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Our trips to Vermont are special not just because I spent so many childhood summers here but because my children have now done so most of the summers of their lives as well. One of the advantages of returning to the same place is that it can serve as a kind of growth chart. Everything here is familiar and known, but since we only visit a couple of times a year the changes in my children are thrown into great relief, as if they were standing next to a mark on the wall, their heads inches above where they were the last time we pulled out the yardstick.
This year I feel as though my children have grown a foot, have become almost unrecognizable against all that is familiar to me. Every time I turn around it seems one of them is waving to me as I run to catch up.
For example, during the last week, we went on a 21-mile bike ride, Tommy pedaling under his own power the entire way. We also took both boys riding down the Mad River on inner tubes, an activity we’ve wanted to do for years but that never really felt safe enough.
And the changes aren’t all physical. Tonight the boys spent an hour before dinner working on a 300-piece puzzle, which they have informed both Matt and me we are under no circumstances to help them with. When we aren’t hiking or swimming, Tommy’s nose is buried deep in a Hardy Boys mystery. And the other day while we were at the swimming hole I actually fell asleep while lying on a beach towel in the sun, something that would have been unthinkable a mere year ago. I’m actually thinking of bringing a magazine with me the next time we go – crazy huh?
Obviously the independent reading is a joyful thing, but letting the boys fish for frogs by the pond without holding onto their shirts is a little less easy for me. In fact, it’s surprised me how challenging it is to let this all unfold. To back off. To trust that they won’t fall or slip or drown. To let them feel strong and confident in their bodies. I never before realized just how unnerving and exhausting it is to give them freedom, how it requires physical restraint and constant prayer. Because we travel so much and are so often in unfamiliar situations I tend to think of myself as cool and unafraid. The reality is I’m a wreck and am usually incapable of not saying “Be careful!” or “Slow down!” Or “Do you really think that’s safe?” All of which are greeted with exasperated eye rolls, sighs, and cries of “Mom!”
But at least it’s usually just words, and while I hate the sharp note of fear in my own voice, I also give myself credit that I haven’t reached out my arms and pulled them back, holding them as if I could stop time and keep them small and safe and tied to my body.
It’s been quite a pendulum swing for me, alternating between terror and deep pride, as I let Teddy climb the steep and slippery steps up to our deck my mantra of “don’t slip, don’t slip” surely keeping him from falling through the slats and tumbling feet to the ground.
And then there’s watching Tommy jump off the rock at the swimming hole.
Now the swimming hole is not like your typical swimming pool, especially not during a rainy summer like this one. The water is very cold and there is a strong current. And then of course there is the huge rock that dominates one side of the river, its sun-warmed surface impassive and smooth. That rock sings a siren song to anyone on the other shore. Last summer Tommy was able to swim to it for the first time, but was too afraid to jump off. This year he was determined to do so and talked of little else for weeks before our arrival. And almost immediately after we first got to the swimming hole, he did it, just like that, as if he had been doing it every day of his life.
The first time Tommy jumped off the rock I actually started to cry. There truly is no going back: he is officially one of the big kids now and I will never be able to protect him in the same way again. The simple fact is that you can’t childproof the world and there’s no part of me (OK, maybe just a teeny part) that wants to rein my child in or try to keep him at home.
But my tears were also tears of joy.
Why joy? Because after countless jumps off that same rock I remember that delicious feeling of confidence, of freedom, of flying. I know that nothing in the world can compare to the slap of feet against warm stone, one’s body suddenly airborne, and then the shock and silkiness of the cool green water. I remember the internal chant of I did it I did it I did it while swimming to the surface followed immediately by I’m going to do it again.
And again.
And again.
It’s my son’s summer song, his hymn. And oh, I feel so lucky and privileged to get to sing it with him.
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4 Responses to ““Mommy, don’t help me!” More on traveling with big kids”
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I am feeling some of the same — letting go is glorious, and the true test of your parenting skills!!
Awesome post Mara!
I remember feeling exactly as you do now – and I still do with my younger son sometimes – but mostly I’ve relaxed into being the support person while my boys do crazy things. I feel like I’ve earned my little naps on the beach towel and it’s fascinating to see how my kids worship their dad and want to do boy-stuff with him more now.
My new thrill is being invited to join in. It’s like a new rite of passage. As in “it’s OK Mom, you’re cool, you can come jump off the rock too”
wandermom´s last blog ..Sunset Over Lake Washington
I absolutely love this post
Beautiful sentiments – terrific parenting – wonderful summers. It’s all here! Great stuff Mara, makes me excited for my family as the kids grow older and more independent.
Lorraine´s last blog ..Boats of Nova Scotia