Vacation, One Week In

The ocean is, arguably, my very favorite place. Every time I visit her shores, I wax euphoric. This visit, I will do my best to spare you, but rest assured, my love for her remains. 

And while the first week was marked by  all consuming, albeit minor, adversities, Tom arrived late last night, and so now at least I have help dealing with the most challenging aspect of the past seven days: a very beautiful, but completely demanding 17 month old baby. 

My sunburnt lips are still trashed, and a wisdom tooth I should have pulled a decade ago is still bothering me. But the salt water, the drip castles. The cups of almost instantly melted ice cream. The morning walks down dirt roads canopied by live oaks dripping in Spanish moss. Those things are happening too.

SHARE THIS | TWEET THIS

Aimless Days

There's nothing like a mid-week day off. There is no pressure on a Tuesday. You don't have to go visit people or take a road trip. No need to feel particularly productive or rushed. Although on Monday night my mom and I debated possible ways to spend the gift of a day, in the end everything just seemed like a little too much work-- too much driving, fears of fighting rush hour traffic, places crowed with kids home from school.

I frequently feel pulled between two ideas that seem fundamental to good parenting: the idea that children (and parents) need unstructured playtime and relaxation, and the idea that children need to be exposed to as many places, people, and ideas as possible. It seems like any given weekend or day off, I have to decide between those two needs. Do I take my kids to Harper's Ferry, a museum, or the zoo or do we sleep in and spend the afternoon building forts?

Yesterday, started with pancakes, if that gives you any indication of the direction we took. Pancakes are not how you begin a  productive day. 

When it was finally late enough in the morning to knock on the neighbor's doors, I took a pack of kids down to the beach. Sunday's winter coats were left at home, and even shoes were quickly abandoned.  Logs were hauled. Bridges were built. Streams were forded by little boys unable to balance themselves across swaying beams. 

We didn't do anything new or novel. It was the sort of thing we do over and over again throughout the year, during every season. And it felt great.

I realize the scales have tipped towards the unstructured and the relaxing as of late. I blame it in small part on pregnancy. In the upcoming days and weeks, we will do our best to venture beyond our edge of the world. But as for yesterday, I have no regrets.

SHARE THIS | TWEET THIS

This Weekend We- The Sot-weed Factor Part 1

This weekend we talked about a book that none of us had finished reading among babies and dogs and a few select menfolk. The weather was just right and the Chesapeake served as the perfect backdrop for a novel that retells Maryland's early history. The few who had read pages into the triple digits tried to convince the rest of us that the story is, in fact, hilarious, and tried to inspire us to keep on keepin' on.

I don't know how to say anything new about our book club. I don't know how to explain, once again, the value that these almost monthly gatherings. But they mean a whole lot to me. I think a lot of women lose themselves when they have young children. They forget that they need friends and connections beyond their families. It's really easy to fill your time with the dozens of things that need done. On Saturday as I worked in my yard along side Tom, my brother, and my mom, I considered not going. There was so much to do. 

But there will always be so much to do. The yard can wait while I drink a glass of champagne with women who make me think and remind me of things that are important.

SHARE THIS | TWEET THIS

Sometimes I'm Restless

Sometimes I get a little restless. I start thinking that there is something out there that I want, something that I don't already have.

I think that I'd find it, if only I'd leave, if only I'd pack my babies and my mister, and head to some place new.

I've read that people with names like mine feel torn between family and adventure. We are homebodies with gypsy hearts.

This new year has brought desire for newness, for change, and so I've spent hours in my head, not embracing what I have and where I am, but wanting to go.

And then I remind myself, that there is no community better than my dad and mom and sisters. And I remind myself that these bay shores are my home. This town might not have some of the things that I think I want--wine bars, coffee shops, farm to table restaurants-- but it has absolutely everything I need. It has space for my children to run just a little wild. It has brackish water. It has my childhood wrapped in it, as it wraps my children too.

I'm trying to refocus my day dreams, think not of leaving, but how to make this place more like the ones I imagine I want to be.  Maybe I can be the change, or maybe my fancy will pass, as they usually do, and I'll take my kids back to the empty winter beach to look for drift wood and sharks teeth, and we'll come back with sand in our boots, and clean up for a dinner to be eaten with a gaggle of sisters. 

SHARE THIS | TWEET THIS

Growing Up Salty

My kids are being raised salty; summer is spent at the water's edge. They dig holes for splashing in and sleeping in. They catch and release black tip sharks caught in the surf. They ride their boogie boards as far as the waves will take them. All is as it should be. Surf, splashing, laughter, and perfect exhaustion.

I've always wanted to be an artist, but the truth is, I don't know how to create anything except for maybe a moment. And maybe that's enough.

SHARE THIS | TWEET THIS