Mommy Date

One of the things that Erick and I try to do, with varying degrees of success, is to each have one monthly date with each of our two oldest girls (Georgia’s time will come). During December, this got lost in the Christmas festivities, but now we’re back on track. Fiona and Campbell got ice skates for Christmas, so I decided that for my “mommy dates” with them this month, I’d take each of them skating at the town rink. This past Sunday it was Fiona’s turn.

Most of you may not know this about me, but I really love ice skating. Back when I was in college in the northeast, I even took lessons. And I haven’t skated since then, partly because I married Erick, who has flat feet and isn’t very comfortable in ice skates, and partly because I lived either in New York City or Berkeley, where most ice skating options involved waiting for four hours with a bunch of tourists for some overpriced city skating.

But here I am, back in the northeast in a town with a rink that has open skating hours, and with two daughters who are willing skate dates.

Fiona had never been skating before. I don’t know about other kids, but our girls are still pretty unpredictable in terms of what I’ll call, for lack of a better term, “trooper-ness,” from one situation to the next. One day they’ll voluntarily hike barefoot three miles through the snow; the next, they’ll whine endlessly and demand to be carried the second we leave the house. So before hitting the rink, I gave Fiona a pep talk. It went a little something like this: “Fiona, you’re going to fall on your butt. Probably more than once. When this happens, are you going to cry and ask to go home, or are you going to get up and keep trying?” What can I say? I’m a tough love kind of mom.

So we got to the rink, and it was great. Because we live in a small town with limited recreational options, about half of Fiona’s preschool class was there, including one of her favorite preschool friends, Ruby. Ruby had been skating a few times before, so she was whizzing around in the middle of the rink, holding onto a nifty contraption that they have here for beginning skaters: two milk crates zip-tied together. Here’s the idea:

Fiona’s main objective immediately became: get to Ruby. And that day, Fiona’s “trooper-ness” was at a high level. She fell a couple of times, but bounced right back up again. She tried the milk crates, but wasn’t actually a big fan. (I don’t think her visions of ice skating had involved being hunched over a couple of plastic crates). So before too long, she was venturing out on her own, and doing pretty well.

And then it happened: she reached Ruby, turned to me, and said, “I’m okay, Mommy; you can go now.”

HUH?!?

“I’m okay, Mommy; you can go now.”

Isn’t this the moment we hope for as parents? When Fiona was born, Erick and I laid out this mission statement, which is probably not that unusual and which we often circle back to: our main objective in parenting is to get our kids to leave us. (Seriously, I have very low standards. As long as they’re self-sufficient, relatively happy, and not breaking the law, I will consider my job well done). And, barring the normal periods of attachment, Fiona has not had problems with independence, it’s just that up to this point, it’s always been me pushing her off. Sleep in your own room, stay with a babysitter, go to Sunday School, go to preschool. I really think that this is the first time that Fiona has pushed me away — and I mean that in the best possible way. (Campbell is another matter; she’s been telling us — verbally and non-verbally — to “Go away!” almost since birth). But of course, when Fiona said this to me, my first response wasn’t joy, it was shock.

GO WHERE?!?

Anyway, I went. I skated away from my daughter and joined the brisk oval of skaters circling the outside of the rink. And I have to say, it felt amazing. It was a little strange not to be hunched protectively over a child, but didn’t take long to rediscover my balance, my speed, and that feeling of soaring that I’ve always loved about skating. (And thankfully, because of the layout of skating rinks, it was also easy to keep an eye on Fiona and Ruby, who were having a blast in the middle of the rink).

I guess I’d better get used to it.

Fiona, circa 2009. "I'm okay, Mommy; you can go now."

Let go, Breathe, Repeat

I’ve written on this topic here before, but if there’s one thing that being the mother of 3 young children is constantly teaching and REteaching me, it’s to let go of my expectations. And if there’s one time of year that’s particularly loaded with expectations, it’s Christmastime. So I’ve been learning this lesson a lot lately.

Like when I sit the girls down to sponge paint gift cards, and instead of neatly dipping the sponge pieces in the paint, Campbell digs in with both hands and SMEARS, until she and the cards are completely covered and then of course Fiona joins in, too. And I’m so frustrated and disappointed because I wanted these to look NICE! Then Fiona looks up at me and says, “But Mommy, they DO look nice!” And you know what? She’s right.

Or like how our whole family has spent the past 3 weeks spreading around 1) a stomach bug and 2) an upper respiratory yucky thing. But you know what? It’s forced us to slow down and hang around the house more, and I’m just going to have to relax about catching up with the cleaning.

Or like when we go to Middlebury College’s “Lessons and Carols” service, and the two girls next to us who are the SAME AGES as our oldest girls sit there quietly while our girls squirm so much that we have to leave 10 minutes in, and then on the way back to the car Fiona picks up a large frozen chunk of snow, throws it on my foot, and gives me a toe contusion. And you know what? I’m not so sure what I learned from this other than that our girls aren’t yet ready for serious musical performances, and that it’s no good comparing your kids to others (how many times will I need to relearn THAT?). And Fiona has learned that snowballs you pick up are substantially different from those you make.

Then there was this book, Pippin the Christmas Pig, which one of our girls (I can’t remember who) threw into the library bag at the last minute. I’d never heard of it before, and didn’t have high expectations. “Great, another overly sentimental animal story,” was what crossed my mind. But then I read it to Campbell at naptime, and unexpectedly found myself fighting back tears. It has been one of the things I’ve clung to this season when everything else is like static drowning out the joy and wonder that I’m fighting for.

The premise: all the animals in the barn are boasting about the roles that their ancestors played in the first Christmas, but they completely brush off Pippin the pig. Hurt, Pippin runs out into the snow, where he finds a single mother and her infant daughter walking along the road. He nudges them back to the barn for shelter. And here’s the kicker of the whole story:

…[A]ll the animals turned to Pippin.

“Who is this woman?” snapped Curly.

“Pippin, we can’t take in some homeless nobody,” Noddy added.

“My very-great –” Bess began.

“We’ll need milk,” said Pippin. “We’ll need some warm, soft wool. We’ll need your old blanket, Noddy. We’ll need lots of lullabies. Your VERY-GREAT-grandparents aren’t here. You must help this baby yourselves.”

“But that’s not a special baby,” Noddy protested.

“Of course she is,” said Pippin. “All babies are special.”

Noddy gazed into the small sleeping face.

“You are right,” he said. “I’d forgotten.”

And if I had to choose a soundtrack for this lovely book, it would be this beautiful song that I’ve just discovered, “Sweet Night” by Katie Rice. You can listen/download it for free here: http://www.noisetrade.com/katierice Consider that my Christmas gift to you!

So those are my ramblings this naptime, when I should be vacuuming. I hope that this Christmas season surprises you, too, by NOT living up to your expectations in the best possible way.