Posts from — August 2016
August 31, 2016
Hannah’s post about time passing and feeling aged was, well, timely, because in a few short days, this girl will be going off to kindergarten, and I don’t know how I feel about it.
There she is at ten months, back when school was a distant future thing, like orthodontics and boyfriends and university. But babies refuse to grow as slowly as we’d like and now she’s going on five and September is on our doorstep. Hello.
I can’t say I feel anything that isn’t muddled up with everything else. I’m worried and anxious and excited and proud and curious and full of dread. It’s a considerable bag of feelings, and I’m sure most parents feel these things at some point (or at many points).
I’ve struggled with what to tell her–how much of my anxiety should I show?–and how much detail to give about how her life is about to change. I keep thinking back to my own kindergarten days, as dim as they are, and as influenced by others’ memories and stories as they are. I think I had fun. I think I felt lonely. I think I loved the messy chaos one minute and wanted to break out the next. It was a time of contradictions, as maybe all early childhood is. And I want that for her because it’s normal and important, but I’m also afraid.
It’s about letting go.
August 24, 2016
I recently had my birthday. It was really lovely, thank you for asking. But now, it’s unescapable, I am officially neck-deep in my late thirties. My mid-thirties have vanished, the late thirties are here; and they see me living a life that is quite different (and in many ways vastly richer than) to the one I might have anticipated. Case in point: this babe.
While I celebrate and ponder the late thirties, B3 has reached six months old, in that cliched flash / blink of the eye. The kid is stupendously delicious and consistently delightful. She’s all instant smiles and nuzzles into the neck, which wins me over every time, I’m sure it’d have the same effect on even the coldest of hearts.
In case her half-birthday and my birthday-birthday didn’t drive the point of my age home enough, we went to a school quiz night fundraiser the other night. It was disorienting. Not because of the costumes (Olympic theme – there were tables of people dressed as zeka mosquitoes and Russian athletes and dope testers) but because I was the parent. At a school fundraiser. I conferred with a friend to see if I was the only one feeling ancient and discombobulated and she reassured me – “It’s weird. It’s like we’re… our parents.” Exactly. Somehow I missed the passing of the torch. I assumed I was still young.
August 17, 2016
It seems we’re on a bit of a fruit kick around here lately (about which I will not complain). Winter pears in the southern hemisphere and now peaches in the northern, where there has been a bumper crop this year, or so it seems at the farm stands. Little e wanted to help with some baking the other morning and we had peaches overflowing our fruit bowl (and nothing much else going for breakfast), so we whipped these up before the boys had finished their first course of cereal and coffee (see this about why our weird kids like their espresso straight).
August 10, 2016
How do you give good news? Can you bear to hold it in? Do you fashion a crazy way to reveal it?
I had some good news for the girls this week, news I could barely contain it was so rad, that I decided to share with them in a memorable way. Wanna find out what it was? Come and check it out…. (Eeee!)
Here we are at Shaolin Kung Fu Noodle House. I did not make that name up. It’s a great place, on Dominion Road, introduced to me during a dumpling tour run by Eat Auckland (they do really sensational, informative, tasty tours, just quietly). Shaolin Kung Fu Noodle House had been our first stop on the tour and they wooed me with their delicious lamb and fennel dumplings, cartoon covered tabletops and disdainful service. I think they’re just playing hard to get.
August 3, 2016
Stories and hiking. For me, these two go together like bread and jam. Movies and popcorn. Swimming and summer. Maybe this isn’t so shocking, but I was an imaginative kid–sometimes annoyingly so–and if there was an opportunity for me to be creative with worlds and words and wonder, I took it. (I believe this explains all the “handmade illustrations” I keep finding in my childhood books, now being discovered by Little e.)
When my sister and I were kids, our family spent a lot of time in the wilderness. There was plenty of hiking, backpacking, camping, skinny dipping and occasional human-mud-pie making. It was wonderful and dirty…and sometimes monotonous, especially when lunch was a kilometre down the trail and the snacks had run out. There was sometimes whining.
I can’t claim to be the originator of the story-as-carrot hiking motivator. My mother was the one who told us the fairies were just around the corner and the bunnies and owls were listening to us as we walked. She went on ahead and planted collections of pinecones that had been “left for us” by friendly sprites and turned twisted tree trunks into horses and camels to be ridden. We played memory games and fantasized about where in the world we’d like to travel. We played the lottery game, where everyone won a million dollars and explained how they’d spend it. We imagined and wondered and plotted and as we did, we hiked, and soon enough–maybe too soon–we were there.
A few weekends ago we took Little e and The Tiger backpacking for the first time. It was the first time we’d slept in a tent all four of us, and it was not the smoothest night. (Starting the morning at 3 am because the two-year-old decides it’s light enough and insists, “Daddy coffee?” was not in the plans.) But there was a full-circle moment for me that I’ll never forget, one I’ve been waiting for since the kids were born.
Little e and my mother (who was along for the trip and, bless her, laughed during the 3 am wakeup) walked hand in hand along the boardwalks, pausing to ask the troll living under each one if they required a gift or bribe of some sort. Sometimes it was a leaf, other times a rock. Once it was a cashew, carefully dropped between the wooden slats. Every boardwalk had a troll, and every stretch of trail between them was hiked diligently, guesses about the disposition of the next troll keeping the pace and the conversation brisk. Some trolls were grumpy, some well-mannered. Some were asleep. All were a delight to Little e and The Tiger, who marched the whole way to our campsite without a complaint. (Thank you, Granny. Thank you a million pinecones.)
The truth is, it wasn’t very far–a few kilometres–and it wasn’t steep or difficult. The success for me was the melding of narrative with nature and exercise. Reminding myself how easy it is to get sucked into magical play, even as a grown-up. Showing my kids that being in the wild can be creative on top of all the other wonderful things it is.
How do you spend your time outdoors with kids?
[PS-I know there are no photos with Little e here, but she was there. Promise.]