Traveling in Concord...

My good friend Ashley got married recently, and is about to defend her dissertation this week. I was thinking about how many great things are in store for her, and how many great things I've been fortunate enough to be able to do, especially before we had kids. That newly-wed, newly-degreed period is such a precious moment in time. The cone of possibilities has scarcely descended on my friend (who is super-young to be earning her Ph.D--she's a rock star!), and I'm really excited for her.

And because I'm depressingly nostalgic, I wanted to post a few pictures of the vacations that we've had, mostly because I know I'm not going to see these places again in person for a good, long time, for obvious reasons.

VACATIONS THEN
Vernazza, one of the Cinque Terre:

Windward shore, Oahu, Hawaii:

The Pantheon:


Yellowstone Falls:














VACATIONS NOW


Surfside Beach, SC:


Memorial Day, Garner, NC:





Surfside Beach, SC:


I'm sure you notice a pattern. We go to all the best places. Or, at least, where we are is the place to be, or so we think. As Thoreau would say, we've traveled a good deal in Concord, and found that there's still much to be learned, much to be discovered.

two for the show...

You should know that I'm an only child. Actually, both Adam and I are only children, which is somewhat unusual outside the People's Republic of China, or so it would seem, judging by all the advice that I've ever received about how the life of a sibling is oh, so very different than the life of an only child. A few years ago, I would have thought that everybody else was full of crap, but as it turns out, they were right.

When I was pregnant with Dan, our families kept making dire predictions about how Ginny would react. (Translation: everyone believed she was extremely spoiled and needy.) True, it hasn't been a walk in the park, but then again, comparing her childhood to mine is basically impossible. I craved--and got--my parents' attention. She craves--and gets--her brother's. Which is not to say that Adam and I not important, but that we're firmly in the supporting cast, as opposed to the starring role. We're like the eternal Robert Duval/Joan Cusack to her and Daniel's Will Smith/Julia Roberts, and I think that this is pretty much going to be the way it is forever. I know my own mom is super close to her sister, and my dad doesn't talk TO his mom nearly as much as he talks ABOUT her to his brother.

But all that begs the question--are only children able to have happy lives? Is part of living deliberately and respecting the earth limiting the number of your offspring? Yes, and yes. That said, I don't know if Ginny is better off for having Dan, but I know I am (and I have a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't send him back, even if she could...)

a different drummer...

They say there's nothing new under the sun, and perhaps that's true. It would be nice to think that it's possible to be original, to carve out some new ideological or artistic territory, but it's not as easy as it sounds.

I've been working on a novel for over a year, and some days, it seems like all I'm doing is munging together all my favorite novels, and retelling bits of them--poorly. As if I'd kind of jammed the Little House on the Prairie books together with Gone with the Wind, and sort of stirred in some Sylvia Plath. Not so good. So instead of being original, perhaps I'll just have settle for being eccentric.

Perhaps that's how Thoreau felt, on his bad days. I feel quite certain that as he strolled through the streets of Concord, the little kids craned their necks to stare at the old bearded weirdo who was squatting on some guy's patch of woods--you know, that crazy dude in the crapola cabin that cost like thirty bucks. That nutjob. Freak.

Probably Thoreau knew they were saying these things, and probably he enjoyed it, on some level. I mean, you don't write a long plotless book about living in the woods, unless you had a serious bone to pick with society and/or liked crafting a reputation for nonconformity.

And being an eccentric isn't all bad. Sometimes it just feels good to march to the beat of a different drummer. (And, if you're my kids--if it feels good, you do it. Apparently.)


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magical realism

Piaget talked about our initial understanding of the world as "magical realism." When we're little, we accept non-rational explanations (by adult standards) of the world and how it works, as long as the explanations make sense to us--as long as they follow an internal logic of their own. Subsequent developmentalists have nitpicked Piaget's research and argued that his theory doesn't adequately explain the mechanisms by which development occurs, yada, yada, yada. And I guess they do have a point.

However, I don't think that we can argue his point that children see the world in ways that are fundamentally different than the ways that adults see it. And once we grow past that perspective, there's no getting it back, short of the use of mind-altering drugs.

For example, Ginny asked me this morning whether Cinderella's mice were really helpful, or whether she was just saying they helped with the chores to keep from hurting their feelings. Because if you watch them, they actually cause her lots of problems. (This was Ginny's point.)

I had to tell her the other day that the Big Bad Wolf was just pretend. I expected this revelation to make her feel better, but her next tearful question suggested otherwise: so what other stories that you've told me are just pretend? Are the Jesus stories just pretend too? And Ramona? Enter the backtracking adult...

I suppose we all tell ourselves stories to explain the world around us, to provide comfort, to take the hurtful edges off a painful experience. Who's to say that, in the end, these gentle fictions aren't real? Jesus said to let the little children come to him--but I doubt they had as far to go as we do...

PS--the painting is Ginny's rendition of Noah's Ark. V. cool, in my opinion. But then, we've already established that I think my kids are geniuses, hee hee.

It doesn't take much...

"Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." (Luke 12:15)


Part of living deliberately--especially on a budget--means that you have to be satisfied with what you have. Or, in the words of Ms. Jennifer, Ginny's teacher:
"You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit."

On Sunday we found ourselves with a free afternoon, scratching our heads as to how to best spend it. We thought about driving somewhere, maybe to the mall. Pluses: riding the escalators is generally a thrill for our kids, plus it's cool. Minuses: someone might want to buy something. Maybe we could go down to Belmont and go to the park. Pluses: it's free, except for the gas. Minuses: it's hotter than hell outside and Daniel will want to eat the mulch.

So, inertia being the powerful force it is, we just stayed home. And turned on the sprinklers. And, as you see, hilarity ensued.

As a parent and good consumer, you worry about providing the "right stuff" for your kids. And I'll admit it--some of the things I buy are to remedy my own ego. (Witness the occasional purchase of Capri Sun, the ne plus ultra cool-kid drink of my childhood, which I never ever got to drink as a child.) But still, you want your kid to be accepted and appropriately enriched, so you buy them Stride Rites and haul them to the Raptor Center or whatever. But sometimes it really doesn't take much, which is good for all concerned.

Principles of relativity...

All parents wants to believe that their kids are geniuses. Even when we're being self-deprecating, we're still bragging. When a mom complains about "how willful" little Connor is, what she really means he's so independent--ergo, he is a genius. When Kaylie is taking a long time to potty train, we are to understand that it is because she is developing rapidly in so many other areas--ergo, she is a genius.

I am the exception to the rule, however. I'm pretty sure my kid is NOT a genius. When we took Dan in for his 12 month checkup, his doctor asked me "so, can he point to his toes?" I looked at her blankly--as blankly, in fact, as Dan did, when put to the test. The doctor sort of blushed and said, "I'm sure he can do it for you, maybe in the bath." Enter the uber-mama, albeit somewhat belatedly. You can be sure that Dan has been repeated quizzed at bathtime about his head, shoulders, knees, and toes, knees and toes. To which quizzing, he has generally responded by a) peeing in the bathtub and b) pulling the hair of the interrogator.

However, my other kid is apparently developing normally. The picture Ginny made (above) last week is a portrait of herself and her little brother. I was gushing over it when I first saw it, thinking it was pretty dang good for a three-year-old. However, her teacher set me straight when she told me that kids this age are working on perspective-building, so it's a nice indicator of normal development that she painted herself larger than Dan. Oh, I thought, crestfallen. She's normal.

But in fact, we need these kinds of reality checks. Like Ginny, we're all trying to figure things out, trying to determine where we are in relation to other people, what we are in relation to the universe. And the fact is, we're all pretty insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Which is kind of deflating, in some ways, but also reassuring. This too shall pass. It's nice to know that there is always someone bigger than ourselves, bigger than our problems, even if He's not actually a part of our personal self-portrait.

PS--I actually do think my kids are both geniuses, in spite of any evidence to the contrary. But you knew that...