Waiting for Train

Twice a week, John and I bike over train tracks on our way home from his preschool.  We arrive at this spot mid-day, poised beside a busy freeway, breathing in lots of fumes.  But, often, we catch a slow-moving train.

It seems quite idyllic, a boy on a bike (actually in a burley), a train passing underneath.  The first time it happened, we stopped, waited for the train to reach us, and then stayed approximately 3000 minutes, in 150 degree heat, as each boxcar creeped by.  Numerous bikers rode by, cooing at the sweet sight of boy and train.

The next time, we could barely make out the train's light, miles away.  John begged for us to stop, desperate to see the train approach.  Again, oooo's and ah's from others whizzing by, but none of them stopped!  It's one thing to watch a sweet boy watching the train, it's another sit there and watch it, too!

So these days, I feel a bit cruel, racing home from school to beat the train-sighting.  We do indulge in many slow-paced things - making roly-poly habitats for hours at a time, pushing the two-wheeler bike until my back almost breaks, pushing a swing until I fall asleep standing up, throwing a football back and forth for multiple soccer games.  But, standing in fumes for 30 minutes to watch a train light miles ahead, not even sure it's moving, I draw the line.

Maybe more of us should stop to smell the roses, stop to watch the trains.  But, honestly, you have to be selective.  If you smell ALL the roses, and watch ALL the trains, there will be nothing else - no dinner, no naps, no clean laundry, no bike rides, no peace.

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.

New Routine: School to Home

These days, I pick up my oldest three kids from school on my bike, with little John in tow.  It is a dynamic moment, for everyone, the exit from school and transition to home.  Our sequence is as follows:

• burst out the school doors, 
• eyes search for family members, 
• run together to the bike rack, 
• hop quickly on bikes, 
• ride freely - wind blowing through hair, feet pedaling fast, 
• conquer the bridge, on or off the bike,
• wind through streets,
• arrive at the Big Green Ash Tree
• drop bikes, 
• breathe deeply.

As the kids gain distance from school, and zero in on home, the park gives us refuge and space to transition.  There are school stories, spastic flips on bars, flinging bodies on swings, snacks, trips to the proverbial bathrooms, pick-up soccer games, and escapes into the trees.  Overall, it is a safe place to shed stress, reunite, get space if you need it, or come together if you need that instead.  

When the older ones are nourished and ready for what's next, they hop back on their bikes and cruise home through wide fields and big trees.  I follow with the little ones.  I like to think that path gives them vision.  It's just a matter of looking up from their fast-moving feet.  But, the vision may be all mine, watching them all fly home.

 

Old Routine: The Library

I always feel like a good parent when I go to the library.  Even if I chat excessively with other mothers, get overly absorbed in my own book, or check messages on my phone, there we are.  Surrounded by books.  Listening to Melody, who has read to my kids for 10 years!  Ten years!

Melody is a local celebrity among Boulder moms.  She can make any book intriguing.  Every Monday morning, she sings, stomps, laughs, cries, gurgles, shakes, jumps and humbles us all.

She introduced a book to Will that changed his life, at 4.  After reading "Saint George and the Dragon," he became a "noble knight" for an eternity.  It was his cover.  To this day, he dabbles with covers (don't we all?), but noble knight may forever be my favorite.

Our latest family trends at the library go like this:

• June brings home fairy books.  Anything with a sparkly, enchanted looking nymph on the cover captures her completely.
• Similarly, John brings home train books.  His magnet takes the form of shiny blue engines.
• Clara likes comics, preferably Peanuts, but also Calvin and Hobbs.
• Will gets books-on-tape.  He has plenty of books at home, but to him, the library means vocal companionship.  He has always been a book-on-tape guy.  This summer, he clocked hours, listening and sketching.  It could be his current cover.  It certainly is a passion, and you can't deny that.

I am thankful for libraries, for Melody, and for giving me that time to feel simply like a good parent.

New Routine: Biking to School

School has begun, and we have a new routine.  Each morning, after checking for shoes on feet and food in backpacks, everyone hops on a bike.

We leave at least 30 minutes before school begins for the 2-mile ride.  It is the most feel-good way to get to school, yet not without challenges.  Among four kids, we have four paces.  For the most part, we've narrowed that down to two groupings:  the older two ride ahead, while I ride with (or pull) the younger two.  We meet at a park, then finish roughly together.

Our greatest stress so far is the fact that one rider has trouble carrying a backpack, which means  waiting for me at school.  Her partner, however, does not wait before heading to class.  Even with a beautiful bike ride, this equals uber-stress!

Such is life.  What a challenge it is to feel right in the flow - not behind, not ahead, but content with the beauty of the ride at your own speed.  I think that if all my kids can bike with such contentment by the end of the year, it will be a victory.  A feeling to seek their whole lives long.