It Takes a Village

I wake up in the morning knowing that I am in charge of my world. I am an island. I do not need any help.

I woke up this morning feeling that way.

I woke Andrew up at 6am to finish his homework. No problem.

At the bus stop, I met my friends Annie and Becky who brought two 3 year olds with them to my house to celebrate ‘D’ day. This is ‘D’ week for us. I planned to make homemade donuts. We made donuts. No problem.

During that time, my friend Cathy dropped off her 3 year old son for me to baby sit. He would enjoy ‘D’ day with us too. Five kids are at my house. And, though the fact that donut starts with ‘d’ might not stick with them, the pink frosting certainly would. No problem.

Annie and Becky left with their kids. Later, Cathy picked up her son and left with some donuts.

Diane dropped by unexpectedly to invite us to a birthday party. I gave her a donut too. This day was easy.

We had lunch. Played. And, then the bus came. After piano practice and reading, Annie and Becky came back, this time with two 8 year olds, a 7 year old and two three year olds to play in the backyard. No problem.

They offered to keep Gladys and George while I took Andrew to a parent-child meeting at church. Things were even looking up. I put my chicken dinner in the oven on a timer to start a little later, so it would be ready when we return.

And, feeling rather confident in my ability to tackle the day, I agreed to ride bikes to church with Andrew. We ride most days. No problem.

About half way to church, I was riding on rims. No problem.

I see Erica and Francis standing in Erica’s driveway. I ask to borrow her pump. It doesn’t work, so I switch my bike for Erica’s, and we are on our way again – now 20 minutes late for church.

I walk into the very nice mass for first communion kids and settle in sweaty and quietly in the back. I manage to sing songs while reading the religion class parent’s handbook. I wonder how I’m going to make it back to my house in time for everyone at my house to go home and my chicken to not burn. I wonder how, if I ride Erica’s bike all the way home, I will manage to collect my bike on just rims, which I carelessly left unlocked in Erica’s yard.

As I wonder this (and, of course, listen very carefully to whatever is being said) I realize that I could get a ride home and get my van with my bike rack and shuttle the bikes back in my van. I always keep my bike rack on my van in the summertime. If I wasn’t sitting in mass, I could walk home in 30 minutes. If I knew the combination to the bike lock that my son used, I could ride Erica’s bike home in 20 minutes.

If I can somehow catch the eye of my friend Georgia in the second row, I could get a ride home in her car.

And, just then, Georgia made a move for the door. I followed her. I accidentally brought the church songbook along with my son’s folder.

Georgia was able to give me the ride I needed. I returned in my van and re-entered the church meeting, grabbing a cup of coffee in the back to look natural, returning the songbook (and, I’m sure making a rather fine impression on the leader of this very nice church meeting). No problem.

All my problems are solved. In 15 minutes, I’ll get Andrew, load everything on the van, drop off Erica’s bike, pick up mine, and be home in plenty of time to relieve Annie and Becky and pull out the chicken. No problem.

Except, of course, potential new friend Hannah talks to me in the back of Andrew’s classroom, wanting to know more about the religion classes (which I know because I read the handbook while singing). And, my friend Isaac stops me in the parking lot to ask me more questions (because he thinks I actually went to that whole meeting). And, I might need his help next week for carpooling, who knows?

So, now I’m a little teensy weensy bit late, which is fine, until I realize that Erica’s bike does not fit on my bike rack.

Andrew and I abandon the van and ride his bike and Erica’s bike all the way to our house. Now, we are 40 minutes late. (Fortunately, Jay returned home before I did and not only checked on the chicken and the children, but was making fresh onion rings).

Somehow, without driving more than a mile the entire day, I manage to talk to nine friends. And, somehow, while eating dinner that night, I wondered how I could collect my flat tire bicycle from Erica’s, return her bike, and collect my van.

Although I do have many friends ‘Z’ who, like Cat in the Hat, keep ‘Voom’ at hand to clean up the mess I often make of my day, I couldn’t possibly have implicated friend #10. And, although I could ride my other bike with the bike trailer and pick up the van tomorrow, I didn’t want to leave my bike in Erica’s yard all night (or bother her further).

So, at 7:40 pm, I set off on Erica’s bike. I dropped it off, walked to the church, picked up my van, drove back to Erica’s house, paused to chat with Erica, picked up my bike and made it home after 10pm.

I will wake up tomorrow knowing that even though my 'problems' are truly 'no problem', I have help anyway.

That is my village.

All Day Playdate

On Wednesday, when we were on our 12-mile bike ride on some local trails, a friend of mine convinced me to take a day trip to an island in the Great Lakes. The magic wand that was so prophetically waved at me on Monday in the park, must have been very powerful indeed.

We went. Three moms, seven kids, and packed lunches all shoved gracefully into two minivans. The day was beautiful. We had almost a straight flush of kids aged 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, & 7.

We rode around the island. The 6 & 7 yr old boys led the pack. My barely six year old, Andrew, kept up in spite of his being both smaller and having a 16-inch bike (vs. his friend’s 20” bike with gears). He pedaled like a maniac. The magic wand must have given him special energy as well.

Did I mention the day was beautiful?

We stopped for lunch and the kids threw rocks into the lake. We stopped for ice cream and George was completely covered in vanilla. We stopped after 15 miles and the kids ran to play on the playground. (George and Gladys had been in the trailer, so of course they had a little energy left). Their mother who had been hauling them around was still going stronger than she should have . . . .

The older boys actually started fighting over playing with George on the playground. They all wanted to help the one-year-old. They were chasing him around to the stairs, helping him up, lifting him to the highest slide, then racing to the bottom of the slide to catch him. Over and over they did this. George was stumbling along, hardly able to stand up he was so tired. It was already after 4pm.

My two friends had been talking over by the vans, packing up, while I watch the kids at the playground. When they came over, I asked what seemed like an obvious question,

“So, did you call the hubbies? Are we grabbing a martini and watching the sun set?”

We all had the same thing on our minds. We decided to stay. By then, it was nearly 5pm but we decided to head down the beach anyway. One of my friends ran over and bought some refreshments for the adults. We didn’t bring extra clothes.

“Take off your shorts before jumping into the lake!”

They all did. The kids splashed and played. George played in the biggest sandbox he had probably ever seen. Have I not taken him to the beach before?? I was running through the water taking pictures when Andrew decided to get me quite wet with one of our empty cups.

All of the sudden, it was 7pm. Three moms and seven sand-caked kids took a shower in the camping area. My friend magically produced one towel per family. We raided the van and found mismatched clothes for all the kids. We went to dinner at a local joint on the island, serving “world-famous” beverages. We felt the experience would not be complete unless we tried them. After all, we must teach our children that it is fun to try new things. (My “breathable” athletic shorts were not breathing fast enough to dry my panties, so I ran out to the van during dinner and removed the wet, sandy, excessively uncomfortable garment - phew).

We left the restaurant in the dark. Our fearless leader had parked around the corner. When my other friend and I jumped in my van with the rest of the kids, we chose the wrong direction towards the ferry. We drove on and on. It isn’t a big island. I suggested that we pull out the kiddie menu from the restaurant that had a map – at which point my friend recognized that the water was, indeed, on the left instead of the right. We were going in the wrong direction.

We made it on the 9:30pm ferry. My kids were in bed just after midnight.

That, my friends, is how a play date should be.

This morning on the bikes

My kids and I have been doing a lot of biking lately. It has been fun, even liberating, to get on a bicycle again. That feeling of the wind in my hair racing down a hill just brings back proper perspective. Today, I even had the joy of hearing Gladys whooping it up in the trailer when we hit top speed.

“Whheeeeeeeee!!!! Let’s do it again!!!!”

I have been taking the kids to a long, pretty flat trail about 30 or so minutes away from our house. We’ve been taking a nearly 12-mile jaunt, stopping for lunch at the farthest point. I think Andrew has really done well finally being able to ‘let loose’ and ride without my constant yelling “watch for cars” and “look both ways before you cross.” The suburbs are nice and all, but they are a stifling in so many ways.

Today, we went to a closer trail that is only about a mile in one direction and has one fairly large hill at the far end. Andrew wasn’t too keen on the hill on the way up, but I had the foresight to park the car at the lowest point (I’m pretty clever that way, okay, lazy, but all they remember is the final stretch). When we stopped for a snack, an older woman passed by with her husband. She commented on how much energy I have. “You have a lot of energy,” she said. I thanked her, of course. After she walked away, I wasn’t sure if she was simply commenting on my athleticism, or if somehow she had bestowed energy upon me.

“You have a lot of energy.” It was as if she was waving a magic wand when she said it.

I was sitting at the picnic table with Andrew, Gladys, and George enjoying our fiber bars after our first two “laps” at the 2-mile trail, thinking about nature. I have read so many articles lately about how children don’t get outdoors enough anymore. And, when they do, there is always an adult directing the events. I try really hard to let my kids explore (see, I try really hard to NOT orchestrate the events . . . there is irony there somewhere). I do. I let them sit down in the river and search under rocks. I let them choose the trail whenever possible. We stop to investigate things. They take off their shoes and run through the grass. But, at the end of the day, we return to our little patch of grass in the suburbs. I can’t let them go off by themselves. I can’t tell them to “be home by dark.”

If you read this blog occasionally, you know that for my dad’s birthday I gave him a family blog. I checked it today and saw his very first comment. My dad grew up on a farm in northern Wisconsin. He did run around and explore without adults. He went to school in a one-room schoolhouse. He remembers when his family got a toilet. So, what was his very first blog comment?

After his personal thank you’s (see the Brady Bunch poem I posted previously) . . .

“I used to play around in the bog, now I play around in the blog. I guess I gained an ‘l’ somewhere.”

I thought it was funny. And, maybe just a little too true.

George learns a new word

There is constant conversation in my house. People are always talking. Most of the time, several people are talking at once. Even George, who only has a few words, talks all the time. We aren’t sure what he is saying, but I am sure he is sure what he is saying. His words now include: Mama, Dada, all done, ball, mine, and no. Since he only has about six words or so, he rarely asks very difficult questions. I rarely have time to think my own thoughts without being asked a question. George is always refreshing.

I thought I would have time to think today, but mostly I just talked to the kids while I rode my bike. We went over 11 miles on the bicycles, it was a beautiful ride in the fresh air. I said “oh really,” about 60 times per mile. In between, I had to think of reasonable answers to seemingly random questions.

I was amazed at how many comments I received from people I have never met too. I am a pretty friendly person. I tend to make eye contact and give a polite ‘hello.’ I’ll even make a pleasant remark now and then. Today, just having my children talk to me was not enough, everyone else talked to me too.

When I was putting the bicycles on the back of the van in my own driveway, a person jogging by told me that it was going to rain.

“Looks like you might get wet,” he said.

“Oooh, aren’t they so cute in the trailer??” I got a lot of that.

“You even have healthy snacks for them.”

“Looks like you have your hands full.”

“What a busy mommy!” I got something like that a few times.

My kids said things like:

“Look, Mom, a cardinal. What kind of animal is that one?”

“How much further until lunch?”

“Why are those cinder blocks there? Maybe they had a pig roast?”

“On our left is the such-and-such river. The river is over there, why is this bridge here over the bulrushes?”

“How many different kinds of trees do you need to have a mixed forest?”

“I think Uranus’ East pole is hot. Well, if it’s going around with the sun on its left side. If it’s going around the other way, I guess it would be the West pole. Which way does Uranus go around the sun?” (We weren’t talking about astronomy. Where do these things come from?)

“Baba gla da ba! Mama.” Ah, yes, sweet, sweet George. He always has some words of wisdom for me.

When we arrived home, we were all a little tired. I am used to being with the kids all day. I love them all dearly. I often describe being with them as the feeling of standing in a stiff wind. It’s not so much that it is really tiring, it was just in your face all day long and it feels good when the wind stops for a moment. If it stops for too long, you go looking for a fresh breeze again. My husband typically puts the older two to bed and I take George. He enjoys talking to the older kids. I enjoy having a little quiet time with my sweet one-year-old.

But, then it happened. We were getting ready for bed.

“No, no, George, not now,” I said.

He looked at me with those sweet eyes . . . “Why?”

Why?? Already?? Oh, oh, dear, sweet George, not yet.