Maximum Capacity

Yesterday a four-year-old birthday party here that must have strained the deck to maximum capacity. 

What is maximum capacity anyway? Hard to know when the deck is as old as this one. 

All's well that ends well, I guess. I write this post from the deck, which is still standing — in fact thriving — on this lovely, low-humidity morning.

(The trampoline was full, too.) 

Pee-Wee Olympics

Into this week of lake and family come scenes from across the seas: Strong-shouldered swimmers who wiggle like dolphins. Graceful gymnasts who defeat gravity with nerve and style. 

The children imitate them, do somersaults and dance on coffee tables. It all starts here, the advertisements say. 

I think, yes, maybe it does ... with renewed appreciation for the families of those who twirl and swim and dive. 

Writing Quickly

I woke this morning, as I did yesterday, to the scamper of little feet and the noise of life being lived, hard, above me. It's the configuration of this shambling old cabin by the lake that the deck that runs the length of the main floor also runs above where I sleep. 

It's not until the respectable hour of 8 a.m. that the little ones are let loose, but once they are, further winks are impossible. 

They scamper, they giggle, they push plastic kiddie chairs across the floor. If there is a quiet moment, it's when bowls of cereal are being offered, fuel for further activity. 

I'm writing quickly because I don't want to miss a minute of it. 

Circle of Life

Yesterday felt more like a weekend with a daughter and two granddaughters here. At a visit to a nearby farm park, I found myself on the merry-go-round with Bernadette (pictured here with her mama a year and a half ago).

Yesterday I was the one holding way too tightly to the rider, too tightly being a relative term, I suppose. Bernadette will be 4 in October, but hold tight I did. And as we made endless rotations to patriotic favorites like "Stars and Stripes forever," I thought about how many times I took Bernadette's mother on carousel rides, and how particular she was about her mounts — her favorite being the rainbow pony at the National Mall carousel.

Now Suzanne was standing on the sidelines with her newborn, and I was back on duty. The circle of carousels. The circle of life. 

They Grow Up So Fast

Children do, of course. But so do goslings! I've been watching this year's Lake Anne spring babies toddle into semi-maturity for the last few weeks. A few weeks ago, this pair struggled to follow their mom and dad down to the water, slipping and sliding much of the way.  No helicopter parents these.

By now, the spring babies have grown into gangly teenagers who would rather die than acknowledge their 'rents. Notice the nonchalant way they graze and lag behind. You can almost imagine them grumbling, "Mom, puhleeeeeze! Don't you have something else to do?"

Such is life. And such is parenthood ... throughout the animal kingdom.

(Top photo: Sally Carter)

Best Present Ever!

Today there's another little person in the world, my newest grandchild, who just gave me the best birthday present ever: arriving yesterday at 6:30 p.m., just hours before the day I came into the world a few (ahem) years ago.

Who knows what triggers labor. I don't know the latest research. But I like to think there's something magical about it. At least two of my three children would have different birthdays if they were of this generation. Doctors don't let women go two weeks beyond their due dates anymore. 

But this little girl came on her own steam, at her own time. She decided she wanted her own special day. I can't wait to meet her!

Capturing Birds

Once upon a time, I wrote a book for parents, encouraging them to avoid the trap I'd fallen into, double-thinking my words and actions until I'd turned what used to be a joyous and natural activity — raising kids — into a highly fraught, expert-dominated procedure.

In one chapter I talk about what children bring to adults when they're allowed to remain children, not miniaturized adults, how they remind us of the way the world looks when we're just coming alive to it. 

I was reminded of this the other day when Isaiah asked his mother why his grandparents "capture birds."

We keep parakeets in a birdcage, you see, but to Isaiah, we are stalking the Northern Virginia landscape in search of parakeets. Every time I think of this, I smile. 

It's the child's mind trying to make sense of what he sees around him — and it's a joy to observe. 

(Two of our "inmates.")

The Work of Childhood

For many years I wrote articles about children and families. That these were the same years our own children were growing up wasn't entirely an accident. I had, believe it or not, planned it the way. But the result was an intense combination of lived experience and professional pursuit. I wasn't always in agreement with the experts I interviewed, but on one point I concurred. Over and over again I heard that play is the work of childhood. And is it ever!

I thought of this yesterday when the kiddos were over for a visit. First they biked and ran down the street, the youngest chuckling in delight as she raced to keep up with the three-year-olds. Next they swarmed inside where they pulled out the toy bins and dug in. 

There were doll houses to decorate and jack-in-the-boxes to crank. There were toy trains to zoom across the floor. There were adults nearby, but we tried to fade into the background. Because the kids were losing themselves in the "work" of play — and our job was to leave them alone. 

Parental Equinox

Today is the birthday of our oldest daughter. I realized, as I counted the years, that today also marks a parental equinox of sorts for me: I've been a parent as long as I have not. 

What do I see from this perch, from this fine balance? Strangely enough, I see continuity. For me, becoming a mother didn't mark a revolution of caring but an expansion of it. Parenthood has been a way to give back the love that was given so freely to me by my own parents. It is the completion of a circle. 

I can't imagine a life without motherhood. I'm grateful beyond measure to have become a parent. But I've tried always to live as not-just-a-mother, to honor dear friends who live full lives without children, who are wonderful aunts and uncles (honorary and by blood). I hope this message got through to my daughters; I think it has. 

Most of all today, I'm thinking of the baby with a V-shaped mouth who seldom slept, who sang before she talked, who took us to places we never thought we'd go. She has grown and flourished. She has studied and learned. She has traveled to the other side of the world — the dusty red-dirt roads of the Sahel — and back. She has given us three other wonderful people to love: her husband and children. Because of her and her sisters, our hearts are full. A parental equinox, yes. But if I had to pick one side of the divide to live in always, I know which one I'd choose.

(Three-year-old Suzanne holds her baby sister, Claire.)

Toddler Time

To see the world through the eyes of a toddler — what riches that would bring! A kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells and textures. A riot of color. What a boon for a writer, to experience such raw sensation. 

The next best thing? Perhaps to follow a toddler around. A lively experience, of course, but difficult to document.

To capture a toddler in motion is like photographing a hummingbird. Too much movement to contain. Only when there's deep engagement can you move in and snap a shot. Luckily, that happened yesterday.

 

Babies and Blankies

Parents in the know understand that blankets are no longer recommended for babies in the first year of life. Newborns are swaddled, infants wear wear sleep sacks, and only at one year of age are little ones thought ready for the real thing.

Who am I to argue against the wisdom of experts? That said, I do enjoy tucking a soft blanket around a sleeping baby. 

So yesterday I was thrilled to do just that with Aurora Anne, 12 months and two weeks of age. This morning I folded the blankie that covered her and put it away. If I held it close and inhaled it deeply I could pick up a trace of her sweet baby scent. 

September 10th

It's Grandparents Day, and as we prepare to celebrate another family birthday (they come in clumps, don't they?), I'm thinking, actually, of my parents. 

They were never able to do what I'll do today, which is to wake up in my own house and drive 25 minutes to hold, tickle, cuddle and celebrate a precious grandchild on her special day. I know they missed this, and I wish they'd had it. 

I'll be the first to admit that I chafe at the suburbs, that I look for opportunities to leave and spend weeks wandering around European villages where beauty is given greater priority than it is here. 

But here ... is where my heart is. 

(Happy 1st Birthday, Aurora Anne! photo: CCG)

Freeze Frame

Back home now, with only a few items missing, and none of them mine (or at least not that I've noticed so far), I think about what this week means to my family, the role it has begun to play. 

The toddlers, two going on three, may actually remember this summer's trip, and if not, they will remember next year's, I hope. The baby had a new place to crawl — actually a couple of new places, if you count the fair. The pre-teen was given a little more freedom. And the adults had a chance to reconnect and have fun. 

The months and years pass, and while this week doesn't completely slow them down, it does freeze-frame them. And that will have to do.  

(What a difference a year makes. Photos by CCG.) 

Baby Crawl

On your mark, get set, go! And the babies were off and running at the Garrett County Fair Baby Crawl. 

Our entry in the race was a little more interested in socializing with her competitors than she was in winning the race. 

It took the babies in this heat quite a while to reach their moms. One of them was fast asleep and did a face plant on the green mat. As his mother said, the baby crawl was scheduled during morning nap time.  What can you expect?

In and Out

I write to the sound of little voices and big thuds. The house we've rented is one of those shaggy old cottages that spring up around lakes and beaches, perfect for several generations of a family gathering for a week or two in the summer. 

Right now the toddlers and their parents are upstairs, and I've hit the first floor in a rare moment of calm.

The temptation is to be with my kids and their kids every moment, but sometimes, like now, I find myself alone while chaos reigns all around. And in that moment (and sometimes it literally is just a moment), I savor the togetherness ... without being a part of it. 

It's Barbie!

My first one had a bouffant hairdo, not the iconic ponytail. But I loved her just the same. 

I'm talking about Barbie, of course, the doll being celebrated in a new feature film directed by Greta Gerwig.

In honor of the film and of the Barbiemania sweeping the country, I picked up this beauty in the basement. She is, like all my daughters' dolls, much loved. 

Her hair is matted and her dress is stained, but she is the most intact and presentable Barbie I could find. Many of her buddies are missing arms or have short haphazard haircuts. (The fact that dolls' hair doesn't grow back was a fact my kids couldn't seem to grasp.)

Yes, we have heat domes, indictments and droughts this summer. But we also have ... the Barbie movie. 

Dads and Babies

On this day of dads, I'm thinking about babies, too, especially one particular baby who is napping upstairs. In fact, it's only because she's napping that I'm able to write this post.

On this day of all days, fathers and babies naturally belong together.  Dads (and grandpas) have a way of jostling, tossing, blowing on tummies and just generally making an infant's day. 

I'm sure this infant would agree. 

A Few Words on Nashville

I generally avoid writing about political topics here, thinking that we get enough of those from other sources. But it's hard stay quiet about the latest school shooting. Three nine-year-olds! A principal, custodian and substitute teacher! People who love children doing their best to keep them safe. 

If we take a long view of history, the 2020s are not an especially violent time. But if we start with the world in which most of us grew up, then the fact that three months into 2023 we've already had 130 mass shootings (defined as four or more people killed), or the fact that one in 20 Americans owns at least one AR-15 rifle, a gun designed for military use, it's hard to argue that our society isn't violent. 

As it happens, the Washington Post began a series on the AR-15 on Monday. It was the lead story on the Post website ... until the Nashville school shooting took that prime position. 

Undoubtedly, many factors are producing these mass shootings: mental illness, social media, a culture of celebrity, a lack of belonging. The people who are perpetrating these acts, often little more than children themselves (though not in this case), are usually loners, people who in their final acts seek the notoriety they hope will make up for the anonymity in which they've lived. Banning assault weapons would not solve all of our problems. But it would be a huge start. 

I keep thinking about the Covenant parents sending their children off to school in their plaid uniforms, backpacks and lunchboxes in tow. Those parents were expecting to see their kids back home Monday afternoon. They would have offered them a snack, nagged them about homework, given them a hug. Instead, they had to identify their bodies. 

We are the adults. We're supposed to keep our children safe. And we're not doing our job. It's as simple — and as horrifying — as that. 

The Tableau

When my children were young, I would often end the long days by trying to clear a path to the couch to read or relax for a few minutes before sleep. Often, though, the couch would be occupied.

It might be a stuffed bear, rabbit and dog having tea. Or a bevy of Barbies strutting their stuff. Whatever it was, I hated to dismantle it. I'd been so busy all day doing my job that I hadn't had time to appreciate the work my girls were doing, play being the work of childhood. But the little scenes were so dear that I knew I would never forget them. 

Now we've come full circle. It's my girls who are coming upon these sweet reminders of their children's play. Except when the toddlers are over here, which they were yesterday. When I went down to the basement after the flurry of departures, I found a little something the kiddos left behind. 

I'm not sure what's going on in this tableau, other than knowing it includes a block, a plastic rabbit, Playmobil girl, tiny doll wardrobe on its side covered with a piece of lavender fabric, and red plastic monkey from a game we once had called Barrel of Monkeys. Needless to say, I couldn't dismantle this right away —and I took a picture before I did.

Merry-Go-Round

It was almost 6 p.m. when we dashed down to Frying Pan Park, less than three miles from home. There was a carnival there, and the place was swarming with kids and parents, including some very special kids and their kiddos, our children and grandchildren. We took in the big trucks and avoided the cotton candy, but what we could not miss was the carousel.

Is there a better ride in the park? I say this as a reformed roller-coaster rider, my last foray on one of those contraptions giving me a headache so powerful I thought I was having a stroke. 

But give me the merry-go-round any time, and call it a merry-go-round, too, not a carousel, because that name carries with it the madcap quality of time's passage. Watching it last night, trying to pick out my children and grandchildren, it could have been my own girls who were squealing in delight, not their toddlers ... so quickly does time pass ... sometimes, it seems, even faster than the merry-go-round itself.